"All applicable investigative techniques will be used."

- Waffen SS Manual, on 'Main Collection Area for Prisoners'

media:

"Der Fuehrer's Face"

by Spike Jones and His City Slickers

Berlin, Germany; April 3, 1943

Of all the things that accompanied a visit to Berlin, being arrested upon arrival was a new one. Tony almost enjoyed the experience, with black-uniformed officers chasing after him through the terminals of Tempelhof, shouting various phrases in German.

The ride to Kriminalpolizei headquarters was less entertaining. A drab gray Volkswagen wove through the evening traffic of Berlin, while the droning voice of a monotonous spokesman poured through the radio. The two officers sat in the front seats, twiddling with the dials to find a station they wanted. They appeared polar opposites of each other, one dark and swarthy, the other quite fair. Introducing themselves as Schwarz and Roth, they made their intentions clear during the drive.

"Anthony Stark, you are under arrest by the German government for suspicion of treasonous activities regarding the Reich," Roth began, sounding just as bored as the radio man. He probably recites this same spiel a thousand times a day to the other dissidents he has to mop up, Tony thought. Hell, I would be bored too.

"But I'm not even a citizen of the Reich! How can I be accused of treason if I'm a foreigner? Doesn't the Gestapo handle this sort of thing?"

Schwarz and Roth exchanged a knowing glance, a shiver of fear passing through the cabin of the car. "If you knew what the Gestapo does during interrogations you wouldn't be asking for them, dummkopf. You're lucky we got to you first before Himmler's boys did."

"Lucky, huh? That's ironic, seeing as I'm the one in handcuffs." Tony was the one truly being ironic in the moment, as he had already locked and unlocked the handcuffs three times over on their drive. The Kripo officers hadn't noticed yet.

Roth turned in his seat, looking back at Tony with an icy blue gaze. "I said it before and I'll say it again – you're lucky you got Kripo. We don't believe in Gestapo cruelty."

A sharp snort sounded from the driver's seat. "Ridiculous. I went through full training in forensic science, and the Gestapo thinks they can pull the truth out of their victims as easily as they can pull out fingernails. We believe in science and evidence to prove guilt." Schwarz continued with conviction, jutting his chin up as if daring Tony to challenge him.

"There are some things more important than interrogations, you know," Roth added. Tony realized he was beginning to like these two officers, even if they were arresting him.

Kripo offices were holed up in the Reich Security Main Office on the Prinz-Albrech-Strasse, an odd mix of jutting architecture and careful refinery that disguised the brutality hidden by the stone walls. Schwarz pulled up to the sidewalk, drawing the attention of a few SS officers lingering around the doorway on a smoke break. Roth stepped out of the car, opening the back door and leading Tony from the Volkswagen to the sweeping archway of a door. Twin flags, dyed a deep black emblazoned with the double lightning bolts of the SS, rippled in the wind as Tony was led under the arch into the building.

Rounded, vaulted architecture supported elegantly sloped windows. The dull gray sunlight cast long shadows across the spartan interior of the hall. Against the wall a bust of Adolph Hitler sneered down at the mere mortals who scurried beneath his pedestal, eyes blazing beneath a strong furrowed brow. Roth's hand tightened on Tony's elbow and led him down a sweeping staircase, then into a room the size of a broom closet.

Tony's heart leaped into his throat – this was the part in movies where the bad guys took the hero to the basement to dispose of him. Stupid thought, he chided himself. The Germans weren't the bad guys, as much as the ridiculous American propaganda tried to force him to believe. Instead of bringing a gun to his neck, Schwarz wrapped a black blindfold across his eyes.

"Sorry for the inconvenience. We expect to let you go after this, so we can't have you picking up on anything on your walk around. You must understand, it's only procedure." Tony could hardly believe his ears. The Kripo officer sounded apologetic about the incident.

Maybe all the wartime propaganda was beginning to affect him. A sympathetic German officer in the middle of Gestapo headquarters? Unheard of on American silver screens. This was the up-close and personal investigation Tony specialized in. This was where the truth lay.

Try as he might, Tony was unable to keep his bearings as he was paraded up and down staircases, turned about left and right down sloping hallways. He tripped over doorways and even took a brief ride in an elevator before his blindfold was loosed in front of a small door. All vestiges of the bright natural lighting had vanished, replaced by tinny lightbulbs hanging behind panes of glass set deep in the concrete ceiling. The odor of damp and mildew abounded.

"Well, in you get." Schwarz nudged him forward, and Tony was led into the cramped quarters. New metal furniture stood as the only decoration in the concrete cell, save the portrait of the Fuhrer adorning the far wall. Tony took the lone seat on the left side of the table, and when he looked above the Kripo officers' heads he could see old Adolph glowering down at him.

The Germans didn't bother to handcuff or detain him as they pulled a file folder onto the desk. Schwarz began to flip through a stack of photographs, which Tony recognized even from upside down: he and Vasiliev's meeting on the Ringstrasse, blueprints upon blueprints, and color photographs that nearly stopped his heart as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing.

Each glossy print displayed his designs in action. The massive rail gun swiveling on its tracks, smoke belching from its barrel as long as a football field. Tanks roaring across French plains, disguised in Norman bocage. Artillery pieces he had crafted so tenderly by hand, the wheeling forms of jet-powered fighter aircraft looping easily above testing sites. He could hardly believe the pictures before them.

