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Reinhardt, ‘this is not the first time you have accosted me in this manner. I’m still ignorant as to why you should have informed me of the exact whereabouts of Jonas Schroder’s mother, for example. This simply will not do, Major Fleischer!’
     
    Fleischer rose slowly from the table, his eyes never leaving Reinhardt’s face.
     
    ‘My dear Captain! I’d no idea you object so vehemently to what I thought were these friendly, informal chats between the two of us,’ he declared. ‘But I have to say… I do not like to be made to look like a fool.
     
    ‘And again, you have caused me to look foolish – no matter who it was who gave the actual order to release the half-Jew. It came about at your instigation; of that I have no doubt.
     
    ‘So I say to myself, maybe I can only… tolerate… so much…’
     
    Fleischer chuckled, low in his fleshy throat.
     
    Then Reinhardt almost gasped as the smile abruptly disappeared and he founded himself staring into two hard, hate-filled eyes that were moving steadily closer to his own.
     
    ‘…provocation.’
     
    Fleischer virtually whispered this last word, close to Reinhardt’s right ear. The final syllable seemed almost to hang in the air, tainting it like the sweet smell of corruption.
     
    With more effort than he considered he’d ever exercised in his life before, Reinhardt managed to say, ‘Are you… threatening me, Major Fleischer?’
     
    The smile was back, as the Gestapo member replied, ‘Oh, I never threaten, Captain Reinhardt. Ever.’
     
    With that he turned his back on Reinhardt, and moved at a leisurely pace towards the door of the café. One of the waitresses hurried to open it for him, thanking him and wishing him a pleasant evening even as she avoided looking at his sharp little eyes.
     
    Reinhardt felt the curious glances of the other customers, and fought to keep his breathing steady and his expression neutral.
     
    I have a secret he thought. Oh Christ, do I have a secret. And if that bastard ever finds it out…
     
    At that moment, Reinhardt’s meal arrived. He looked down at the plate and swallowed hard.
     
    He wanted to vomit. He’d never felt so scared in his life, Fleischer’s parting words echoing in his mind –
     
    Oh, I never threaten, Captain Reinhardt.
     
    Ever...
     
     
    7
     
     
    Jonas Schroder sat alone by his creation. It was lying on a large metal table in the centre of the room which was the size of a tennis-court. It was fully covered by a white sheet, which would be removed tomorrow when the Metal Man’s internal batteries had been fully charged and it received its first order to arise…
     
    Only two of the many strip-lights on the ceiling were shining, directly above the large table upon which the machine was lying. A machine which only he, Reinhardt and a handful of others (including, of course, the Fuhrer) knew incorporated parts of a deceased soldier.
     
    Not even the white-jacketed scientists at this secret underground laboratory, who’d set up the banks of equipment and who worked directly under the half-Jew Schroder, had any idea. It was one of the most strictly classified parts of the whole project.
     
    Surrounded by the banks of machinery with the flickering dials, which now lay shrouded in darkness, Schroder said suddenly –
     
    ‘Were you a good soldier?’
     
    He was surprised himself by his question, which he directed towards the area where the machine had its listening apparatus on its right-hand side.
     
    Then, Schroder realized that he wished to continue –
     
    ‘Yes, I bet you were. A real, loyal, dyed-in-the-wool Nazi fighter,’ he said, his voice tight and the eyes burning behind his glasses. ‘Well, now you get a chance to live again – a thousand times stronger and tougher than you were before.
     
    ‘Only, you’ll never know that, of course – I mean of how you were… before…’
     
    Schroder breathed deeply, fighting off another wave of exhaustion. Being in ultimate