He wore a black uniform with silver lightning bolts on the collar. That alone was enough to make even hardened officers stiffen when he entered a room. Hauptsturmführer Walter Kranz, a specialist in identifying enemy agents, had arrived with a specific assignment.
He was to find the mole who had been leaking strategic information from headquarters. Anna first heard of his arrival from the general’s talkative aide. The man mentioned it casually, but Anna noticed the strain in his voice.
If officers like him were afraid of Kranz, there was good reason. Anna saw Kranz for the first time that same day at a staff meeting. He sat silently in the darkest corner of the room, taking no part in the discussion.
He simply watched. He had a pale narrow face, thin bloodless lips, and eyes the color of river ice. Those eyes moved slowly from face to face.
It was as if he already knew who was guilty and was simply choosing the right moment to move. When his gaze rested on Anna for several seconds, she felt a coldness in her stomach. Not panic exactly. More like the feeling of a door opening onto winter.
She forced herself not to look away, not to fidget, not to change the polite expression on her face. She told herself she was nothing more than a translator and had no reason to fear him. Kranz looked at her for three long seconds, then moved on.
After the meeting, Dmitry found a way to get a note to her. It contained only two words: “Be careful.” She was always careful. But now she understood that might not be enough.
Over the next several days, Kranz conducted relentless interrogations. He called in everyone with any access to documents and questioned them for hours. Officers came out pale, sweating, hands unsteady.
Two supply clerks were arrested on the spot, though it later turned out they had only been skimming food from the officers’ mess. Anna was called in on the fourth day.
The office Kranz had taken over was small, with one narrow window looking into the courtyard. On the desk sat a single thick file. Kranz sat behind it, hands folded, and watched her with the same cold stare.
He told her to sit. His first questions were routine. Name. Background. How had she come to this city? Where had she worked before?
Anna answered calmly, sticking to her cover story. She spoke about life in Vitebsk, about her father the teacher, about fleeing the Bolsheviks. Kranz listened without interrupting, making occasional notes.
Then he asked, “You work with General von Riedel fairly often, don’t you?” Anna answered evenly. “Yes, sir. He frequently requests my help with translation.”
Kranz nodded. “And what do you think of him as a man?” It was an odd question for a security interview. Anna paused just long enough to make it seem thoughtful.
Then she said, “He is a capable officer. Demanding, but fair.” Kranz gave a faint smile.
It was not a pleasant smile. It was the kind that suggested he knew something she didn’t. “Did you know,” he said softly, “that General von Riedel spent part of his childhood in your country? His mother was a local émigré.”
Anna shook her head. “No, sir. I don’t concern myself with the private lives of senior officers.” Kranz nodded again.
“A sensible habit. Still, sometimes it helps to know who you’re working with.” He kept her there another half hour.
When she finally left, Anna had the distinct feeling she had just crossed a minefield blindfolded. Formally, nothing in the interview had been unusual. But that question about Dmitry would not leave her alone.
Why ask about him specifically? That night she told Dmitry about the conversation. They met in his office under the legitimate pretext of translating new documents.
Dmitry listened in silence. Then he said, “Kranz is dangerous. He knows the leak is coming from this headquarters.”
“Now he’s looking for the channel—how the information is getting out.” Anna asked, “Do you think he suspects you?”