"Your handiwork. And your payment, in American dollars." A suitcase materialized on the table, and Tony reached forward to undo the clasps. Stacks of neat green bills stared back up at him, more money than he had ever seen in his entire life. And it's all mine.

"You must excuse the arrest, Mr. Stark. The Fuhrer insists on protecting his best assets, and we had to keep up appearances in case any of our enemies were tracking your movements."

"You're paying me?" Tony spluttered, and Roth's brow creased with confusion.

"But of course. Payment for your plans and a little more, according to the generosity of the Fuhrer."

Tony's mind was reeling as he placed the briefcase stuffed with cash on the ground with trembling hands. "The Fuhrer's seen my designs?"

Schwarz laughed, pushing the photographs forward for Tony to see. "Seen them? He approved them himself! Our leader believes that bigger is better, my friend, and you certainly brought him bigger. Did you not expect to be compensated for your work for the Reich?"

Shaking his head slowly, Tony lifted the first of the photographs to eye level. Light glanced off of the gleaming paper, on which the image of a sleek plane figure zoomed above the photographer's vantage point. The shape of the aircraft was blurred from its speed, but the position of underwing rockets told Tony it was one of his jet engines put into practice.

"I didn't even know you were using them. All the secrecy..."

"Germany's position in global politics is tense at the moment," Schwarz admitted, his dark features twisting in a grimace. "We had to protect our interests and your reputation. If it were known that the Reich was buying top-notch war materiel from an American scientist, what would happen to you? You'd hang for treason! The Fuhrer did not want to endanger the greatest mind of our generation with such arrogance."

Germany protecting me? The greatest mind of a generation? Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. All of his dreams had fallen into place at once. The world's leading military power was kissing his boots, his designs were fulfilling their purposes on the fields of war, and he had the cash to buy his own country if he wanted to. Luxembourg was nice in the summertime...

An inkling of doubt crept at the edge of his mind as his eyes drifted back to the pictures of him and Vasiliev. "Gentlemen, this is all very humbling and overwhelming. I'm sure you know –"

"That you have been dealing in similar transactions with the Russians?" Schwarz crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, unfazed. "We know. The Fuhrer is prepared to turn a blind eye to this issue."

"He is? I mean, er, excellent. I'm glad to hear that." Tony forced his relief from his voice.

Roth nodded, flattening his hands against the table as he stood. "Indeed. The Fuhrer has seen your designs, and he was very impressed. We bought many of them, as you can tell from your compensation, and they have wreaked havoc on the Eastern Front."

"What my partner means to say is, our glorious Fuhrer wants more. Bigger, better, more improvement in our current makes and models. Tanks are pouring from every road in that godforsaken communist wasteland, and the Luftwaffe is struggling to establish air superiority. If ever there was a moment to overcome the Soviet stronghold, the time is now."

"The Reich needs Stark technology. The Fuhrer is willing to overlook your previous misdeeds if you will aid us in our time of struggle." Roth bowed his head, and Tony's eyes nearly popped from their sockets with shock. Adolph Hilter, the leader of the German Reich and the almighty Fuhrer, is begging me to work for him?

"What about Vasiliev? Won't he know I've started selling to you as well?"

"From the moment you stepped into Tempelhof there's been a SS guard on your tail. He is more than equipped to defend you from any threats against your life. I'm sure your Russian contact is too embroiled in the fight on his doorstep to worry about a rogue radical." Schwarz chuckled, but Tony wasn't so sure. He had traced the Russian's handiwork through a dozen countries, and working for the Germans would almost certainly put Tony on his blacklist.

"And if I refuse?"

Roth and Schwarz's eyes narrowed slightly, but they maintained their cool demeanor as the former began to sweep the multitude of pictures back into his folder. "You keep the money, of course, with a sizable stipend per units of production for your services. After this our contract ends. No more production, no new sales, no new designs."

Mulling this over for a moment, Tony weighed his options. He hadn't seen a kopeck from Vasiliev's deal months ago, and he had no proof the Russians had even utilized his technology in battle. The Soviets had been his only option – Vasiliev had been quick to inform him of this – so he had taken up the deal. How could he have been so blind to Germany's extended hand? The clear answer was to agree with these Kripo officers. Wasn't it?

Russia reminded him of his position back in the States. Manipulated, useless, all freedom stripped from him. This deal would be a breath of fresh air, to create his wildest dreams with the backing of arguably the strongest nation in modern times. What could go wrong?

There was one thing Vasiliev had that these Kripo agents didn't: the threat of violence. If he turned on Vasiliev, no SS officer would be able to save him. The Russian was too smart for that. Tony would be on his own in a cat-eat-mouse world Vasilev had far more experience in. Could he make it?

Tony was smart, but was he that smart?

"Well? Have you made a decision?" Roth pressed, and Tony held up a hand to silence him.

His life hanging in the balance, the promise of fame and success just around the corner. How could he possibly choose?

The world tumbled from his mouth with heavy finality, dead weight against his chest. "I'm in."

(I had to look up the bona fide Gestapo manual for this chapter, so if you're enjoying my efforts so far feel free to drop a vote or comment before the police come for me!)