Captain Farquharson shot an inquisitive look over at the Rabbi, whose only response was a curt nod. The Scotsman shrugged. "I suppose one more wouldn't hurt. Otto Beck will be added to the list."

Stavrou, the Greek, leaned back in his seat. "So who is this man in Essen?"

"Yes, I suppose you were all wondering," Farquharson sighed, unlocking a desk on his drawer and producing a square of paper. It had a fairly good black-and-white print, probably from a newspaper. The man depicted had perhaps once been athletic and vital, the broad shoulders and thick arms visible under his fine suit suggested that. But it was clear that middle age and financial success had softened him. The balding head and expanded stomach told a story of the present.

"Essen is a city of industry, it always has been," Farquharson said as he made sure to set the photograph where everyone could see. "Germany's version of Coventry or Pittsburgh. Full of inventors, engineers, mechanical wizards. That's why the RAF took care to destroy 90 per cent of the city." Farquharson cleared his throat delicately. "Now that's it's Adenauer's Germany and they can once more be trusted, Essen is being restored, the factories reopened, the machines restarted. Essen will be key to rebuilding the West German economy. And this man will be key to rebuilding Essen." 

"His name is Sebastien Hirsch. Executive director of Hirschwerk GmbH, a machining and mechanical engineering firm. He was born in 1904, turned his father's little machine shop into a respectable enterprise, made his first million in 1934, not coincidentally the same year he joined the Nazi Party."

Farquharson looked down at his empty glass, clucked disdainfully, and reached for the Scotch once more. "If you're wondering how a civilian fits in with the whole sorry tale at Ste. Christina, it's simple. Every machine in the damned place was stamped Hirschwerk. All of them custom made. The commandant, Saxler, or the researcher, Krebs, would come to Hirsch with a request or an idea. We want a device that measures exactly how much force it takes to break an arm. We want an apparatus for draining bone marrow and replacing it with seawater. And this man Hirsch would create such a device and have it shipped to France, all for a fee, of course. 

"Hirsch was held up after the war as a prime example of denazification. The man was shrewd enough to renounce all his sympathies once Essen was under British occupation. Not his marks, though. He claimed he didn't know what his machines were used for."

Farquharson laughed, once, bitterly. "There's no way he didn't know."