Tommy spotted Fritz Number One counting the adjacent formation of kriegies at the following morning's Appell. He kept the lean ferret locked in his sight throughout the assembly, ignoring the light rain that fell from dark gray skies, staining the brown leather of his flight jacket with streaks of black dampness. When Major Clark saluted Oberst Von Reiter and saw the usual nod from Colonel MacNamara, and then spun sharply and bellowed out the dismissal, Tommy surged through the melee of fliers, pushing his way directly to where Fritz and some of the other ferrets were gathered at the edge of the exercise yard, smoking and divvying up the day's assignments. The German looked up as Tommy approached, frowned, and immediately stepped away from the others.

Tommy stopped, a few feet away, and beckoned to the ferret, cocking a single finger with exaggeration like some impatient and harsh schoolteacher overseeing a laggardly student. Fritz Number One looked about nervously for an instant, then took a few quick strides to Tommy's side.

"What is it, Mr. Hart?" he asked swiftly.

"I have many duties to perform this morning."

"Sure you do," Tommy replied.

"What, there's some spot that needs to be inspected for the ten millionth time? You need to be sneaking around somewhere urgently?

Come on, Fritz. You know the only show in town today is Scott's trial."

"I still have my duties, Mr. Hart. We all do. Even with the trial."

Tommy shrugged in an overstated, disbelieving fashion.

"Okay," he said.

"I'll only take a minute or two of your valuable time. Just a couple of questions, then you can get back to whatever is so damn important."

Tommy smiled, paused for a second, then demanded in a loud voice that carried to where the other ferrets were gathered: "All right, Fritz. I want to know where you got the knife from, and when exactly you traded it to Vic. You know which one I'm talking about: the murder weapon…"

Fritz Number One paled, and grabbed Tommy by the arm.

Shaking his head, he pulled the American flier into the lee of one of the huts, where he responded both angrily and with what Tommy detected was more than a small share of nervousness.

"You cannot be asking me this. Lieutenant Hart! I have no idea of what you are speaking…" Tommy interrupted the instantaneous whining response with a sharp-edged reply of his own.

"Don't bullshit me, Fritz. You know precisely what I'm talking about.

A German ceremonial dagger. Maybe SS type. Long and thin and with a death's head skull at the tip of the handle. Very similar to what Von Reiter wears when he's all decked out and ready to go to some important function. Trader Vic wanted one, and you got it for him, not long before he was killed. Like a couple of days at the most. I want to know about it. I want to know word for word what Vic said to you when he traded for that knife, and where it was supposed to go and who was supposed to get it. I want to know everything you did. Or maybe you'd prefer if I took my questions to Hauptmann Visser. I betcha he'll be real interested in knowing about that knife."

The German reeled back, almost as if he'd been struck, pressing against the wall of the hut. Fritz Number One looked ill.

Tommy took a deep breath, then added, "Why, I'll wager a pack of Luckies that it's against some Luftwaffe rule to trade an actual weapon to a prisoner of war. And especially some fancy special Nazi-type honor of the fatherland big deal dagger…"

Fritz Number One twisted about, looking over Tommy's shoulder, making certain that no one had hovered close enough to hear their conversation. He stiffened visibly when he heard Tommy speak Visser's name.

"No, no, no," he replied, shaking his head back and forth.

"Lieutenant, you do not understand how dangerous this is!"

"Well," Tommy answered in tones as blandly matter-of-fact as he could muster, "why don't you tell me?"

Fritz Number One's voice quivered and his hands shook slightly as he gestured.

"Hauptmann Visser would have me shot," he whispered.

"Or sent to the Russian front, which is the same. Exactly the same, except maybe not as quick and maybe a little worse. To trade a weapon to an Allied airman is verboten "But you did it?"

"Trader Vic, he was insistent. At first, I told him no, but it was all he could speak about. A souvenir, he promised me.

Nothing more! He had a special customer, he said, willing to pay a large price. He needed it without delay. That day. Immediately!

He told me it had great value. More value than anything else he'd ever traded for."

For a moment. Tommy swallowed hard, imagining the cold-blooded ness of the man who performed the ultimate swindle upon Trader Vic, getting the camp's entrepreneur to provide him with the weapon that he would then use to kill him. Tommy felt his mouth dry up, almost parched at the thought.

"Who wanted it? Who was Trader Vic fronting for?"

"I don't understand fronting…"

"Who was he making the deal for?"

Fritz Number One shook his head.

"I asked. I asked more than once, but he would not tell me this name.

But he said it was a sweetheart deal. That is what his words were.

Lieutenant Hart. Sweetheart. I did not understand this either, until he explained it to me."

Tommy frowned. He was not sure that he totally believed the ferret.

Nor was he at all sure he disbelieved him. Something in between. And it certainly hadn't turned into a sweetheart deal for one man.

"Okay, so you didn't get the name. So where did you steal the knife?

From Von Reiter?"

Fritz Number One shook his head rapidly.

"No, no, I could never do that! Commandant Von Reiter is a great man!

I would be dead a long time ago, fighting the Ivans, if he had not brought me here with him when he received his orders. I was only a mechanic on his flight crew, but he knew I had the gift for languages, and so I accompanied him. It was death to remain behind, in Russia!

Death. Winter, freezing cold, and death. Lieutenant Hart. That was all there was for us in Russia. Commandant Von Reiter saved me! I shall never be able to fully repay Commandant Von Reiter! If I am able to live through the war, it will be because of him! And here, I serve the commandant as best I can. I would never steal from him!"

"From someone else, then?"

Again Fritz shook his head. He whispered his response frantically, his words almost hissing, like air escaping from a punctured tire.

"To steal this item from a German officer, and then trade it to an Allied airman, lieutenant, this would be a death warrant! The Gestapo would come for you! Especially so, if Hauptmann Visser were to discover it!"

"So you didn't steal it?"

Fritz continued to shake his head.

"Hauptmann Visser does not know of this dagger. Lieutenant Hart! He suspects, but he does not know for certain. Please, he cannot learn.

It would mean great trouble for me…" In the slight hesitation at the end of his voice, Tommy heard distinctly that it would not be Fritz alone who suffered if this particular trade were exposed.

And so he asked the obvious question.

"And who else, Fritz? Who else would be in trouble?"

"I will not say."

Tommy stopped. He could see the tremor in Fritz's jaw, and he believed he knew the answer to his question. Fritz had already told him. And,

Tommy thought, there was probably only one man in the camp who could have provided that specific dagger without first stealing it. He decided to press the ferret further.

"Tell me about the commandant and Visser," Tommy asked suddenly.

"Do they " "They despise each other," Fritz interrupted.