Spybreaker


    --A Short Story--


    Colonel Necker was a clever man. Having served for ten years under Hitler, he owed the fact that he was traveling west from Berlin in style and under the protection of his enemies to not a little bit of wit and not a little bit of luck. As he stepped onto the platform on a cold October morning and into the billowing steam of the departing train, he paused and thanked his star that all had gone according to plan. He chuckled a bit between gritted teeth. Should his run of luck continue, he would soon be sitting in some Mediterranean beach sipping a cocktail far from the cares of the world.


    Yet this cleverness would not have struck anyone who saw him for the first time on that cold October morning. Of medium build with brown hair, clean-shaven but with a heavy mustache, he was a remarkably unremarkable man and his habit of hiding himself in heavy, drab coats helped little. One easily missed the wry expression wrinkled on his face and the keen eyes that saw all and knew everything. His superiors in the service were always remarking on ‘unseemly little Necker’. He grinned at the thought. Where were they now?


    That he was escaping is not given to doubt. But it was not from the Allies that he sought to hide. Far from it—he had bought them off a long time ago. Nor was it, as he sometimes told himself, from the Nazis. They were finished by all accounts and, while he will forever be memorialized in their eyes as a traitor, he was at the very least untouchable. Nevertheless, he took all precautions necessary for his flight. He had burned all the documents, prepared a fake passport, and covered his tracks. He had nothing to fear and yet felt unsafe. He thus struck upon the conclusion of getting as far away as possible from Berlin and the all too heavy burden of the past. Only then when these had disappeared into the distant horizon could he forget and only then would he be free.


    He was broken from his reverie by the whistle that announced the departure of the train. He hustled into one of the cars and went to look for his seat. Inside, the windows were open, but the car was dimly lit. The dawn light cast a cold gleam on the metal lining of the interior and the chill cut close even within. However, to him, the leather seats set across the battered table were inviting and the smell of mildew mingling with the exhaust reassuring. There were few people, and the car was quiet save for a few audible whispers that floated about the room. The Colonel smiled. Taking his seat, he set his bag aside and prepared himself for the journey ahead.


    <hr>


    It happened that about midway through his trip, he met with a curious incident. He had just finished his lunch when he noticed a man staring at him intently from across the room. He knew him neither personally nor by face although he had met him by the washroom previously. That day this same man shot him a grim look, one of recognition. He was looking from passenger to passenger when upon spotting Necker his eyes took on a particular intensity. Being polite, Necker greeted the man, but he turned away without another word and disappeared into the corridor.


    Now this man was staring at him. Necker decided to put on the appearance of nonchalance while surreptitiously observing him. He noticed that after he ordered a cup of coffee the man did the same despite having finished another cup some time ago. The man, however, did not seem to be in the mood to eat as he had not ordered a meal and, besides the two cups, had no other refreshments.


    Every now and then Necker would glance in the man’s direction. His stare could bore a hole through concrete, Necker thought. Clearly, this was significant. Perhaps the man has found what he was looking for?


    Necker conducted a brief inventory. The man had the look of a soldier but, perhaps, not just the local tough. He did not look like the usual muscle they sent to tail him: not that dull, glassy look of one accustomed to blindly following orders, no. This man had a keen, intelligent air, with sharp eyes and a hungry demeanor. An officer, perhaps? Necker was flattered. But which side? Blonde hair, blue eyes, fine features—the perfect Aryan. Mein Fuehrer would be pleased. He grinned to himself.


    He considered the facts. This is, perhaps, a coincidence. Either that or this man knew him and was looking for him. If his behavior the previous day was any indication, this pointed to the latter. But why he was looking for him was anyone’s guess. He did not remember anyone who resembled him and the look on his face bordered on hostility. Necker took a long sip from his coffee. He had no one to tell of his departure save for the relevant authorities, meaning all the Allied departments he had ties with and border control. Assuming a pose of deep contemplation, he raised the newspaper to cover his face.


    Behind the cover of the newspaper, Necker knitted his brows. Perhaps it was nothing, he repeated to himself. If anything, he was too careful. Where did he come from? He must have boarded the train at one of the terminals. If this man was a pursuer, then his position was dangerous.


