philip_k_dick_-_the_man_in_the_high_castle

Possibly this fellow will get away, and it will cost you your job. Consul Hugo Reiss thought. My
job, your job — we both could find ourselves out on the street any time. No more security for you
than for me.
In fact, he thought, it might be worth seeing how a little foot-dragging here and there could
possibly stall your activities, Herr Polizeifuhrer. Something negative that could never be pinned
down. For instance, when the Japanese come in here to complain, I might manage to drop a hint as
to the Lufthansa flight on which this fellow is to be dragged away . . . or barring that, needle them
into a bit more outrage by, say, just the trace of a contemptuous smirk — suggesting that the Reich
is amused by them, doesn't take little yellow men seriously. It's easy to sting them. And if they get
angry enough, they might carry it directly to Goebbels.
All sorts of possibilities. The SD can't really get this fellow out of the PSA without my active
cooperation. If I can only hit on precisely the right twist . . .
I hate people who go over my head, Freiherr Reiss said to himself. It makes me too damn
uncomfortable. It makes me so nervous that I can't sleep, and when I can't sleep I can't do my job.
So lowe it to Germany to correct this problem. I'd be a lot more comfortable at night and in the
daytime, too, for that matter, if this low-class Bavarian thug were back home writing up reports in
some obscure Gau police station.
The trouble is, there's not the time. While I'm trying to decide how to —
The phone rang.
This time Kreuz vom Meere reached out to take it and Consul Reiss did not bar the way. 'Hello,'
Kreuz vom Meere said into the receiver. A moment of silence as he listened.
Already? Reiss thought.
But the SD chief was holding out the phone. 'For you.'
Secretly relaxing with relief, Reiss took the phone.
'It's some schoolteacher,' Kreuz vom Meere said. 'Wants to know if you can give them scenic
posters of Austria for their class.'
Toward eleven o'clock in the morning, Robert Childan shut up his store and set off, on foot, for
Mr. Paul Kasoura's business office.
Fortunately, Paul was not busy. He greeted Childan politely and offered him tea.
'I will not bother you long,' Childan said after they had both begun sipping. Paul's office,
although small, was mod. em and simply furnished. On the wall one single superb print: Mokkei's
Tiger, a late-thirteenth-century masterpiece.
'I'm always happy to see you, Robert,' Paul said, in a tone that held — Childan thought —
perhaps a trace of aloofness.
Or perhaps it was his imagination. Childan glanced cautiously over his teacup. The man certainly
looked friendly. And yet — Childan sensed a change.
'Your wife,' Childan said, 'was disappointed by my crude gift. I possibly insulted. However, with
something new and untried, as I explained to you when I grafted it to you, no proper or final
evaluation can be made — at least not by someone in the purely business end. Certainly, you and
Betty are in a better position to judge than I.'
Paul said, 'She was not disappointed, Robert. I did not give the piece of jewelry to her.' Reaching
into his desk, he brought out the small white box. 'It has not left this office.'
He knows, Childan thought. Smart man. Never even told her. So that's that. Now, Childan
realized; let's hope he's not going to rave at me. Some kind of accusation about my trying to seduce
his wife.