David brought the Lancia to a halt a few feet from the heavy wooden barrier, the engine rumbling with a smooth, deep purr. Best to play all three, accent on privileged.

A Prussian Oberleutnant stepped out of the guard station, his uniform immaculate despite the dust. Two infantrymen stood at ease behind him, their Mauser rifles slung, eyes instantly drawn to the gleaming brass and rich, deep blue of the car.

Not waiting for them to approach, he turned off the engine, opened the driver's side door and exhaled a loud, dramatic sigh of exhaustion as he stepped onto the running board. "Ach, Gott sei Dank! Endlich ein richtiger Offizier ... Oh, thank God! A proper officer at last. Sir, you cannot imagine the utter madness of the detours I have taken. My head is absolutely spinning!" 

He dusted his linen driving coat, then looked at his hands. "And soiled these changing a tyre." 

The Oberleutnant blinked, seemingly taken aback by the sudden outburst. "Bitte Ihre Unterlagen ... Your papers, please," the officer asked.

"Yes, yes, of course, the papers," David muttered and opened the back door, unbuckled a side pocket on his suitbag and rummaged around. "Oh, blast it all – my apologies, Lieutenant. I am completely rattled from the drive. I needed them so often, I left them in my coat pocket."

He stepped back out, stood and patted his chest. "Here." He pulled out the Passierschein and his Swiss passport.

The Oberleutnant unfolded the heavy parchment. His posture instantly stiffened. "You have been to headquarters in Metz?"

"Yes, for another meeting with the Crown Prince."

"Another? But with his staff, you mean."

"Some of his staff were with him in Worms and Karlsruhe, but this time we tasted and dined alone."

"Tasted? Dined?"

"He had asked me to bring a selection of rare, mature French wine, and as you know, great wine is far better enjoyed with fine cuisine."

The officer's eyes darted from the royal signature to David's slightly less flustered face, before he flipped the page and frowned. "There is no entry stamp here. How do you explain this?"

David let out a nervous, high-pitched chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, that dreadful boy at the gate three days ago – or was it two? Whatever, the soldier – bless his heart, seemed absolutely terrified the moment he saw His Imperial Highness's seal and signature."

"Conscripts!" The lieutenant muttered. "Terrified of interfering with royal logistics."

"When he opened the barricade and saluted, I asked about stamping my papers, but all he did was salute and wave me through."

"And now you return to Switzerland empty-handed?" the officer asked, David, sensing his suspicion had eased.

"No, I am returning with the case of sample Rolex wristwatches that the Prince had asked to see."

The officer nodded. "For precision timing."

"Yes, the ones I supplied to the officers of his Fifth Army did that at Verdun." David motioned to the back seat. "Do you wish to see them?"

The Oberleutnant shook his head. "Thank you, no. But the next time you enter, demand to have your papers stamped."

He turned and entered the guard post, emerging a short while later and said, "I have corrected the error, stamping both entry and departure."

"Thank you. You have been most kind." David took the documents, and as he slipped them into his pockets and entered the car, he said, "On my next trip, I shall demand the stamps and save you this bother and confusion."

"Very well, Herr Meier," He turned to his men and barked a sharp command. "Lift barrier! Clear the lane!"

As they did, he turned back to David and said, "Remain inside. I will have a soldier crank your engine."

"Thank you, but there is no need." He smiled, turned the key and stepped on the start button, allowing the quiet whirr and rumble to surprise them – as it did most.

The Oberleutenant pursed his lips and nodded, then waved him through.

David engaged the clutch, depressed the accelerator pedal, and the Lancia glided forward into the neutral zone toward Basel, leaving the Imperial German Army safely behind him. The engine purred softly, almost echoing the sighs of his easing tension as he approached the Swiss barrier. Ahead, the uniforms seemed less intimidating, the posture less theatrical, but he knew the scrutiny would be more methodical.

He sat a little more upright, slowing as he approached the post. Here, he had no need of bluster – German deference to the Crown Prince's seal would mean little on this side. Precision, order and proper papers would carry the day.

As a Customs officer in dark blue stepped from the office, lifting a hand, David brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine.

"Grüezi. Your papers, please."

"Yes, certainly." David reached into his jacket pocket for his Swiss passport and the folded Passierschein, then held them out to the officer. Then from his other pocket, he pulled a folded sheet of parchment, saying, "And here is the declaration for the sample watches, temporarily exported for demonstration to military clients."

The officer nodded, took the passport and declaration, leaving David with the German pass. Then, after examining the declaration, he asked, "Nine watches?"

"Yes. Ladies' models in gold, silver, and chromium steel. Samples only, not a sale."

"And where are they?"

David turned and pointed. "There, in the suitbag on the rear seat."

"Please step out and open it."

A short while later, David set the leather case on the bonnet, undid the clasps, opened it,  and folded the lid back, revealing the nine watches lying in dark velvet custom-shaped grooves.

The officer set the declaration beside the case and began comparing it with the watch serial numbers. David felt some of the tension return, the familiar tightening that came whenever the result depended on someone else's thoroughness. 

After confirming the fourth, the officer skipped to the ninth, checked it and said, "All in order."

"Thank you."

While David closed the case, the officer refolded the declaration and returned it with the passport. "And the German paper?"

David handed it to him and watched his expression change as he read. "Crown Prince Wilhelm?"

"Yes. A business matter."

That earned a smile. "A profitable one, I hope."

David shrugged. "Complicated, to be more precise."

The officer returned the document. "You may proceed. But next time, if you are carrying anything under temporary export and re-importation, present the declaration first. It saves time."

I did exactly that. But no matter. "Quite right. I shall."

He closed the case, replaced it in the suitbag on the rear seat, and climbed back in. As the barrier lifted, he engaged the starter, eased out the clutch, and let out a long breath as the Lancia glided forward into Basel.

Safely back in Switzerland, he glanced at his watch. 19:07 – German time. 18:07 Swiss. But that doesn't change sunset. Bern is impractical tonight. A room, dinner, sleep. Shape first. Details after.