    He considered his options. In transit, he had nowhere to go and there were no assurances that the guards would be on his side. Had it been the authorities after him they would not shy from making a grand show of his arrest. It had been a few days into the trip and no move had been made so the ringmasters must want to keep everything under wraps. The train was nearly empty and what hope he had of escape was illusory. His best bet therefore would be to maintain composure and alight as soon as possible—assuming he lasted that long. He closed his eyes. “This must be it,” he told himself, “End of the line.”


    He opened his eyes and lowered the newspaper to get a good look at his pursuer but upon looking saw only an empty chair. He stared for a time at the chair. A waiter had already descended upon the table. Necker sighed. “Perhaps it was nothing.”


    <hr>


    That evening while he was finishing up in the washroom, Necker felt a chill brush against his nape. Someone was watching him. Slowly, he finished washing his hands and looked into the mirror. Halfway through sixty, he was by all accounts a tired man. His face, sallow in the wan light, cried for rest, rest he thought his escape would provide. Perhaps rest will come, he told himself, but he will choose when he lies. Slowly, he reached into his coat for a handgun and nestled it in one of his palms. He turned to face the door, and, gripping the doorknob with one hand, the gun with the other, thrust the door open.


    Empty.


    He sighed and pocketed the gun. Perhaps he was getting too jumpy. Making his way to his car, he began to think that it was all just a coincidence and that he was merely tired. Upon arriving at his seat, he picked up a book he brought with him and set about reading.


    <hr>


    Midway through the book, he was interrupted by a voice, “Good Evening, Herr Necker, may I trouble you for a few minutes?” He had nearly fallen asleep when Necker turned and shot up in his seat: it was the man from this afternoon.


    The man was tall, blue eyes burning holes into his. This evening, he was dressed in a light coat and was carrying a briefcase with him. He was beaming when he held out a hand at Necker. “Necker? Wilhelm Necker? Pardon me for troubling you, but do you have a moment?” His German was flawless.


    “Yes,” Necker muttered, “yes of course. Please, have a seat.”


    The man took a seat from across Necker and Necker straightened himself in his.


    “You’re a hard man to find, Necker, I’ll give you that,” said the man, “How is it that the day I had given up, I find that we are both on the same train headed west? You are on your way to Paris?”


    Necker’s heart was racing, “Yes,” he said, feigning composure, “I’m visiting a friend.”


    “Oh, don’t give me that. You have no friends in Paris,” the man took out a cigarette and lit it then offered one to the disheveled Colonel. Necker declined. “If I hadn’t known better, I’d say you’re on your way to America.” he winked. “In fact, this westward trip is just a diversion. At, say, the next station or two you’d get off early then make a hard south, maybe to Italy. Then from there board a trip to Spain then to Argentina. I heard that they take kindly to Nazi exiles there.”


    Necker remained expressionless.


    The man laughed, “Come now, can’t take a bit of a joke? What business is it of mine if you’re headed to Paris, eh? And there’s nothing wrong with a bit of sun, now, is there? Argentina is lovely this time of year.”


    Necker gave a dry laugh, “Perhaps mein Herr would like to accompany me there? Then we would be two jolly exiles evading authority.”


    The man gave a wry smile and pointed an approving finger at the colonel, “That’s a good one,” he said, thumping on the table, “Don’t wait for trouble to come to you—go and look for it!”


    Necker gave another dry laugh “Perhaps mein Herr would like to enlighten me on what sort of trouble I’m looking for?”


    “The kind that only a Latin escape can provide.” the man grinned.


    Necker was impressed. The man had divined his intentions and Necker was curious to know what else he knew. He spoke German fluently and, if he didn’t know any better, was most likely a native. If he was working with one of the authorities, then they most likely caught wind of his plan. This man was most likely a tail and was sent to warn him. If he reached out to him on his own account, then things got more interesting. There was a high chance that if he was a colleague in the service anything he knew implicated him as well. Necker remembered the handgun and if worse came to worst he could defend himself. Whatever happened, he had to figure out what this man knew and then change his plans accordingly.


    “Would you like some coffee? Nothing helps keep the chill out like a cup of black,” said Necker who made to call the passing conductor.


    “No, no, that won’t be necessary—”


    “Please, I insist,” replied Necker who then hailed a passing waiter for some coffee.


    A waiter arrived carrying two cups of coffee which he set on the table that separated them.


    “Tell me,” began Necker, who was stirring a cube of sugar into his cup, “what is your name? I didn’t quite catch it just now.”


    “Johann Keyserling,” said the man, extending his hand again, “but you can call me Johann.”


