The Lady from Zagreb (Bernard Gunther, #10)

by Philip Kerr

I got all of this information from the program I bought in the Eden’s tiny foyer before the film

that

“No really, I am. I’ve got you

Berber was wont to piss on the

Schellenberg

War

thing

details. Address, telephone number, everything. When shall I tell her that you’re coming?” I shrugged and glanced at my watch. “This afternoon? I don’t know. Is there an S-Bahn station near there? I don’t know Potsdam all that well.” “Neu-Babelsberg,” said Goebbels. “I believe it’s quite a hike from the station. But you could go now and be there before lunch if you were to borrow my car.” “Sure.” He tossed me a set of keys. “One thing about the car,” he added, as if he already regretted letting me borrow it. “The supercharger whines a bit on start-up. And you have to let the oil heat up before you let out the clutch.” I walked toward the door. “I’m trusting you with the two things I love most in this life. My car. And my leading lady. I hope that’s clear enough.” “Crystal clear, Herr Doctor. Crystal clear.”

very shapely contents. “I

I