“Do you remember those men?” Bianco asked.

Speiser glanced at the list, started to hand it back. “There were thousands in the camp. I don’t remember their names. . . .”

“These were special,” Bianco said softly. “They were all in Barracks 554.”

Speiser’s hand held the list in midair stretched toward Bianco. Sweat rolled down the side of his face and his pale skin got whiter. After a moment, he drew the list back and looked at the names again. “Are they alive?” he asked softly.

“They were when we opened the camp. Alive and well, alive and fed in a death camp—old men, children—with the gas and ovens going day and night . . . but they all survived . . .”

“Not all,” Speiser said mildly. “Three of them died in 1941.”

Bianco sat back. “You remember.”

“Of course,” Speiser said, then he laughed. “Don’t look so tense, Major. I remember, and I’m going to tell you all about how those men stayed alive.” Here Speiser’s smile changed; his eyes shone and Bianco had a sudden impulse to follow Abrams out the door. Speiser leaned forward so his face was close to Bianco’s. Bianco looked down at his hands, then folded them like a little girl at communion, and waited. Nothing happened and he looked up again. Speiser was still smiling. He deliberately reached out and put one of his hands over Bianco’s with a gentle touch such as he might give a woman.

“But I’m warning you, Major, you don’t want to hear it. Go after the Jew; get drunk together, find a woman, go home. Do anything but stay here and listen to me.”

“I want to hear,” Bianco said. He sounded stubborn and silly to himself, like a child. He looked up at Speiser, and Speiser patted his hand.

“Good,” Speiser said. “Very good, because I want so much to tell you. But I did warn you, didn’t I? So my conscience is clear.”

Bianco laughed at that before he could stop himself. Speiser laughed, too, then he stopped and drank down the rest of his tea. Bianco leaned forward and Speiser put the cup down.

“You’re very anxious, Major.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time,” Bianco said.

“The waiting’s over,” Speiser said quietly, then in the same soft voice he started to tell Bianco what had happened in Barracks 554. It was a long story, he told it well, and after a while, Bianco forgot to smoke, forgot to give Speiser cigarettes, forgot everything but what the other man was telling him. They laughed again later, crazy, joyless laughter that they couldn’t control, and Speiser grabbed Bianco’s arm, and Bianco tried to break free and he saw their wrestling shadows on the oak paneling, which made him laugh harder. Still later, Speiser spilled his tea, which they let run across the scarred table and drip on the red rug.