Free Five Past Midnight by James Thayer Page B

fingers shook, so the sergeant buttoned his shirt. Winge tried tying Dietrich's tie from the front but finally stepped behind him to knot it correctly. Dietrich pulled on the coat. Nothing quite like him. Then the sergeant pulled Dietrich's pistol — a Walther — from the bag and passed it to him. Dietrich shoved it into his belt. He had never determined how to make a shoulder holster comfortable.
    Koder and the sergeant led him from the cell, along the dim hallway, through a gate manned by a guard, then up the stairs to the main floor. When they stepped through the doors, Dietrich had to bring his hands to his eyes. He had not been aboveground for three months. Daylight was blinding. The sergeant grabbed his elbow to lead him across the sidewalk to a waiting car.
    Koder's face registered surprise at the automobile, a 7 7-liter supercharged olive-green Mercedes with silver swastika medallions above its fenders. He exclaimed, "General Muller's car!"
    Sergeant Winge opened the door. Dietrich tried to lower himself to the seat, but his legs buckled. Winge caught him and gently placed him on the seat.
    Executioner Winge said, "I like my work, Inspector, but not enough to hope to see you again." He closed the Mercedes's door.
    Dietrich had smelled nothing but mold and rot and his own fear for months, and the limousine's odor of leather and cigars was intoxicating. He still could not open his eyes. He was thrown against the seat back when the car pulled away from the prison.
    He blinked rapidly, his eyes slowly adjusting. He saw the black cap of an SS driver. The detective turned to the window. The car was passing through a valley of rubble that rose steeply on both sides. Dietrich could see nothing but debris, hills high enough to cast the street in shadows. At an intersection the car slowed for a tram pulled by a horse.
    When he was sure the driver was not examining him in the rearview mirror, Dietrich spit out the pill and put it into his pants pocket. Then he asked, "What's that new trolley?"
    "With all the wreckage many streets are too narrow for cars and trucks. So we've brought narrow-gauge locomotives and cars from the Ruhr mining valleys, and laid the tracks for them." The SS driver spoke pleasantly, almost in a rehearsed manner, as if he frequently gave tours to visiting dignitaries. "If all the rubble in Berlin were put in one pile, it would be taller than the tallest of the Harz Mountains, the Brocken, eleven hundred forty meters."
    Dietrich craned his neck left and right, taking in Berlin's wilderness of devastation. Some of the mountains of waste were new, others had weeds growing from them. The debris consisted of concrete, mortar, brick, glass, plumbing, limestone, sandstone, and shattered furniture. Above many mounds were solitary chimneys, still standing.
    They passed a line of decrepit nags pulling carts. Dietrich saw almost no automobiles or trucks. He still had to squint against the bright light. The sky was dust-laden, and the sun was an outsized fiery red orb like a biblical omen. The Mercedes came to a rubble peak blocking the street.
    The driver put the car into reverse. He turned to look through the back window. He had a long face with a flared nose. His dimples were at odds with the SS tabs on his collar. "Can't go anywhere directly these days. I know some detours, but they change every day."
    The Mercedes veered around a crater, then tried another street. The car bumped over abandoned fire hoses. They passed sandbagged storefronts and the Mitte Cinema, still in operation. The epic Kolberg was playing. The marquee also advertised that a Fritz the Cat cartoon opened the show. Dietrich rolled down a window. The air smelled of sewage, cordite, and escaping gas. When he coughed against the dust, he cranked the window up.
    A line of fallen telephone poles blocked the road. The driver again backed up, then turned onto another street, but here high-tension cables lying across the pavement were marked with a