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then return to the apartment nearby where he lived alone.
     
    Like most Berliners, Reinhardt was alert to the possible sound of the air-raid siren as he walked the city streets. Bombing attacks by the British were coming more frequently now; and there was muttered talk of the Russian and American forces, who were steadily retaking foreign territory previously occupied by the Germans at the same time as they made their slow, but determined advance towards Germany itself…
     
    Reinhardt entered the café, and gave his coat to one of the attractive waitresses. She showed him to a small table and presented him with a menu. Reinhardt ordered trout with asparagus and new potatoes, and a large glass of white wine. Rationing didn’t even apply in a place like this – not if you could afford the prices.
     
    There were a few other customers occupying the several other tables. Reinhardt recognized one or two of them by sight – they were all regular, equally well-heeled patrons – and he nodded his greeting.
     
    He liked to come here, where everyone knew him. This in turn meant that this was a place where his disfigured face didn’t attract any attention. He’d suffered his injuries when he’d still been a baby; but whenever he met anyone for the first time, he was conscious of them noticing his face and thus secretly wondering what had happened to cause such damage…  
     
    The bell attached to the door of the café rang as another customer now entered. Reinhardt looked idly towards the source of the sound – and then felt his blood freeze.
     
    A skull-like face gave a tight smile in his direction. The other diners quickly looked anywhere but at this man, who was wearing a black coat and hat.
     
    The waitress approached him with barely-concealed reluctance, but the man simply waved her away as he advanced on Reinhardt’s table.
     
    ‘ Heil Hitler,’ he greeted as, unbidden, he sat down opposite Reinhardt.
     
    ‘Fleischer,’ said Reinhardt, attempting to keep his voice even. ‘What can I do for you?’
     
    For several seconds, the Gestapo member said nothing and just smiled. It was a smile that turned many a man’s guts to water, and Reinhardt was no exception. The smile somehow carried the impression of deep, soundproof cellars… The ones which had a solitary chair in the middle of the stained, concrete floor, and a meat-hook hanging close to the harsh, naked light-bulb…
     
    Everyone in Germany had heard such rumors by now. You just tried not to think of them – that was all.
     
    Suddenly, Reinhardt found that he had absolutely no appetite.
     
    ‘Captain Reinhardt,’ said Fleischer finally, his voice soft and with a very slight lisp. Just the sound of it caused Reinhardt’s testicles to tighten.
     
    ‘I am… disappointed,’ continued the Gestapo Major, his eyes small and bright as they stared into Reinhardt’s face.
     
    ‘In what?’ returned Reinhardt curtly.
     
    ‘In you , my dear Captain,’ said Fleischer. ‘Yet again, you have forced me to release one of my suspects.’
     
    ‘Only one – and this time the order comes directly from the Fuhrer,’ said Reinhardt, forcing himself to meet Fleischer’s stare. ‘Perhaps you would care to take it up with Herr Hitler himself?’
     
    ‘No, no – of course not,’ said Fleischer, as Reinhardt found himself wondering if the Gestapo member smiled that damn smile even in his sleep.
     
    ‘But several times now, you have… interfered… in the performance of my duty,’ said Fleischer in his soft, chilling voice. ‘The Nuremberg Laws are quite specific – and yet, once again, you find a way for one of your… employees… to be able to circumnavigate them.’
     
    ‘Major Fleischer,’ said Reinhardt, forcing a note of tired irritation into his voice. ‘I have already said that Jonas Schroder was released upon the orders of Adolf Hitler himself. So, do you really wish to continue this conversation?
     
    ‘Also,’ continued