    Necker and Johann shook hands. “Well, Johann, I must say you have me at a disadvantage. I didn’t expect to meet any acquaintances during my trip much less one, if you would forgive me, I hardly recognize. Remind me, how do we know each other?”


    “I am not surprised. But it is hardly surprising when you outranked me in the service. I was a lieutenant in the Abwehr, Colonel.”


    “I see,” said Necker, now knitting his brows, “then you must understand the predicament I am in and that, as a marked man, I cannot but be above suspicion.”


    Johann took a long pull at his cigarette then continued. “Of course Colonel, I only went searching for you because I came to warn you.”


    “You must be referring to that entire Argentina business,” he waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss it, “I assure you that in accordance with my agreement with the Allies, I am to attempt no such silliness.”


    “I do not doubt you,” said Wilhelm all grins and warmth, “but that is not what I came to warn you about.”


    “Oh?” Necker took a sip from his cup “Enlighten me.”


    “I came to warn you about the Spybreaker.”


    Necker folded his arms, “the Spybreaker. What do you know about this fellow? Who is he?”


    “Why, only that he is a service legend: a double agent who traps and kills double agents. An agent provocateur of the highest order, one who chose no side and was never caught. They say he was an Englishman posing as a German or that he was a German who sided with the British and that he infiltrated our top ranks. I’ve come to warn you that—”


    Necker burst out laughing, “a ‘Spybreaker’? Does such a man even exist? I must apologize Herr Johann but I am afraid you are speaking of ghosts and boogeymen. In our field, there is no room for such ‘legends’. There are only men and there are only those who serve and those who betray and there is a clear line in between.”


    “And,” replied Johann, his eyes flashing with intensity, “which are you?”


    Necker smiled, “A man who served my country.”


    Wilhelm clapped a hand onto the table, “Well spoken, sir, well spoken! Had I a shot of Schnapps I’d be drinking to the fatherland.”


    “Alas, we have only these poor cups of coffee.”


    “So it is, so it is!”


    “This Spybreaker, whoever he is, has either cashed in his lot or is far away in hiding. So, as you can see there is nothing that needs alarm us.”


    “Yes, but between us spies—”


    “I am no longer a spy. What need I fear this Spybreaker?”


    “With all due respect, brother Wilhelm, you have it all backward. It is not we spies that have to fear him but he to fear us.”


    Necker knitted his brows, “I don’t understand.”The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Herr Necker.”


    “What? Do you mean—oh no,” Necker gave out a dry laugh, “Do you mean to say that I’m the Spybreaker?” Necker cleared his throat, “Well, Herr Johann, this chat has been rather interesting, but I believe you’ve had one too many before you came here and I have no time for this foolishness. If you’ll excuse me,” Necker made to call the conductor.


    “Herr Necker, before I came here, I arranged with the staff that I would have a private chat with you. Some of the top ranks are interested in what I have to say and may want to talk to you.”


    Necker called from his seat, rose, then realized that the car was empty. The low light by his alcove aside, the car was dark and silent. Necker turned to Johann. The smoke from his cigarette hung like a pall and the man’s expression was grave.


    “Brother Wilhelm, no one is coming.”


    Necker slumped back down.


    “I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”


    “Do I have a choice?”


    Johann brought up the briefcase he was carrying with him and began retrieving a recorder and a set of folders, “I will ask you a number of questions and I want you to answer me truthfully, do you understand?”


    Necker nodded.


    “But first I need you to give me your gun.”


    “My gun?”


    Johann chuckled, “Do you think I’m blind? You’ve been fondling your pocket ever since I sat down. Killing me won’t solve anything. Even if you do, you’ll have the guards outside to answer to.”


    Sweat trickled down Necker’s temple as Johann stretched his arm out to ask for the weapon. Necker relented and placed the gun on the table. Johann retrieved it and disarmed it.


    “Let’s begin shall we?” Johann opened a folder and started the recorder. “Herr Necker,” he began in English, “I understand that you were involved in counter-intelligence, is that correct?”


    Necker responded in kind, “If you worked in the Abwehr you would know that wouldn’t you?”


    “Just answer the question.”


    “Yes, I worked in the counter-intelligence division of the Berlin Abwehrstelle.”


    “What was the nature of your work?”


    “I was in charge of the espionage cases bureau and director of human intelligence.” He smiled and added, “I handled spies like you.”


