The Occult Bureau had lost credibility with the Reichs Chancellery over the past several years, had even been reported cancelled. But what seemed to be an Occult Bureau project was housed in rural southern Bavaria, near a lake known as der Kiefersee. Not a lot was known about the project except its name: das Weutische Prajekt, and even that was mysterious, because in German there was no such name or word as Weut (phonetically, Voit). The OSS wanted to know what that project was-its mission and its methods-and Macurdy's job was to find out.

In the neighborhood of the Kiefersee, local tradition held that in early centuries, on the night of the full moon, witches gathered on the crest of dem Hexenkamm-"The Witches' Ridge"-to sacrifice, and hold orgies with demons. Among the local peasants, some still took those stories at least semi-seriously. Some said that even today, in the vicinity of the ridge, dogs howled and cats refused to go out when the moon was full. The Occult Bureau project was housed in what was called locally Schloss Tannenberg-Tannenberg Castle-after the most prominent local hill. It wasn't actually a castle, but a 19th century baronial manor, built on the site of an old ruin. And Schloss Tannenberg stood at the foot of derv Hexenkamm.

It occurred to Macurdy that the briefing officer might be pulling his leg, but the man kept talking. Supposedly a number of psychics were held at the schloss in some sort of training, and the rumor was that the trainers were foreigners, whic might be the source of the word Weutische. It was definite that an SS guard platoon was quartered there. It was from a local "party girl" agent, who'd drank and slept with some of the SS, that they'd learned most of what was known about the project. Which wasn't much, if one allowed for the inevitable exaggerations of troops sporting with girls.

The project commander and his executive officer were subject matter specialists. Lt. Col. Karl Gustaf Richard Landgraf was a Prussian aristocrat, a decorated veteran of horse cavalry on the Eastern Front during World War One. During the 1920s and early '30s, he'd published a journal of occult studies. His managing editor, a Wilhelm Kupfer, was now his XO.

Macurdy would be provided an identity, suitable papers, and a German wife; it hadn't been determined yet who she'd be. And no, he wasn't expected to actually marry her. He and his "wife" would then travel to Bavaria, where they were to get him recruited by the Weutische Project.

He was to find out the nature and goals of the project, and as many of the details as he could.

At one point, Macurdy had interrupted to clarify what "occult" meant. The question had startled the briefing officer. Macurdy had been recruited, the man told him, because supposedly he had occult powers, yet he didn't even know what occult meant!

Before they left the briefing room, Macurdy set the man's mind at rest: he lit his cigarette with a finger.

Among other things, for the next four weeks he worked with a drama coach on his role as an East Prussian peasant. He was to seem marginally retarded, providing an apparency of harmlessness. That would also help explain why, limp and all, he had not been drafted by the military. And of course, he was familiarized with the S S table of organization, including the SS titles of rank, which differed from those of the German army.

He was also given some old Swiss parapsychology journals to read, to get a sense of the field.

He proved a quick study; by the fourth week, the role was second nature to him.

During those four weeks, he was also put through intensive, personalized short courses in Bavarian geography, and the advantages and disadvantages of possible escape routes to Switzerland. He studied contour maps of those routes, even made rough clay table models of the likelier.

His limp had been well perfected: Repetition had programmed it thoroughly into his motor system. It was not severe, but worsened when he was tired.

Meanwhile he was given a further briefing. He'd been provided an identity: He would be Kurt Montag. And a landing site: He'd be taken to the Baltic on a British submarine, and landed by rubber boat on the Mecklenburg coast. There he'd be met by an agent who would take him to Lubeck, to his wife, a woman named Gerda Montag, nee Schwabe. She in turn would take him to Bavaria, her home state.

When he'd finished his training, he was commissioned a 2nd lieutenant.

Meanwhile he'd written to Mary several times, and again to his parents, telling them nothing meaningful; if he had, the censors would have deleted it. He was, he wrote, on staff in London. Let them think the dangers were over.

21

Kurt Montag

For the Bavarian town of Kempten, it was a lovely January day, sunny, with a mid-morning temperature of 5 degrees C41 degrees F. A young couple, the woman seeming older than the man, walked across the square to the Rathaus-the town hall-the man limping slightly, more so on the stairs.

A guard stopped them in the foyer. "What is your business here?" he asked.

It was the young woman who answered. "We are newly arrived from Lubeck. We have come to register."

The guard looked them over thoroughly, then pointed. "At the top of those stairs, turn right. You will see a door with Polizei on it. Go inside. They will tell you what to do."

They climbed the stairs and went into the police office. A middle-aged desk sergeant looked at them with his one eye, squinting as if near-sighted, although he wore no glasses. "What is your business here?" he asked.

The woman gave him the papers, and frowning, he looked them over, muttering to himself in places, then looked up at her. "Why have you come here from Lubeck?"

"My grandparents live here. My grandfather was a farmer, but has severe arthritis and can no longer work My grandmother is partly blind. I am the only one of the family who was able to move here and care for them."

He glanced at the young man, then returned his frown to the woman. "It says your husband is `brain damaged."

"In what way?"

"It is not severe. He is not crazy, but he thinks slowly. His head was injured in a logging accident in Ost-Preussen, when he was still a boy. His other injuries are from an air raid on Lubeck." She gestured at the papers. "He has been working as a longshoreman there. He is no longer agile, but he is very strong. And-" she paused "-he can do other things."

The sergeant's eyebrows rose slightly. "Other things?" He turned back to the husband. "What other things, Herr Montag?" Montag looked uncertainly at his wife, who put a cigarette between her lips. "Light it for me please, Kurt," she said. He raised his finger, and at its tip a small light appeared, round and bright; he moved it to the cigarette. She drew on the cigarette, and smoke appeared; its tip grew red.

Briefly the squinting eye widened. "One moment," said the desk sergeant, and spoke to someone through the door behind him, then left the room. Another policeman came in and sat down behind the desk. Gerda Montag reached over and patted her husband's knee. "It will be all right, Kurt. Do not worry."

In a few minutes the sergeant returned. "Come with me," he said, and led them to a wing on the third floor. On its entry door was written Geheime Staatspolizei. Inside he left them with a uniformed female receptionist, who told them to sit, then pressed an intercom button: "Herr and Frau Montag are here, sir," she said.

A moment later a man appeared, a lieutenant's insignia on his black uniform, and took them into his office. Before seating them, he put a cigarette between his lips and spoke to the man: "Herr Montag, light my cigarette."

Montag repeated his earlier performance.

"Sit down." When the Montags were seated, he also sat. "Do you do anything else unusual?" he asked.