Fatherland

off along the veranda, into the house.
    "I have business to attend to in Berlin," said Nebe.
    "March here will act as Kripo liaison officer until Luther is caught."
    Globus sneered. "That will not be necessary."
    "Oh, but it will. Use him wisely, Globus. He has a brain. Keep him informed. Jaeger, you can return to your normal duties."
    Jaeger looked relieved. Globus seemed about to say something, but thought better of it.
    "Walk me to my car, March. Good day to you, Globus."
    When they were around the corner, Nebe said, "You're not telling the truth, are you? Or at least, not all of it. That's good. Get in the car. We need to talk."
    The driver saluted and opened the rear door. Nebe maneuvered himself painfully into the backseat. March got in on the other side.
    "At six this morning, this arrived at my house by courier." Nebe unlocked his briefcase and pulled out a file a couple of centimeters thick. "It's all about you, Sturmbannführer. Flattering, isn't it, to merit such attention?"
    The windows of the Mercedes were tinted green. In the half light, Nebe looked like a lizard in a reptile house.
    "Born, Hamburg, 1922; father died of wounds, 1929; mother killed in a British air raid, 1942; joined the navy, 1939; transferred to the U-boat service, 1940; decorated for bravery and promoted, 1943; given command of your own boat, 1946—one of the youngest U-boat commanders in the Reich. A glittering career. And then it all starts going wrong."
    Nebe leafed through the file. March stared at the green lawn, the green sky.
    "No police promotions for ten years . Divorced, 1957. And then the reports start. Blockwart : persistent refusal to contribute to Winter Relief. Party officials at Werderscher-Markt: persistent refusal to join the NSDAP. Overheard in the canteen making disparaging comments about Himmler. Overheard in bars, overheard in restaurants, overheard in corridors . . ."
    Nebe was pulling pages out.
    "Christmas 1963—you start asking around about some Jews who used to live in your apartment. Jews! Are you mad? There's a complaint here from your ex-wife; even one from your son..."
    "My son? My son is ten years old."
    "Quite old enough to form a judgment, and be listened to—as you know."
    "May I ask what it is I am supposed to have done to him?"
    " 'Shown insufficient enthusiasm for his Party activities.' The point is, Sturmbannführer, that this file has been ten years maturing in the Gestapo Registry—a little here, a little there, year in, year out, growing like a tumor in the dark. And now you've made a powerful enemy, and he wants to use it."
    Nebe put the folder back into his briefcase.
    "Globus?"
    "Globus, yes. Who else? He asked to have you transferred to Colombia House last night, pending court-martial by the SS." Colombia House was the private SS prison in General-Pape-Strasse. "I have to tell you, March, there's easily enough here to send you to a KZ. After that, you're beyond help—from me or anybody else."
    "What stopped him?"
    "To start court-martial proceedings against a serving Kripo officer, he first had to get permission from Heydrich. And Heydrich referred it to me. So what I said to our beloved Reichsführer was this: 'This fellow Globus,' I said, 'is obviously terrified that March has something on him, so he wants him done away with.' 'I see,' says the Reichsführer. 'So what do you suggest?' 'Why not,' say I, 'give him until the Führertag to prove his case against Globus? That's four days.' 'All right,' says Heydrich. 'But if he hasn't come up with anything by then, Globus can have him.' " Nebe gave a smile of contentment. "Thus are the affairs of the Reich arranged between colleagues of long standing."
    "I suppose I must thank the Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
    "Oh, no, don't thank me." Nebe was cheerful. "Heydrich genuinely wonders if you do have something on Globus. He would like to know. So would I. Perhaps for a different reason." He seized March's arm again—the same fierce grip—and hissed, "These bastards are up to something, March. What is it? You find out. You tell me. Don't trust anyone. That's how your Uncle Artur has lasted as long as he has. Do you know why some of the old-timers call Globus 'the Submarine'?"
    "No, sir."
    "Because he had a submarine engine hooked up to a Polish basement during the war and used the exhaust fumes to kill people. Globus likes killing people. He'd like to kill you. You should remember that." Nebe released March's arm. "Now we must say