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before— Kriminal Inspektor of the Gestapo, and agent of the SD.
    Yet the mantle did not fit quite as well as it once had. Frick had seen things in the field, and done things in the field, that had forever changed his nature. The old role felt awkward, too small, as if he had outgrown it. The laws of National Socialism were big and brave and new, and the old ideas, the old ways of doing things, had little place today.
    After a few moments, he gave his head a shake and moved out of the sunshine. Once inside the villa, he paused to straighten the cuffs of his shirt and square his jacket’s shoulders. Then he proceeded down the shadowed hall until he reached Hagen’s office. The door was ajar. He presented himself with a stiff-armed salute.
    â€œHerr Hagen,” he said. “Heil Hitler!”
    Hagen looked up from his desk.
    â€œHerr Inspektor,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Come in. Let me have a look at you.”
    Frick entered the office. He stood proudly under Hagen’s gaze, thinking that the experience he had picked up in the field must show in his bearing. And Hagen, looking him over, seemed impressed.
    â€œYou look well,” he said at last. “Have a seat, Herr Inspektor. We have much to discuss.”
    Frick took a seat. Hagen opened a silver cigarette case and offered it across the desk. Frick shook his head. From elsewhere in the villa came a soft trickle of music: the “Beer Barrel Polka” by Will Glahe, cheery and somehow surreal.
    Hagen took a cigarette for himself, shook off Frick’s silver lighter as he held it forward—Frick, who had no taste for tobacco, had found other uses for the lighter on the front—struck a match, and began to speak.
    He spoke with oratorical grandness, like a man, Frick thought, who had grown overly accustomed to making speeches. Six years ago, Hagen said, they had planted Frick in the Gestapo as an undercover agent. Frick’s purpose there had been to report back to Hagen on Gestapo Chief Müller’s machinations, to keep the SD’s secret security files up to date. The Sicherheitsdienst, which had been formed in 1932 for the purpose of ferreting out disloyalty within the Nazi organization, had since expanded their purview, becoming the intelligence arm of the secret police. But their original purpose had been to spy on other German spies, and they continued to give this duty top priority.
    Frick had done better at the Gestapo, Hagen was saying now, than anyone had assumed he would, rising quickly to the position of Kriminal Inspektor. Now that he had returned from the front, it was time to take advantage of this development. Hagen would like to see him begin to assemble his own network of men within the Gestapo, right under Müller’s nose. A logical first step …
    Frick tried to listen, but his mind kept wandering. The cozy warmth of the office, the sound of the radio, and Hagen’s lulling monotone conspired to remove him from the here and now. In Poland he had overseen the disposal of a half-dozen difficult Jews. He had forced the women to dig the ditch into which they had then been executed. The experience had been unlike anything else in his life.
    It would be difficult, very difficult indeed, to return to the bureaucratic ways of life back in Germany.
    But perhaps Hagen realized this. The direction he was leading, Frick came to understand, was intended to liberate Frick from his original duties. Hagen had something else in mind for him.
    Presently Hagen finished outlining his plan for placing SD agents, under Frick’s supervision, in low-ranking positions throughout the Gestapo. He paused, stabbed out his cigarette, shifted some papers on his desk, and then said:
    â€œIt must have been glorious … your time spent in the field.”
    Frick brightened. “Unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life, Herr Hagen.”
    â€œI envy you, Herr Inspektor. I’ve spent too