Hoffner placed the card in his coat pocket. "Well then, you hear
anything else, you let me know. Just between the two of usHerr Oberwachtmeister."
The man's eyes flashed momentarily. "Absolutely, Herr Kriminal-
Oberkommissar." And with a sudden Teutonic precision, Bauer returned
to the gate, pulled up the barrier, and motioned Hoffner
through. Not wanting to spoil the man's performance, Hoffner took
the car in without the slightest idea where he was going.
As it turned out, every road seemed to lead to the Grosse
Halle. Hoffner followed the signs past a series of bungalows and out
into an open area where a stone wall with turrets rose in the distance.
At its side, a dragon's head peeked out from behind a bush. For anyone
who had stepped inside a movie palace in the last two years, this
would have been exhilarating: images meant to be seen only in flickering
light now made real, if perhaps less epic. Hoffner's son Georgi had
explained it all to him, angles and lenses and lighting, but what was
the point in knowing when it reduced it to this? Even so, Hoffner
barely noticed them as he turned down a narrow lane, past a row of
flat, soulless buildings and up toward the Great Studio.
A Man Called Intrepid author dies aged 89(Dec 03 2013) William Stevenson, a journalist and author who drew on his close ties with intelligence sources to write two best-selling books in the 1970s, A Man Called...