Read The Human Pool for Free Online Page A

himself. After several hours his tie was loose and his frustration showing. He said he found our presence disruptive and wanted to be left alone. The colonel stated that an escort had to remain in attendance. Later he relented, and we adjourned to a nearby chamber where suites of furniture were stashed among the filing cabinets.
    I dozed, slumped on a well-upholstered sofa, until woken by an officer who came in to announce that Hitler was dead, by his own hand. When I told Dulles, he gave a sarcastic laugh and said, ‘That spares us the expense of a trial.’ Hitler was the least of his problems, he added. ‘Why do the Germans commit every minor detail to paper? At this rate I’ll be here a month.’
    He produced a silver flask and took a pull. It was nearly empty, but he insisted I finish it, saying he would send out for more, like we were in a hotel. ‘There are dozens of crates of champagne in those rooms back there. Tell the colonel his news deserves celebration and that, one, it is entirely appropriate that the Führer’s death is toasted with Third Reich champagne; and, two, I will reimburse the FED. It won’t be chilled, but down here it won’t be warm, either.’
    The colonel dithered before deciding not to be a party pooper. I took Dulles a bottle. Of his search he said, ‘Never has the expression needle in a haystack seemed more appropriate.’ I offered to help and was told to go away and celebrate. ‘You deserve it, Joe.’
    We were all drunk by the time Dulles was done. ‘Colonel, I thank you for your time,’ he said, and handed him a wad of U.S. dollars. ‘That should cover the drinks.’
    The colonel was so drunk he was barely able to count, but mumbled that it seemed too much even for vintage champagne.
    â€˜The price of victory,’ said Dulles with a smirk. ‘Let’s go, Joe.’
    Later he told me that the money he had used to pay for the champagne was cash he had found in the vaults. ‘Reichsführer Himmler’s counterfeits.’ He laughed, and I laughed, too, thinking how from now on life would be about the road ahead.
    The daylight hurt my eyes, but Dulles looked as refreshed as if he had just stepped out of a cold morning shower. ‘Give me the keys,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive. You get some shut-eye in the back.’
    I dipped in and out of sleep, glimpsing crazily tilted ruins as we left the city, then sky racing past as the car hammered down the autobahn.
    At one point Dulles pulled over and got out, on an empty country road untouched by war. There were trees in blossom. The shimmering foliage, lit bright by early morning sun, felt more unreal than the broken brick and dust and stench of Frankfurt.
    I thought Dulles had stopped for a leak until I saw he had his briefcase with him. He took out a manila folder. So slim and insignificant-looking, I remember thinking, compared with the bulk of everything else we had seen that night. I wondered again what could be so important that it required his personal intervention. Dulles got out his Zippo and put the flame to the file. He didn’t see me watching.

Vaughan
    FRANKFURT
    SIEGFRIED WAS DOING A LATE night at his regular evening hangout, a middle-class joint avoided by the Neos, with a big window to show off its clientele. Siegfried was with a couple of women who looked like models. The place smelled expensive.
    Siegfried said he had arranged for me to have dinner the following evening with the old Nazi, Strasse. He first-named Strasse relentlessly, then, over several schnapps, practised his strong leadership riffs. The model-like girls sat in obedient silence. Lipstick, perfume, shampoo-smelling hair—it felt like an age since I had been anywhere near a woman. I missed Dora—complicated, impossible Dora.
    I told Siegfried about the interesting trip to the yard. It looked like an unusual operation, I said. We played euphemism pat-ball. It