[h3]An Interlude: The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed...[/h3]

Midday. An apartment in Manhattan, New York.

It was a small one and simply decorated, but it was enough for Hasso Steiner, the Thousand Faced Man. He was a simple man, a cog in a great machine. He was shaving his beard in the bathroom. Hasso had been born in Prussia into a military family, and his father had taught little Hasso how a man should shave his face. Steiner the elder, named Franz, had been a devilish disciplinarian, to say the least, but to him details mattered the most.

Hasso was a man in his late thirties. He had a tanned skin, black hair and green eyes. And wasn't. Mimicry was his expertise. He could mimic other people, changing his appearance, his weight and height to an extent. He was a spy by profession, and was about to get his final orders from the Fatherland. For years, he had been waiting in New York, waiting for his activation.

The razor was sharp, but he didn't feel nervous. He felt calm and steady, as he drew the blade slowly but surely across his jaw. He had to look [i]nice[/i]. He was going to meet one of his contacts.

It was risky. The FBI was on his tail, and a squad of feds had tried to raid one of his safe houses, but Steiner had rigged the apartment with explosive and traps. The agents triggered one of the traps, and blew the house to rubble. Hasso had been just a block away, buying groceries from a nice lady at a market. He had simply moved to his another safe house in Manhattan.

Hasso finished with his shave. He checked his jaw and washed the shaving foam, drying his face with a towel. He took a quick shower and dressed in a regular black suit. Nothing too fancy, as it might draw unwanted attention. He walked outside to a busy street.

He started to walk, not hurrying, not loafing, going with the flow. The war hasn't descended on New York, and it seemed that there wasn't a war going on, except Hasso could see long lines of young men in front of recruitment offices. He took a longer look at them. If they all were qualified into service, the Wehrmacht would be even more hard-pressed. Hasso had read the news and heard rumours from the Fatherland, and they weren't just good. [i]I hope Otto is all-right[/i], Hasso thought, continuing his striding down the street.

There was a restaurant near his apartment. It was better than your average restaurant, and Hasso walked inside. He knew the contact would meet him there. Hasso was lead to a table, and started to wait. He ordered a glass of red wine. It was from California, but it would do. A few minutes passed quickly, and Hasso looked around him. The restaurant was starting to fill up, and soon enough his contact joined his table. The contact was a she, a sharply dressed woman in normal street clothes. Hasso rose to greet her informally and warmly, like old friends.

"I assume your father sent you", Hasso started calmly. They would converse quite... unprofessionally. She gave him a slight teasing smile. "Yes, And he is well, but he wants me to take more and more of his daily business running, if you understand what I mean."

"Clearly", he answered. "I remember he had some papers for me to sign."

"I have them with me. " She had a case with her, and she handed it to him casually over the table. "The instructions and cover are inside. And send my father's regards to them."

Hasso took the case, put it to the floor beside his chair and smiled faintly. "Will do, dear. Now, let's have some lunch. I've heard one can get excellent salmon with white wine sauce here. All this work gets me hungry."