Traitor's Gate Read Online Free PDF

screams. Unlike most of his colleagues, Klaus did not enjoy the physical aspects of interrogation. Despite his size, he was not particularly strong, and he was known more for his clumsiness than usefulness with his fists. That was Dressel’s talent.
    When he had first joined the Gestapo Klaus had avoided interrogations and focused on the organization and collation of information, something at which he excelled. For this he had been appreciated, not least by Reinhard Heydrich, the head of the Gestapo, who understood that the organization’s effectiveness relied on its ability to gather information about any and all of its citizens, not its skills in beating them senseless.
    But it was impossible to steer clear of the interrogations altogether, and, much to his surprise, Klaus found that he was quite effective at conducting them. Not only that, but he enjoyed them. It wasn’t the blood and the screaming and the broken bones that pleased him, although he was getting used to that, it was the feeling of power. To see someone who had been in a position of authority – a university professor, a civil servant, a policeman, a priest – sitting before him steady and dignified, to assess him, to identify his weak spot, to press hard on that weak spot until the man was cowering in front of him, debasing himself in any way he could think of to make Klaus like him, gave Klaus a thrill that was almost sexual.
    Mühlendorf should not be difficult. They had a fair amount of information on him, from the Gestapo inform­ers in the embassy in Moscow, from sources in Berlin and also from Department II-H, which dealt with homosexual affairs. Meisin­ger, the Kriminalrat in charge of the department, had given Klaus some useful information. These pansies were usually easy to break. Often they were accomplished gossips who knew a lot and were eager to impart that knowledge to avoid a concentration camp. Klaus could see no reason why Mühlendorf should be any different. Which was why he had brought him in.
    The noises in the interview room had ceased and Klaus walked in. Joachim was lying on the floor, groaning. A strong light from the desk illuminated him. His face was pale and there was blood on his cheek, but from that angle Klaus could not see how much damage had been done to him. Klaus glanced at Dressel, who had been assisted by two muscular black-uniformed sadists. Dressel shook his head; the prisoner had not yet said anything of interest. Klaus and Dressel had a good working relationship. Dressel enjoyed beating the shit out of prisoners, but never went too far. He knew of Klaus’s squeamishness, but he was careful not to comment on it: he was intelligent enough to realize that Klaus was rising fast in the Gestapo hierarchy.
    Klaus seated himself at the desk. ‘Get up, please, Herr Mühlen­dorf,’ he said quietly.
    The man on the ground groaned and hauled himself up on one elbow to stare at Klaus. He blinked; the light was too bright for him to see his interrogator properly. The two uniformed thugs lifted him to his feet and pushed him backwards on to the chair. He screamed as his backside touched the seat, and tried to stand, but the guards forced him down again. Unseen by the guards, Klaus winced. Why was it that when dealing with homosexuals these men could not leave their prisoners’ arses alone?
    ‘You may stand if it is more comfortable,’ Klaus said.
    The prisoner stood up. They had stripped off his tailcoat, but his white bow tie still hung loose around his neck: one half of it now soaked a deep red. His face was a mess. Nose broken, blood streaming down his upper lip, which was split, and a front tooth missing. It almost made Klaus sick to look at him.
    Klaus glanced down at the Department II-H file in front of him.
    ‘Now, Mühlendorf, on the fifteenth of March 1936 do you remember meeting a man known as Bayern Seppl in the Viktoria­­park at about ten-fifteen at night?’
    ‘That’s a long time ago,’ the prisoner