Free Five Past Midnight by James Thayer Page A

lasted for twelve years as Hitler's personal security chief by being tentative. His method — the means by which he had kept the Führer alive all those years — was simple: apply overwhelming force immediately to the slightest of suspicious circumstances. And the general had learned to heed his hunches.
    He held out the photograph to Major Busse. "I want this enlarged, then I want five thousand copies made. Do it immediately." Busse's eyebrows climbed his head. "Five thousand, sir?" Eberhardt dipped his chin. "Our enemies are up to something with this POW. So I'm going to flush him out."
     

10
     
    OTTO DIETRICH woke to the rasp of the key. He was on the metal cot, rolled into a ball under the frayed blanket. He had become attuned to the rhythm of Lehrterstrasse Prison. The sound at his cell door was out of turn. He pushed himself to his feet and brought his wristwatch up. It was an hour past noon. He had been to the blade and back an hour before. Now they were coming for him again. The precious pill was in his hand He put it under his tongue so they wouldn't find it. Dietrich had promised the doctor he would wait until he heard about Maria But now the detective did not know if he had the strength to wait. "This is against your rules," he said meekly as the door opened. "I've been to the guillotine once today."
    The executioner, Sergeant Winge, entered the cell carrying two buckets of water. A towel was draped over his shoulder He worked his dappled red face into a smile. "You have an appointment. You need to get ready."
    Agent Koder came next. He was holding a pair of pants, a shirt, and a leather bag. His face was hard with thought. "This is unprecedented, Sergeant. There are no regulations governing such things."
    "Take your clothes off," Winge ordered.
    Dietrich surprised himself by finding a reserve of dignity. "I'm not going naked to the guillotine."
    The sergeant's pudding face lightened even more. "Our plumbing is out and the shower stalls don't work. So I'm going to give you a shower like we did in the trenches thirty years ago. The bucket brigade." He lowered one bucket to the stones.
    Rudolf Koder's voice was bitter. "You are to go to the Prinz Albrecht Strasse headquarters as soon as possible. Would you know why?"
    Dietrich removed his ragged shirt and pants. He pulled off his shoes and socks and his shredded underwear. He stood nude in the middle of the cell, his arms away from his sides. The pill was still under his tongue.
    The executioner swung a bucket. Icy water doused Dietrich from face to toes. Then the sergeant gave him the towel. He lifted the other bucket to the cot.
    "Here's a razor and soap and scissors," Winge said. He took the bag from Koder and put it on the cot. "You'll find shoes to fit you in this bag, along with your wallet, cop's ID, and your bridgework."
    "I don't understand why I was not consulted by General Müller," the Gestapo agent complained, lowering the clothes he was carrying to the cot. "He knows I'm your case agent."
    Dietrich tried to cut his beard with the scissors.
    The sergeant said, "Your hands are shaking so badly you're going to stab yourself." He took the scissors and quickly cut back the beard to stubble, letting the hair fall to the stones. Then he dampened an edge of towel, rubbed soap on it, and worked it into a foam with his fingers. He dabbed the soap lather on Dietrich's face.
    "My father was a barber — did I ever tell you?" the executioner asked. "I was going to enter the trade, but I found the army first. So instead of cutting off hair, I cut off heads. Funny how life works."
    The sergeant rapidly shaved Dietrich, dipping the straight razor into the bucket several times. Then he wiped the detective's face with the towel. He stepped back to admire his work.
    "Good as new," Winge said proudly.
    Dietrich inserted his bridge, and snapped his jaw several times to test it. He was too weak to stand on one leg so he leaned into the sergeant to pull the pants on. His