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an attempt to locate valuable files and other pending
print jobs by the German military. Well, we could have if I hadn’t been
captured.
    So, there’s really no such thing as worthless information, as long as it’s accurate.
    The manual also contained a lot of technical details, such
as the plane’s weight and wingspan as well as maximum air speed and fuel
capacity. Much to my surprise, he doesn’t stop me. He just lets me talk. When I
come to a graph or a picture, he tells me to describe it, which I do. His pen
frantically moves across paper during the interrogation.
    I only wish I could’ve gotten this information back to my
superiors before I was captured. It would have been nice if I could have sent
an email or called my agency at some point, but the Gestapo is good at keeping
a firewall up and even better at blocking signals and phone lines.
    The Gestapo is essentially a sister agency of the SS. Both
departments handle cases of treason and espionage, but the Gestapo serves as
the empire’s tech police where the SS handles apprehension and interrogation.
    Because of the Gestapo, it’s virtually impossible to contact
the States from anywhere within the empire…well, maybe not impossible. I think
my superiors may have a way to communicate with informants, but I think that’s
one of those ultra-secrets I’m not allowed to know.
    Finally, I come to the end of the manual and stop talking.
I’m actually a little hoarse from talking for so long.
    “How did you learn all this?”
    “Test results and plane specifications are on file at the
Echelon, which is located in Berlin.”
    “I know that. I mean how did you get into that facility?”
    “The building has security weaknesses.”
    “Really?” He sounds eager. “And you’re going to tell me
these weaknesses.”
    Somehow, I manage to break through the ether. Although it
takes a great deal of effort, I force my mind to focus. But I don’t want him to
know I’m a bit more lucid. This is my opportunity to give him bogus
information.
    My instructors taught me that misinformation or
disinformation can sometimes be better than silence, and it can also make
legitimate information appear less reliable. It’s basically a philosophy that
truth mixed with lies makes for shoddy information at best.
    Keeping my eyes closed, I try to think of a
plausible-sounding story without giving away important details. But my mind is
a bit foggy from the drug, and I’m having trouble thinking of a lie.
    “There’s a broken security camera on the building’s west
side.”
    That’s actually an older piece of information. For months,
our agents were able to slip in undetected because of that broken camera. I
wish I could have thought of something better, but that was the best I could do
under the circumstances. I know that camera has been fixed, but I’m hoping he
doesn’t.
    “That camera was fixed,” he mutters. There’s something about
his tone that concerns me. I hear his heavy footfalls approaching. A gloved
finger raises my right eyelid, and I inadvertently look up at him.
    “You’re awake,” he declares. “You were trying to feed me
disinformation.” He sounds impressed. “I’ve never even heard of a prisoner
being able to do that with this drug, and we’ve been using it for years.”
    I only study him.
    He turns and retrieves the empty syringe before drawing more
fluid from the bottle. “You are a willful subject,” he mutters.
    “I’m not telling you anything else,” I declare, willing my
mind to stay focused. Although this particular drug is new to me, I do have
some experience resisting the effects of potent narcotics.
    Standing over me, he only smiles as he pushes the needle
into my wrist. “Yes, you will, American…although, I am impressed. Most
prisoners respond quite well to just one dose.”
    Again I feel the heaviness on my eyelids. I force myself to
stay focused. Unlike the first time, it doesn’t completely sideswipe me. I may
be a bit odd to