He crossed his arms again, with the thought that his little speech would have been better had a brass band been playing "America the Beautiful" in the background, and would have the dual effect of infuriating MacNamara and instantly cementing him into a position where Tommy could not be turned down. He stared directly at the Senior American Officer, doing little to hide the satisfied smirk that he wore.

"Lieutenant," MacNamara responded coldly, "you do not have to remind the tribunal of their wartime duties and responsibilities."

"I'm glad to hear that. Your Honor. Delighted to hear that."

Tommy knew he was dancing dangerously close to censure.

"Your Honor," Walker Townsend said angrily, "I still do not see how this court can permit an officer of an enemy army to testify! I would argue that you could never be sure anything he might say would be truthful!"

As soon as he spoke, Townsend appeared stricken by the words that had tumbled from his mouth. Too late he saw the mistake in the claim he made. In one sentence, he'd insulted two men.

"The court is more than capable of determining the truthfulness of any witness, captain, regardless of where they come from, and where their allegiances might rest," MacNamara replied dryly, far more caustically than he had before when making the same comment.

Tommy snuck a glance over at Heinrich Visser. The German was standing.

His own face was pale, and his jaw tight. His eyes had narrowed, but he was glaring at Walker Townsend, not at Tommy. He looked like a man who had just been slapped across the cheek by a rival.

This, Tommy had half-expected. Visser was probably infuriated at being called to the stand. But, Tommy suspected, he was undoubtedly far more outraged at having his pristine Nazi integrity challenged. Nothing was more irritating than hearing oneself called a liar before one has a chance to utter a single word.

MacNamara rubbed his chin and nose once, then turned toward the one-armed German.

"Hauptmann," he said slowly, "I am inclined to allow this. Are you willing to take the stand?"

Visser hesitated. Tommy could see him measuring as many factors as possible in those seconds. He began to open his mouth to reply, when there was a sudden, booming voice from the rear of the theater.

"The Hauptmann will certainly testify, colonel!"

Heads pivoted in unison to see Commandant Von Reiter standing in the doorway. He stepped forward, his polished black riding boots striking against the wooden plank flooring like so many pistol reports.

Von Reiter arrived in the front of the courtroom, clicked his heels together and made a small salute and bow, simultaneously.

"Of course, colonel," he said briskly, "the Hauptmann will be restricted from dispensing any critical military information, you understand? And he will not be able to answer questions that might compromise war secrets. But, as to his understanding of this crime, why, I would think his expertise would be most helpful for the court in determining the truth of this most unfortunate event!"

Von Reiter half-turned, nodding toward Visser, before he added: "And, colonel, I can personally attest to his integrity!

Hauptmann Visser is a highly decorated officer! He is a man of complete honor and commands utter respect from his subordinates!

Please, be so kind as to swear him in promptly."

Visser kept a flat, poker face, and stepped forward slowly and clearly reluctantly, even more so. Tommy imagined, because he now had Von

Reiter's blessing and he was undoubtedly assessing how the commandant might seize some political advantage from his testifying. He sharply saluted his commanding officer, turned to Colonel MacNamara, and said,

"I am prepared, colonel." The Senior American Officer shoved the Bible toward him, and motioned toward the witness chair.

"Sir," Captain Townsend tried one last time, "again, I protest…"

MacNamara scowled and shook his head.

"Here is your witness. Lieutenant Hart. Let's see what you make of him."

Tommy nodded in response to that particular challenge.

He noticed a small malevolent grin on Von Reiter's face as the camp commandant took up a position in a seat by a window, sitting on the edge of the chair and leaning forward, just like the prisoners in the camp, eager to hear every word. Then Tommy turned, and faced Visser.

For a moment, he tried to reconnoiter the German's unspoken language, trying to read the man in the tilt of his head, the lingering narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the way he crossed his legs.

Visser was a man of deep hatreds and angers. Tommy thought. The problem Tommy faced was sorting through them all and finding the right ones to help Lincoln Scott-although he understood, simply from the way Visser tossed a single furious glance over at Townsend, that the prosecution, by questioning his integrity, had already helped Tommy on the path to Visser's core.

Tommy cleared his throat.

"Just for the official record, Hauptmann, would you give us your full name and rank."

"Hauptmann Heinrich Albert Visser. I am currently a captain in the

Luftwaffe, recently assigned to Allied prisoner-of-war airman's camp thirteen."

"Your duties here would include administration?"

"Yes."

"And security?"

Visser hesitated, then he nodded.

"Of course. We are all charged with that duty, lieutenant."

Yes, Tommy thought, but you more than the others. He did not follow this thought out loud.

Visser kept his voice even, steady, and loud enough to carry through the now-hushed crowd.

"And where did you acquire your command of English?"

Visser paused again, shrugged slightly, and replied, "From the age of six until the age of fifteen I lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in the home of my uncle. He was a shopkeeper.

When his business failed during the Depression, the entire family returned to Germany, where I completed my studies, continuing to polish my English."

"So you left America when?"

"In 1932. There was nothing there for my family and myself.

And great events were taking place in our own nation, of which we were eager to become part."

Tommy nodded. He could easily imagine what those events were brownshirts, book burnings, and thuggery. For a moment, he eyed Visser carefully. He knew from Fritz Number One that Visser's father was already a Nazi party member when the teenager returned to Germany.

School and the Hitler Youth had probably been his immediate legacy.

Tommy warned himself to tread lightly until he'd managed to extract from Visser what he needed. But his next question was neither light nor careful.

"How did you lose your arm, Hauptmann Visser's face seemed immobile, frozen, as if the ice he wore in his eyes was the best way to conceal the fury that smoked beneath the surface.

"Near the coast of France in 1939," he said stiffly "A Spitfire?"

Visser cracked a small, cruel smile.

"The British Spitfire is a single-engine fighter powered by a

Rolls-Royce Merlin engine capable of speeds in excess of three hundred miles per hour. It is armed with eight sequentially firing fifty-caliber machine guns, four mounted in each wing. One of these formidable planes managed to surprise me while I was flying routine escort duty. A most unfortunate encounter, although I did manage to parachute to safety. My arm, however, was shredded by a bullet and removed at a nearby hospital."

"And so, flying was no longer an option."

Visser laughed although there was no joke.

"It would seem that way, lieutenant."

"But then, in 1939, you were unwilling to give up your career in the military. Certainly not at that point, when Germany's successes were substantial."

"Our successes, as you call them, were the envy of the world."