    Johann nodded, “did you not also handle the deployment of spies to England during the war?”


    “Yes,” Necker replied, “I was in charge of training and deploying spies,” then added slowly, “a fact that my Allied benefactors are well aware of.”


    “Herr Necker, what happened to those spies?”


    “Ah. That is easy,” Necker smiled. “they were caught.”


    “You don’t seem in the least distraught.”


    “Herr Keyserling there were a great many things which troubled me in those times: a war being fought, a dictator in our midst, and, later, defeat hanging over our heads. Had we been in those times I would perhaps have less cause for tranquility. However, with the victory of the Allies,” he shrugged, “what more can be said? Germany was defeated. There is little point pondering counterfactuals. At this point, there is only acceptance.”


    “And so these men were nothing to you.”


    “As they would be to you. They were assets, nothing more. They failed their purpose perhaps through the incompetence of the department, perhaps through their own, and little can be done now but to mourn the failure.”


    “Do you mourn the failure?”


    “Not as much as would be proper.” Necker smiled. “Only that in hindsight, it was a poor decision to send a handful of eastern European ne’er-do-wells to do the business of a proper spy.”


    “Or perhaps because you’ve had a hand in their capture?”


    “I beg your pardon?”


    “Don’t play coy. I have transcripts of the secret communications you’ve made with the British regarding the agents.” He brought out a folder and threw it on the table, “Not only did you reveal their deployment you also revealed their agenda and extraction points. You sent those agents to their deaths.”


    Necker was silent for a moment, opened his mouth to speak, paused, smiled, then began, “Herr Keyserling, let me ask you a question. What would you do when your country is being ravaged by war and being sacked by a glorified bandit? When to be a citizen means only to be first to suffer the funeral pyre at a moment’s whim? Think of Kristallnacht and the many executions between then and defeat. Think also of the horrors visited upon the rest of the world by a madman bereft of humanity and tell me if those deaths were not a service to the many thousands who died at his hand.”


    Johann was impassive. When Necker finished, he continued, “Is it true that following the capture of these agents you worked with MI6 to establish a spy network for the allies in Berlin?”


    Necker waved his arm and straightened himself with impatience, “What is the point of this questioning? The only thing we have established is that I’ve done an inestimable service to both the Allies and mankind! And yet here you are treating me as if I were some sort of accused.”


    “Answer the question.”


    Necker settled himself into his seat. “Yes, I inquired with the Allies as to whether they were willing to work with me and they, eventually, answered in the affirmative.”


    “Were you successful in establishing a spy network?”


    “Yes.”


    “How did you recruit your members?”


    “There was, as you know, a sizeable disaffected party within the Army ranks and it was with little difficulty that I was able to contact them.”


    “Were you responsible for the attempts on Hitler’s life?”


    Necker smiled. “No. Only marginally. We encouraged the army officials to push through with their plans.”


    “What was the nature of your espionage ring then?”


    “We were responsible for technical intelligence and data collation. We would compile reports on the military and Hitler’s intentions and send them over to the British. As you can tell, being within the intelligence service, this work was simple.”


    “Did you have the blessing of General Canaris?”


    “Canaris was aware of the activity but thought to pass it over.”


    “Leaving operations in your hands.”


    “Yes, I should think so.”


    “And did all of these reports pass through your hands?”


    “Yes. I was responsible for the ring, and I reported directly to my British contacts.


    “So, if these reports were false, you would be at fault.”


    “I beg your pardon?”


    “I said that if these reports were deceptive you would be at fault.”


    Necker smiled. “I assure you, the information I sent the British is legitimate.”


    “But if they were deceptive you would be at fault, yes or no?”


    Necker laughed drily, “Herr Keyserling, even if they were deceptive you would need evidence that it is before hurling accusations. To corroborate your claim you would need to access the military archives and scrutinize every detail—an activity I doubt the Western Powers or the Russians have either the time or patience for, especially now that they are at war with one another. “


    “Then you are saying that there is no way to prove or disprove that your reports were deceptive?”


    “The Abwehr archives relating to the Berlin spy ring would have sufficed. Unfortunately, the Abwehr archives relating to the Berlin ring along with other administrative documents were disposed of when the Abwehr was dissolved and merged into the RSHA by order of Hitler.” Necker was grave, “Without those archives, your accusations have no substance.”


    “And who ordered the disposal of the archives?”


    Necker smiled, “I only carried it out.”


