“How are you feeling, Hauptsturmführer?” Lange asked.

Strasser didn’t reply until he had taken the drink and drained it.

“Fine,” he said, putting the glass down.

“Another?”

“No.”

In truth, Strasser was feeling a little stunned and battered. The old wound in his right thigh was aching horribly, but he wasn’t going to let on to these two, especially to that little worm Hillen-Ziegfeld, who was sitting—shaking—in silence. The ferocity and strength of Lockhart’s attack had caught Strasser off guard. Well, it was hardly surprising—perhaps he had been a little too explicit in his threat. He touched his throat. It felt grazed and raw, but nothing really, nothing compared to the pain of that shrapnel being dug out of his leg.

“What do you want to do with him?”

Strasser coughed, the spasm causing him some pain.

“As I said, we’ll shoot him.”

But before Lange could reply, Hillen-Ziegfeld piped up:

“No, Hauptsturmführer, I absolutely insist that you do not do that!”

“Oh? And why?”

“Because we need an officer—don’t you see what a coup that would be?”

“My orders are to lead this unit,” said Strasser. “Recruiting is your fucking job. Thanks to you, Ziegfeld, today has been a complete waste of time. This is an SS operation now, and it will be run according to how I see fit, not in the schoolgirl way that you civil servants like to run things. And that means Lockhart will be shot! Do you understand? He is of no use to anybody—in fact, he’s a fucking liability.”

“But…”

“No. There’s nothing more to say, Ziegfeld.”

Hillen-Ziegfeld stood up and puffed out his little chest.

“I really must protest!” he shouted, his voice high-pitched and trembling.

“Protest all you like,” said Strasser, waving him away with his hand. “I’m going to get something to eat. What time’s dinner in this place, Lange?”

Lange looked at his watch.

“In about an hour.”

“Good. In that case, I’m going to go to my room for a wash and I’ll meet you later in the mess.”

As Strasser stood up, Hillen-Ziegfeld started to speak. But Strasser stopped him.

“I don’t want to hear it. If you have a problem, tell Berger, not me.”

With that, Strasser opened the door and walked out, leaving behind a gasping civil servant and a smirking sonderführer.

Strasser walked to his room, musing over Lockhart. He found the British officer intriguing and, despite the tussle, likeable. He was intelligent and appeared principled—it seemed unlikely that he was ever going to turn traitor. Men did the most stupid things because of women, thought Strasser, but betray their country—no way, at least not in his book. Perhaps he was too much of a cold fish, as Leni had once told him, but he couldn’t see himself going down the same path as Lockhart had nearly gone down, even if he was in love. He had come close to love, but that was at university with a girl called Hilde, though in retrospect he regarded that as little more than an innocent crush.