Victor quickly flipped through files of the last black cabinet on the row in the document room. Everyone had gone home for the evening; even Von Krammel, his immediate supervisor, had left over a half-hour ago. As a top priority assignment from England, he had to quickly find information concerning the German U-boat "wolf packs" that were wrecking havoc in the North Atlantic, but he hadn't had any luck finding information during his regular daytime routine. His pretense for staying was that he wanted to catch up on a little writing for his upcoming broadcasts. Although no one really liked him - he didn't let them - they all respected his work ethic and belief in their cause, as far as they believed he had. He hated pretending to side with Hitler, but stealing crucial military information right from under their noses made up for it a little. At least what he was doing was directly imperative for the Allied cause.

 

The U-boat procedure documents were just within reach when he was suddenly interrupted by a small detail of men.

 

Victor stopped what he was doing and just looked at the man. He knew this man was from the Gestapo, but he wouldn't allow his fear to show. That would only incriminate himself for certain.

 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if we asked you a few questions?” the man continued, while inspecting the small room Victor was working in.

 

“Of course not,” Victor replied.

 

The man nodded and motioned with his hand. Two black-uniformed SS soldiers came forward and stood next to Victor. Victor pushed the cabinet drawer in and went with them.

He decided it would not help to protest. At this point, they could just be trying to scare him. They were generally suspicious of foreigners.

 

Once they got out of the ministry of propaganda building, the SS soldiers forced him to sit between them in the back seat of a black sedan, which was waiting for them.

They drove in silence to the Gestapo’s headquarters. The night was dark and the street lights reflected eerily off the pavement that was wet from a recent rain.

 

Upon arriving, they ushered him into a small interrogation room that had only a single chair and lamp.

 

“Please take a seat,” the man said.

 

The soldiers threw him onto it, violently.

 

“This shouldn’t take long,” the man continued. “Have you, or have you not been leaking highly confidential information to the enemies of the Third Reich?”

 

“I have not,” Victor answered, warily.

 

“Herr Arnold,” the man seemed annoyed, “I would consider my words carefully if I were you. We don’t enjoy it when we are lied to.

If you are innocent, then why, for instance, are you consistently observed to be meeting with known enemy agents after long days at the office?”

 

~~~

 

After a few days of constant torture, Victor accidentally revealed his real name to the Nazi colonel that was leading the interrogation.

With this vital information, they all realized his importance to the Allies, and how he must have been assigned.

 

“Victor Comstock?” wondered an SS lieutenant, who was assisting in the interrogation, “The American broadcaster who was killed in London?”

 

“Yes,” answered the colonel. “Only now, he doesn’t seem quite so dead. He’s based out of Pennsylvania, I think.” He looked thoughtful.

 

“So why don’t we kill him right now?” the lieutenant said, pulling his pistol out of its holster and putting it to Victor’s head.

“So the reports will finally be true.” His eyes flashed with hate.

 

Victor closed his eyes as he felt the cold steel against his temple. He thought of Betty and prayed for her consolation at his second demise.

 

“No, Leutnant, put that away,” the colonel said. “We might be able to use him.”

 

Victor, vaguely realizing what the man meant, opened his eyes and bravely spoke, although he could barely do so, because of what he’d just been through,

“No. Won’t do it… I’d kill myself…first,” he managed to mumble.

 

The colonel struck him hard across the face. “Mr. Comstock, for you, dying is a luxury.”

He paused and then continued, “Leutnant, he’s all yours. I’ll brief you tomorrow on what I want you to do with him.”

 

“Jawohl, Herr Oberst,” the lieutenant said with a spiteful look at Victor as the colonel left. All of a sudden, the lieutenant pushed Victor off his chair onto the floor. He leaned down to him and Victor defiantly met his gaze. The lieutenant said, “You are a stupid, self-righteous American. It is too bad for you that he will not let me kill you.” He straightened up and kicked Victor savagely in the gut to get his point across. He then commanded his soldiers who were watching, “Don’t just stand there! Bring him along.” He stalked out the door and waited impatiently. He was repulsed that people such as Victor would oppose Nazism – and to the point of death! The lieutenant was insulted; the thought that non-Jews would actively oppose them! It was as if they were personally insulting the Fuhrer. He would try as hard as he could to make the American spy’s life a living hell.

 

Presently, the soldiers came out, dragging Victor between them, by his bound arms, although he was trying to move his legs to keep up.

 

The lieutenant said, “Follow me,” as he turned down the passageway.

 

A few days later, two Nazi officials were conversing in a private office.

 

“So how will it work again?” the first asked.

 

The second man replied, “We’re going to have him completely brainwashed. He’ll be trained to take the current station manager out for us. The man we have now, Mr. Pruitt, has showed incompetence and personal ambition at every turn. What is perfect about this, it that Mr. Comstock will be a hero for his spying against Germany. And when he kills Mr. Pruitt, after supposedly discovering his Nazi allegiance, he will most certainly be invited to the American capitol. And with his military clearance and status, he could get us any information we wanted. It would be a complete reversal of the current situation. He would be our greatest agent because he wouldn’t even know about it himself. We have it worked out that after he kills Mr. Pruitt, he won’t remember a thing until he is contacted using our secret code. Once activated, he will do whatever he is told.”

 

“This sounds most promising,” the first man said. “You must keep me informed.”

 

~~~

 

Weeks later, Victor had no memory of his capture or torture. He was taken by train, to Lorient, France, where he was discretely put on a submarine, bound for the Gulf of St. Lawrence, in Canada. It was a horribly cramped trip for Victor, who was nowhere near the optimal size for duty on a submarine. When they finally reached the St. Lawrence, they had to stay submerged until cover of night. The arranged meeting place was with a fishing boat in the open water of the Gulf. The trip was confusing and muddled for Victor, because the SS agents on board kept him drugged. It was a week-long nightmare.

 

“Vessel sighted,” a seaman called out from the lookout of the surfaced sub. The captain raised his glasses and then commanded that the signal be given.

 

Soon, the submarine was gone and Victor had been transferred onto the fishing vessel, where he was taken below deck and disguised as a fisherman.

 

It took all morning for the boat to reach Lake Ontario. They landed near Rochester, New York, around 10 am. There on the wharf, a car was waiting for Victor. They drove him to Pittsburgh, and gave him a policeman’s uniform to change into.

 

It was just about dusk when Victor walked through the busy streets in Pittsburgh. He was utterly confused. He knew somehow that he was supposed to go to the station as soon as possible and meet with his contact. Maybe after that happened everything would become clear again. Oh, how he longed to see Betty again. Hearing her voice on the phone, at the phone-booth down the street from the station, was like a breath of fresh air, but he had to be brief.

 

After climbing through the air ducts and finally dropping into the storage room he remembered more and more.

As he fingered the yellow walls, memories flooded his mind. He wandered down the hall and walked into the studio. His greatest joy was before him.