The Soldier Spies (Men at War 3)

“Heil Hitler!” Müller said. “I had hoped, if it would not interfere with your duty, that we might have a drink for Christmas.”

"I regret that I have nothing to offer the Standartenführer,” Peis said.

“Then why don’t we go to the Café Weitz?” Müller said.

“If the Standartenführer will be good enough to wait, I will get my coat,” Peis said.

When he was in the car, Peis said, “This is very nice. Standartenführer Kramer has one very much like it.”

“This is Kramer’s,” Müller said. “He was good enough to give me the use of it.”

“May I ask if the Standartenführer is here officially?” Peis asked.

“Officially, Peis, I’m on leave,” Müller said.

“I understand, Herr Standartenführer.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Wilhelm,” Müller said. “And we have known each other a long time. Don’t you think you could call me ‘Johann’?”

“Yes, of course,” Peis said, pleased.

The proprietor of the Café Weitz, a pale-faced man in his sixties who wore a frayed-at-the-collar dinner jacket, greeted them enthusiastically, and Peis obviously relished being able to introduce Müller as his “friend.”

The proprietor said he was honored and asked if Müller had ever been to Marburg before.

“I was born here,” Müller said, and regretted it. The café owner looked as though he had committed a terrible faux pas by not recognizing Müller. “I’ve been away for years,” Müller said. “But I came to see my mother at Christmas. ”

Two bottles, one of Steinhager and one of French cognac, were promptly delivered to their table.

“While I am here, as I say, unofficially,” Müller began when the café owner finally left them,“there are a few things I would like to make discreet inquiry about.”

“I am at your service, Herr Standartenführer,” Peis said.

“Johann,” Müller said with a smile.

“Johann,” Peis parroted uncomfortably.

“Tell me about Professor Friedrich Dyer,” Müller said.

Peis grunted, as if the inquiry did not surprise him.

“What do you want to know?” he asked. “We have a rather extensive file on him. If you had asked at the station, I could have shown it to you.”

“Just tell me, Wilhelm,” Müller said.

“Well, he knows Albert Speer pretty well,” Peis said.

Müller was astonished to hear that, but he was a policeman, and his surprise showed neither on his face nor in his voice.

“I know that,” he said impatiently. “What else is there?”

“He’s a professor at the university, knows all about metal.”

“Personally. What do you know about him?’’

“Well, we caught him exporting money, for one thing,” Peis said. “Is that what this is all about?”

Müller ignored the question. “Tell me about that. Why wasn’t he prosecuted? ”