What had they discussed then that was so urgent? Armor for the warships had been one topic. It hadn’t seemed so critical. But now that England had accepted the new German shipbuilding figures, perhaps Krupp would have a problem meeting the production quotas. But then he reflected that, no, the baron had not been informed of the victory regarding the treaty. Krupp was as brilliant a capitalist as he was a technician. But he was also a coward, who’d shunned the Party until Hitler came to power then had become a rabid convert. Ernst suspected the crisis was minor at worst. But Krupp and his son were so important to the rearmament plans that they could not be ignored.

“You may take the call on one of those phones there. I will have it put through.”

“Excuse me for one moment, my Leader.”

Hitler nodded and returned to discussing the angle of the camera with the photographer.

A moment later one of the many phones against the wall buzzed. A glowing light indicated which it was and Ernst picked it up.

“Yes? This is Colonel Ernst.”

“Colonel. I am Stroud, an aide to Baron von Bohlen. I apologize for the disturbance. He’s sent some documents for you to examine. A driver has them at the stadium where you are now.”

“What are these about?”

A pause. “I was instructed by the baron not to mention the subject over this telephone.”

“Yes, yes, fine. Where is the driver?”

“In the driveway on the south side of the stadium. He will meet you there. It’s better to be discreet. Alone, I am saying, sir. Those are my instructions.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Hail Hitler.”

“Hail.”

Ernst hung the phone in the cradle. Göring had been watching him like an obese falcon. “A problem, Minister?”

The colonel decided both to ignore the feigned sympathy and the irony in the title. Rather than lie, he admitted, “Some problem that Krupp’s having. He’s sent me a message about it.”

As a maker primarily of armor, artillery and munitions, Krupp dealt more with Ernst and the naval and army commanders than with Göring, whose province was the air.

“Ach.” The huge man turned back to the mirror the photographer had provided. He began moving a finger around his face, smoothing his makeup.

Ernst started for the door.

“Opa, may I come with you?”

“Of course, Rudy. This way.”

The boy scurried after his grandfather and they stepped into the interior corridor that connected all the pressrooms. Ernst put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. He oriented himself and noticed a doorway that would lead to one of the south stairways. They started toward it. He’d downplayed the concern at first but in fact he was growing troubled. Krupp steel was recognized as the best in the world; the spire of New York City’s magnificent Chrysler building was made of his company’s famed Enduro KA-2. But this meant too that foreign military planners were looking very carefully at Krupp’s products and output. He wondered if the British or French had learned how much of his steel was going not to rails or washing machines or automobiles but to armor.

Grandfather and grandson made their way through a crowd of workers and foremen energetically finishing the construction here on the press-booth floor, cutting doors to size, mounting hardware, sanding and painting walls. As they dodged around a carpentry station, Ernst glanced down at the arm of his suit and grimaced.

“What’s wrong, Opa?” Rudy shouted over the scream of a saw.

“Oh, look at this. Look at what I’ve gotten on me.” There was a sprinkling of plaster on it.

He brushed the dust away as best he could but some remained. He wondered if he should wet his fingers to clean it. But this might cause the plaster to set permanently in the cloth. Gertrud would not be pleased if that happened. He’d leave it for now. He put his hand on the door handle to step onto the outer walkway that led to the stairs.

“Colonel!” a voice called in his ear.

Ernst turned.

The SS guard had run up behind him. He shouted over the whine of the saw, “Sir, the Leader’s dogs are here. He wonders if your grandson would like to pose with them.”

“Dogs?” Rudy asked excitedly.

Hitler liked German shepherds and had several of them. They were genial animals, house pets.

“Would you like that?” Ernst asked.

“Oh, yes, please, Opa.”

“Don’t play roughly with them.”

“No, I won’t.”

Ernst escorted the boy back down the hall and watched him run to the dogs, which were sniffing around the room, exploring. Hitler laughed, seeing the youngster hug the larger one and kiss him on top of the head. The animal licked Rudy with his huge tongue. With some difficulty, Göring bent down and petted the animals too, a childlike smile on his round face. Though he was heartless in many ways, the minister loved animals devoutly.

The colonel then returned to the corridor and walked toward the outer door once again. He blew again at the plaster dust on his sleeve then paused in front of one of the large, south-facing windows and looked outside. The sun fell on him fiercely. He’d left his hat back in the press booth. Should he get it?

No, he thought. It would -

His breath was knocked from his lungs as he felt a jarring blow to his body and found himself tumbling to the drop cloth covering the marble, gasping in agony… confused, frightened… But the one thought most prominent in his mind as he struck the floor was: Now I’ll get paint on my suit too! What will Gertrud say about this?

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Munich House was a small restaurant ten blocks northwest of the Tier-garten and five from Dresden Alley.

Willi Kohl had eaten here several times and recalled enjoying the Hungarian goulash, to which they added caraway seeds and raisins, of all things. He’d drunk a wonderful red Austrian Blaufrankisch wine with the meal.

He and Janssen parked the DKW in front of the place and Kohl tossed the Kripo card onto the dashboard to fend off eager Schupos armed with their traffic offense booklets.

Tapping spent tobacco from his meerschaum pipe, Kohl hurried toward the restaurant, Konrad Janssen close behind. Inside, the decor was Bavarian: brown wood and yellowing stucco plaster, with borders of wooden gardenias everywhere, clumsily carved and painted. The room was aromatic of sour spices and grilled meat. Kohl was instantly hungry; he had eaten only one breakfast that morning and it had consisted of nothing more than pastry and coffee. The smoke was dense, for the lunch hour was nearly over and people had exchanged empty plates for coffee and cigarettes.

Kohl saw his son Günter standing with the young Hitler Youth leader, Helmut Gruber, and two other teenagers, dressed in the group’s uniform. The Youth had kept their army officer-style hats on, even though they were inside, either out of disrespect or ignorance.

“I received your message, boys.”

Extending his arm in a salute, the Hitler Youth leader said, “Detective-inspector Kohl, Hail Hitler. We have identified the man you are seeking.” He held up the picture of the body found in Dresden Alley.

“Have you now?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kohl glanced at Günter and saw contradictory feelings in his son’s face. He was proud to have elevated his status with the Youth but wasn’t happy that Helmut had preempted the restaurant search. The inspector wondered if this incident would be a double benefit – the identification of the body for him and a lesson about the realities of life among the National Socialists for his son.

The maître d’ or owner, a stocky, balding man in a dusty black suit and shabby gold-striped waistcoat, saluted Kohl. When he spoke he was clearly uneasy. Hitler Youth were among the most energetic of denouncers. “Inspector, your son and his friends here were inquiring about this individual.”