driven to the safe house in Fairfax, Virginia, where the two Nazi revolutionaries were being held. As the car passed through the gates into a long, circular drive that led to the imposing front entrance, once the estate of an Argentinean diplomat, the director of Consular Operations tried to remember all the tricks he had used in his field interrogations. The first, of course, was "Hey, fellas, I'd rather see you alive than dead, which won't be my decision, I hope you understand that. We can't play games here; there's an underground soundproof room where the wall is pretty well pockmarked from previou's executions" .. . etcetera, etcetera. Naturally, there was no such wall, no such room, and usually only the most fanatical prisoners would be taken down the black-draped elevator to an anticipated death. Those that chose to travel that short fifty feet were in'ected with scopolamine derivatives and were so thankful when they revived that they normally cooperated to a fault.
The large two-man cell was not the prison variety. It was twenty feet long and twelve feet wide, and included two normal-size beds, a sink, a walled toilet, a small refrigerator, and a television set. It was closer to a moderately priced hotel room than to something out of the old Alcatraz or Attica. What the prisoners did not know, but probably suspected, was that concealed cameras were in the walls, covering every foot of space.
"May I come in, gentlemen?" said Sorenson, standing outside the cell door.
"Or should I speak German to make myself clear?"
"We are well versed in English, mein Herr," replied the relaxed Paris Two.
"We have been captured, so what can we say? .. . No, you cannot come in?"
"I take that as an affirmative. Thank you."
"Your guard and his weapon will remain outside," said the less cordial Paris Five.
"Regulations, not mine personally." Sorenson was let into the cell by the intelligence patrol, who stepped back to the opposite wall, removing his sidearm from its holster.
"I think we should talk, talk seriously, gentlemen."
"What is there to talk about?" asked Paris Two.
"Whether you live or die, I suppose is the primary question," replied the director of Cons-Op.
"You see, it's not my decision.
Downstairs, twenty feet below ground, there's a room.. .."
Sorenson described the execution chamber to the discomfort of Paris Five and a cooler reception from Zero Two, who kept staring at the director, a tight smile across his lips.
"Do you think we're so committed as to give you an excuse to kill us?" he said.
"Unless you're predisposed to do so."
"In this country we regard the taking of a life very seriously. It's never predisposed or accepted lightly."
"Really?" Paris Two continued.
"Then why is it that outside of certain Arab states, China, and what's left of selected Russian breakaways, you are the only country in the civilized world to retain the death penalty?"
"The will of the people-in certain states, of course. However, your situation is beyond national policies.
You're international killers, terrorists operating on behalf of a discredited political party that doesn't dare show itself, for it would be denounced throughout the world."
"Are you so certain of that?" interrupted Paris Five.
"I would hope so."
"Then you'd be wrong!"
"What my comrade is saying," Two broke in, "is that perhaps we have more support than you think. Look at the extreme Russian nationalists, are they so different from the Third Reich? And your own right-wing fanatics and their brothers, the book-burning religious fundamentalists. Their agendas could have been written by Hitler and Goebbels. No, mein Herr, there is far more sympathy for our goals of cleansing than you can conceive of."
"I would hope not."
"Hope is a thing with feathers," as one of your finest writers suggested, is it not so?"
"I don't happen to believe that, but you're a pretty well-read young man, aren't you?"
"I've lived in various countries, and-I would hope absorbed some of their cultures."
"You mentioned something about being committed," said Sorenson.
"You asked me if I thought you were 'so committed' as to use that commitment as an excuse to have you executed."
"I said 'to kill us,"
" corrected Zero Two.
"Execution implies a legal justification."
"For which, in your case, there's more than ample evddence. I refer to three attempts and the final murdering of Field Officer Latham, for starters."
"It's war!" cried Paris Five.
"In war, soldiers kill soldiers!"
"I'm not aware of any declaration of hostilities, no national call to arms. Therefore, it's murder, pure and simple.. .. However, this is all academic and beyond my scope. I can only relay information;
the decision is up