The Second Son: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

know what it’s like with these people. The SS likes its papers in triplicate. I’ve no choice.” Präger lapped at the last bit of booze in his glass and then placed it back in the drawer. “You’ll stay in Berlin, of course. Can’t imagine you anywhere else.”
    “I hear there’s some nice farmland outside Braunschweig.”
    “My relatives know how to use an ax, Nikolai. I’ll tell them you’re coming.”
    “It’s been guns and rifles for a while, now.”
    “Has it?”
    Präger sat back. In twenty years peering across a desk at the man, Hoffner had never seen him strike so casual a pose.
    “You and I are too old to be concerned with any of this,” Präger said. “Take your pension, join a bird or card club, learn how to make a few friends, and wait to die. I think even you can manage that.”
    Hoffner pushed his glass across the desk for a refill. “But not outside Braunschweig.”
    Reluctantly, Präger opened the drawer and pulled out the bottle. “It’s the walking dead in Braunschweig, Nikolai,” he said, as he poured Hoffner a half-glass and returned the bottle to the drawer. “How would you learn to make a friend?”
    Hoffner smiled and then drank. “I’ve managed this long.” He set the glass down and stood.
    “You should take in some of the games,” said Präger, retrieving the glass and filing it. “You like sport.”
    “I prefer my chest-thumping in private.”
    “Then you won’t be disappointed.” Präger closed the drawer. “It’s no uniforms at the stadium. The memo just came down. Supposedly they had a rough go of it last winter for the skiing. All those foreigners outside Munich thinking they were in a police state. Imagine that? Even the SS will be in mufti.”
    Hoffner took a momentary pleasure in picturing the discomfort that would cause. “So how much of it are they having you attend?”
    “It’s not all that bad,” said Präger. “The opening thing tomorrow and then some of the running events. I’m in a box next to Nebe, who’s in a box next to Heydrich. And next week I’ve been invited to give an address to a contingent of Dutch, French, and American policemen. ‘The City and the Law.’ Very exciting.”
    “I’ll be sorry to miss it.”
    “Yes, I’m sure you will. I’ll pass on your regrets to the Obergruppenführer.”
    At the door, Hoffner fought back the urge at sentimentality. Even so he heard himself say, “Be well, Edmund.”
    The gesture caught Präger by surprise. He nodded uncomfortably, pulled a file from his stack, and began to read. For some reason, Hoffner nodded as well before heading off.
    *   *   *
     
    His office was unbearably neat. There were scuff marks along the walls where books and jars and shelves—now gone—had rested for too many years without the least disturbance. The bare desktop was an odd assortment of stained coffee rings and divots, the grain of the wood showing a neat progression from healthy brown—where the blotter had sat—to a tarlike black at the edges: it made Hoffner wonder what his lungs might be looking like. And along the floor, imprints from file books—either thrown away or shipped off to central archives—created a jigsawlike collection of misaligned rectangles. Someone would have a nice job of scrubbing those away.
    There was nothing else except for a single empty crate that sat in the corner under the coatrack. It had the word “desk” scrawled on it in black ink.
    Hoffner stepped over, tossed his hat onto the rack, and set the crate on his chair. He had left the drawers for last. He imagined there was some reason for it, but why bother plumbing any of that now. He pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the desk. Tipping over the middle drawer onto the desktop—a few dozen business cards, along with a string of pencils, spilled out to the edges—he then did the same with the side drawers, the last of them leaving several pads of paper on top. He placed the cards, pencils, and pads inside