    Johann bent towards Necker, grinned, and raised one eyebrow “What if I told you that not only did some of the archives survive but I have a document implicating you in an attempt at deceiving the Allies?”


    Necker’s eyes widened, “you have no such thing.”


    Johann leaned back, “are you familiar with the name Fredrick Jodl?”


    “Yes, he was my deputy.”


    “Are you familiar with the circumstances of his death?”


    “Yes, he was executed by Hitler along with the rest of the Abwehr high command for treason.”


    “Are you aware that he hid away boxes of archives relating not only to the Berlin spy ring but atrocities committed by the Hitler regime?”


    “He—” Necker was beside himself, “Jodl was a good man, but he knew the risks.”


    “I see. And these risks included exposure, correct?”


    “Correct.”


    “And yet you managed to escape the dissolution of the Abwehr and the execution of the Abwehr high command. Why is that?”


    “I—”


    “I’ll tell you why: because you sold out your comrades when your deception fell through.” Johann produced a folder from his briefcase. “This is a sample from the archives I mentioned. It has a secret memorandum detailing the ostensible purpose of the Berlin spy ring to your direct subordinates. Shall I read it to you?”


    Necker was silent.


    Johann flipped the pages of the memorandum to find a particular passage “…to conclude, in order to deceive the British as to the intentions and military capabilities of the Third Reich, we are to leverage our intelligence relations and use the Berlin spy ring to send documents containing false information…” Johann set down the document and looked at Necker. Necker was downcast and remained quiet. Johan continued, “but that isn’t everything. Not only did you use the Berlin spy ring to deceive the British, you used it to centralize all enemy espionage efforts in Berlin. They trusted you enough that they had all reports passing through your hands and you knew everyone who was a traitor in the Reich. The Allies knew this, your superiors knew this. What did you do then Necker?”


    Necker did not respond.


    Johann was breathing heavily and spoke between gritted teeth, “I’ll tell you what you did. You used that knowledge to advance yourself within the Abwehr. When someone got in your way you could without the slightest effort have them eliminated, plant evidence that they were traitors to the Reich and have them either executed or deported to a concentration camp.


    “And then, when the Abwehr was implicated in a failed plot to depose Hitler—a plot you were a part of—you were the first to dispose of your comrades to save yourself!”


    Necker laughed. “This is all wishful thinking. Unless you can substantiate your claims, your accusations would be inadmissible in court”


    “These are copies of documents retrieved from the archive ‘recommending the removal of dangerous individuals’ with your signature on it.” Johann placed the documents on the table.


    “What proof do you have that these archives are legitimate? I can easily claim that these are forgeries.”


    “Then you won’t mind if we take this to court then?”


    Necker glowered at Johan, sighed, and replied weakly, “If you know all of this, then why are we talking? Why remind me of all my crimes?”


    Johann turned off the recorder, “I wanted to know why you did it.”


    Necker grinned and began to laugh, “You came all this way to ask that?” Necker placed an elbow on the table and rested his head on his palm, “all that for such an insignificant thing.” Necker straightened himself and cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you why. Because I can. Because in a world where you could die the next day the only person you should look out for is yourself. Do you think it mattered which side you chose? The victory of any side only meant the suffering of the other. The Allies have won but what happened? Did we enter an age of prosperity? Germany was divided and we were, no, the world, was dragged into yet another war. When the only currency of the world is power it pays to trade with both sides and people like me will always exist. Should I be ashamed? Of course I should—but what’s the point? In the end, I could have made it had I only been more careful.” Necker sighed then fell silent.


    Johan returned the documents and the recorder into the briefcase. He clasped his hands together and rested his head on his hands, “but that’s not everything is it?” Johann raised his head to look at Necker and his face softened. “In your last deception, you weren’t just trying to save yourself. You were also trying to save someone else.”


    Necker closed his eyes, “yes, yes I was.”


    “Are you familiar with the name Otto Necker?”


    There was a pause then Necker replied, “Yes.”


    “Who was he?”


    Necker’s voice cracked when he replied, “he was my son.”


    “How was he implicated in your deception?”


    “He was an army officer.” Tears welled up in Necker’s eyes. “He came to me one day and told me, ‘Papa, I heard you were working for the British. I would like to help.’”


    Johann nodded slowly and said, “Did you involve him in the Berlin ring?”


