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they saw his armband so he didn’t get shot.
    Fifteen minutes later he crossed into the German-held area of the City Center and arrived at Pilsudski Square. He removed the armband and checked his watch. He had a few minutes to spare.
    At the far end of Pilsudski Square stood Saxon Palace with its colonnade-topped arcade housing Poland’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier connecting the two symmetrical wings. The palace was now the headquarters of the German garrison. Every morning at precisely 0500, a black Horch driven by a single Waffen-SS trooper rendezvoused with a motorcycle at the palace arcade and picked up SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Heisenberg in front of the equestrian statue.
    Fortunately for Adam, the motorcycle driver, also a Waffen-SS trooper, was as predictable in his habits as Heisenberg. He always arrived at Pilsudski Square ten minutes ahead of time to smoke a cigarette before driving on to the palace. There was normally no one else in the square at that hour.
    At exactly 0450 Adam heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine and watched the single headlight beam as the vehicle pulled into the square and stopped less than ten meters away. Adam hung back in the shadow of a large oak tree and waited while the driver killed the engine and parked the motorcycle on its kickstand. The driver removed his leather helmet and goggles, then reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
    Adam removed a cigarette from his own pack and held it unlit in his left hand. Then he removed the knife from his ankle holster, held it tight against his right leg and stepped out of the shadow, approaching the motorcycle driver who had just lit his cigarette.
“Guten Morgen, Unterscharführer.
Would you give me a light?”
    The startled motorcycle driver turned abruptly. Adam casually held up the cigarette. The driver hesitated, staring at Adam in the gray predawn light. Then he appeared to recognize the uniform and held out the cigarette lighter.
“Ja, ja,
you surprised—”
    In one swift movement, Adam extended his right arm and thrust the knife into the driver’s throat. He stepped back quickly out of the way as blood spurted from the wide-eyed man’s neck. The mortally wounded driver’s mouth opened wide as he staggered forward, reaching for Adam. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed.
    Adam removed the knife, wiped the blade on the dying man’s pant leg and slipped it back into the holster. He put on the helmet and goggles, kick-started the motorcycle and drove off to meet Herr Heisenberg.
    As he entered the palace arcade, Adam flicked his right hand in a quick wave to the SS trooper behind the wheel of the Horch, then stopped the motorcycle in front of the black auto. A moment later the image of a tall, solidly built SS officer appeared in the cycle’s vibrating rearview mirror. SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Heisenberg with another SS trooper at his side, walked across the arcade in long confident strides toward the waiting automobile. The SS trooper opened the rear door, and Heisenberg disappeared inside. Then, to Adam’s surprise, the SS trooper opened the front passenger door and slid in next to the driver.
    When the driver of the Horch tapped the horn, Adam gunned the motorcycle and led the car out of the palace arcade. Following the route described in the surveillance report, Adam drove south on Nowy Swiat, turned onto Jerusalem Avenue and headed west, all the while working out a revision to his plan. With two SS troopers in the car, the knife was useless. Fortunately, he had a few extra minutes to think, since they weren’t headed directly to the Wola District. Heisenberg’s enthusiasm for murder wasn’t the only reason he was an early riser. He had a girlfriend.
    She was a Polish woman in her thirties, not especially attractive, but well-endowed, and apparently willing to trade sexual favors—and information—for her life. According to the report Adam had studied, Heisenberg