for a few years now-but his specialty was brain disorders. It was said at the time that he cured more mentally dysfunctional patients than anyone else in the field. With a scalpel, not drugs, which are overloaded with side effects."
"So why was this goddamned genius sent to Paris to kill someone when he couldn't hit the side of a barn with buckshot?" .
"I wouldn't know, Colonel, and if he said anything about it, I wouldn't understand."
"Fair enough, but not good enough, Doctor. Let me go inside, please."
"Sure, but remember, I'll be watching. If I see him reaching an apex-the jacket is wired to blood pressure, heart rate, and oxygen you out. Understood?"
"I don't take lightly to orders like that where a killer is concerned-"
"You'll take them from me, Witkowski," the doctor interrupted curtly.
"My job is to keep him alive, perhaps even for your benefit.
Do we understand each other?"
"I don't have a choice, do I?"
"No, you don't. I'd advise talking quietly."
"That advice I don't need from you."
The colonel sat in a chair in front of the bed; he remained immobile until the unfocused Kroeger realized he was there.
"You know perfectly well I do," said Kroeger, struggling against the constricting jacket. Why am I in this undignified attire? I am a doctor, a surgeon of repute, so why am I treated like an animal?"
Because the families of two of your victims at the Hotel InterContinental no doubt consider you a vicious animal. Should we let you free to face their wrath? I assure you that death at their hands would be far more painful than execution at ours."
"They were an error, a mistake! A tragic event brought about by your hiding an enemy of humanity!"
"An enemy of humanity .. . ? That's a very serious charge. Why is Harry Latham an enemy of humanity?"
"He's insane, a violent schizophrenic who must be relieved of his tortures, or given medication so he can be institutionalized.
"Of course. I explained everything to him! He did not reach you?
Of course he's French, and they keep things to themselves, don't they?"
"Perhaps I overlooked the communication."
"You see," said Kroeger, still struggling, but sitting up straight on the bed, "I treated Harry Latham in Germany -where, it does not matter-I saved his life, but you must bring me to him so I can inject him with the drugs that were in my clothes. It's the only way he can stay alive and serve your purposes!"
"A tempting scenario," said Witkowski.
"He brought out a list of names, you know, several hundred names-"
"Who knows where he got them?" interrupted Gerhardt Kroeger.
"He traveled with the drug-infected scum of Germany. Some could be right, many could be wrong. That's why you must bring me to him in neutral quarters so we can learn the truth."
"My Go 'd, you're desperate enough to cover all the bases, aren't you?"
"Was ist?"
"You know goddamned well was ist, Doktor. Let's talk about something else for a minute, okay?"
"Was?"
"Your daddy, your Vater, do you mind?"
"I never discuss my father, sit," said Kroeger, his eyes blank, unfocused, staring at nothing on the wall.
"Oh, I think we should," insisted the colonel.
"You see, we ran a check on you, the whole you, and we considered your father a hero, an enlightened hero of Germany."
"Nein! Ein Verrdter!"
"We don't think so. He wanted to save lives, German, English, and American. He finally saw through the hollow crap of Hitler and his thugs and decided to make a statement at the risk of his life, if not certain death. That's a real hero, Doctor."
"Nein! He betrayed the Fatherland!" Kroeger writhed in the straitjacket, bouncing back and forth on the bed, a man in agony, as tears fell from his eyes.
"Throughout the Gymnasium, then through the Universitdt, the schoolboys would come up to me-frequently they beat me.
"Your father was a traitor, we all know itV and "Why did the Americans make him the Btirgermeister when none of us wanted him?" Mein Gott, such tortures!"
"So you decided to make up for what he never completed, is that
Herr Kroeger?"
"You have no right to interrogate me this wayl" screamed the surgeon, sitting up straight, his eyes wet and red.
"All men, even enemies, have the privacy of their lives! "
"And I respect that," said Witkowski, his posture straight in the chair.
"But you're an exception, Doctor, because you're too intelligent, too educated to buy the bilge you've been sold, and are now selling. Tell me, do you respect the