    “No, heavens no!” Necker was restive and fidgeted in his seat, “I denied him. I told him it was too dangerous.”


    “But he insisted.”


    Necker nodded.


    “What happened?”


    “He participated in secret. But I knew what he was doing. I thought that if I was careful enough, I could protect him.”


    “I see. But you were not the only one who knew this. Jodl knew this too.”


    Necker nodded.


    “So, when Jodl was set to expose your son and the other traitors, you had him and the rest of your enemies killed and the records burned.”


    Necker nodded.


    “Why did you do it?”


    Necker was bleary-eyed, and as he spoke his voice cracked, “He was my son.”


    “But you weren’t successful. Word had gotten out that your son was a traitor, and he was executed before your very eyes.”


    Necker sighed and looked at Johann. “Any man would gladly watch the world burn so long as he can stay on top of it. But the cost of it?” He paused and looked out of the window as if trying to pierce the darkness before turning to look at Johann. “That is something we hardly understand.”


    Johann closed his eyes and bent his head. A moment passed before he sighed and looked straight into Necker’s eyes. “What you’ve done is unpardonable. You must answer for your crimes.”


    Necker replied slowly, “What would you have me do?”


    Johann reached into his briefcase for a file and placed it on the table “I want you to do the right thing. If you won’t,” he sighed, “then it will be the courts you have to answer to.”


    “What is this?” Necker said


    “Photographs.”


    Necker opened the file and saw tables and strings of numbers.


    “My employers want you to deliver this…” Johann considered, “…gift across the wall. You are in a special position to make use of this item given your authorizations. Your dropoff will be an apartment building in L— with a green number marking the door. Knock twice, wait, then knock thrice. The porter will take your coat, your briefcase, and the folder with it. I do not need to remind you to stay alert.”


    Saying so, he got up and started to leave.


    Before he could go, Necker threw him a question, “Why are you doing this? Why does it matter to you?”


    Johann turned around looked at the ground then smiled before answering, “I owe it to a friend,” then left Necker in the gloom.


    <hr>


    Johann got off at the next station. There, he was accosted by a burly man in a heavy coat. He smiled, shook the man’s hand, and together walked out of the station. The morning air was crisp but foggy. They were walking for a while when they stopped at a junction where the light of a streetlamp, not yet extinguished, cast an eerie glow over the empty streets. The man in the heavy coat raised a question in perfect English, “If you’re meeting with me then you’ve met our mutual friend. What did he have to say?”


    Johann stared into the fog and replied in kind, “He admitted to everything.”


    “Marvellous, marvellous!” The man’s laugh was loud and echoed through the empty streets. He replied switching to German, “The piper pays his due, and justice is served at last. What of our mutual friend? What did you do to him?”


    “I left him with a choice.” Johann smiled.


    The burly man raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you worried he will escape?”


    “I’ve already provided for that,” Johann replied, “our minders on the train are to monitor his movements over the next few days and alert us should he push through with his plan. Should he attempt anything untoward he is to be arrested. But I don’t doubt,” he paused, “I don’t doubt he will do the right thing.”


    “What makes you think that?”


    “He’s cornered and lost everything that has meaning to him. The option that I gave him is by far the most merciful choice. I don’t doubt he will do the right thing.”


    “It is as you say,” the man smiled. A moment passed as the man tossed something about in his head. Finally, he turned to Johann, “Are you returning to Germany?”


    Johann considered, “Yes. I think I will. There is nothing for me elsewhere and Germany is my home.”


    The man clapped a hand on Johann’s shoulder, “Johann, friend. Your work hunting down Wilhelm deserves praise. Will you be willing to work with us again? The world has entered another phase of strife and we need all the help we can get.”


    Johann considered for a moment then looked at his benefactor. He judged his warmth then considered the golden replacement inside the crooked mouth. He turned away and thought that they were all, perhaps, not that different. He shook his head and replied, “I must apologize but I decline.”


    The man straightened himself “Well, that is too bad. May I ask why?”


    Johann stared into the fog and paused briefly before opening his mouth to speak, “I have had enough of war,” he smiled, “I am content to let others fight it.”


    “That is too bad. Too bad indeed.”


    They bid their farewells under the lamplight before the two parted at the juncture. Johann pondered as he was walking away what right he had to escape given that he had just denied another man his own. Then, thinking it futile, threw caution to the wind and disappeared into the fog. Behind him, the lantern flickered out as the sun greeted the day.