Citadel by Stephen Hunter Read Free Book Online Page A

businessmen of proper decorum
sat among them, stiff, frightened of the Germans
and yet obligated by something or other to be
there. Only one was anywhere near Basil’s age, but
he had to deal with things as they were.
    He reached the loo, locked himself inside, and
quickly removed his M. Piens documents and
buried them in the wastebasket among repugnant
wads of tissue. A more cautious course would have
been to tear them up and dispose of them via the
toilet, but he didn’t have time for caution. Then he
wet his face, ran his fingers through his hair, wiped
his face off, and left the loo.
    Fourth on the right. Man in suit, rather blasé
face, impatient. Otherwise, the car was stirring to
activity as the occupants set about readying for
whatever security ordeal lay ahead. The war—it
was such an inconvenience.
    As he worked his way down the aisle, Basil pretended
to find the footing awkward against the
sway of the train on the tracks, twice almost stumbling.
Then he reached the fourth seat on the right,
willed his knees to buckle, and, with a squeal of
panic, let himself tumble awkwardly, catching
himself with his left hand upon the shoulder of the
man beneath, yet still tumbling further, awkwardly,
the whole thing seemingly an accident as one out-of-control body crashed into the other, in-control
body.
    â€œOh, excuse me,” he said, “excuse, excuse, I am
so sorry!”
    The other man was so annoyed that he didn’t
notice the deft stab by which Basil penetrated his
jacket and plucked his documents free, especially
since the pressure on his left shoulder was so aggressive
that it precluded notice of the far subtler
stratagem of the pick reaching the brain.
    Basil righted himself.
    â€œSo sorry, so sorry!”
    â€œBah, you should be more careful,” said the mark.
    â€œI will try, sir,” said Basil, turning to see the
colonel three feet from him in the aisle, having witnessed
the whole drama from an advantageous
position.
    Macht requested a squad of feldpolizei as backup,
set up a choke point at the gate from the platform
into the station’s vast, domed central space, and
waited for the train to rumble into sight. Instead,
alas, what rumbled into sight was his nemesis, SS
Hauptsturmführer Boch, a toadlike Nazi true believer
of preening ambition who went everywhere
in his black dress uniform.
    â€œDammit again, Macht,” he exploded, spewing
his excited saliva everywhere. “You know by protocol
you must inform me of any arrest activities.”
    â€œHerr Hauptsturmführer, if you check your orderly’s
message basket, you will learn that at tenthirty
p.m. I called and left notification of possible
arrest. I cannot be responsible for your orderly’s
efficiency in relaying that information to you.”
    â€œCalculated to miss me, because of course I was
doing my duty supervising an aktion against Jews
and not sitting around my office drinking coffee
and smoking.”
    â€œAgain, I cannot be responsible for your schedule,
Herr Hauptsturmführer.” Of course Macht
had an informer in Boch’s office, so he knew exactly
where the SS man was at all times. He knew
that Boch was on one of his Jew-hunting trips; his
only miscalculation was that Boch, who was generally
unsuccessful at such enterprises, had gotten
back earlier than anticipated. And of course Boch
was always unsuccessful because Macht always informed
the Jews of the coming raid.
    â€œWhatever, it is of no consequence,” said Boch.
Though both men were technically of the same
rank, captains, the SS clearly enjoyed Der Führer’s
confidence while the Abwehr did not, and so its
members presumed authority in any encounter.
“Brief me, please, and I will take charge of the situation.”
    â€œMy men are in place, and disturbing my setup
would not be efficient. If an arrest is made, I will
certainly give the SS credit for its participation.”
    â€œWhat are we doing