Müller headed for von Oberstein’s office while Wahlen had one of his officers drive him to Downding Street in an armored landcar, which he had halted at an intersection in the middle of the conflict. To his right were the Black Lancers; to his left, von Oberstein’s troops. Both sides bristled with firearms.
Wahlen disembarked from the car and climbed onto its gun turret. He sat down, placing his blaster on his lap, and remained there, watching both sides closely. Whenever either looked too close to doing something foolish, he sent them a sharp look that made them back down. Both sides were in such awe of his commanding presence that they did not dare fire.
While Wahlen’s iron will kept the situation in check, Müller sought an audience with von Oberstein. This was finally granted, on the condition that it take no more than ten minutes. He explained the situation to the minister and asked for his assistance in averting a crisis.
“Surely Wittenfeld’s house arrest should be lifted, at least. The Black Lancers are losing their heads out of concern for their commander. I ask that you calm them down.”
“I govern by imperial decree and force of law,” said von Oberstein. “If the Black Lancers slip their bonds, they commit treason against imperial authority. I see no need to offer them the slightest compromise or accommodation.”
“What you say is quite true, Minister, but is it not also our responsibility as the kaiser’s officials to prevent such disturbances and cooperate with each other? As Wittenfeld was indeed discourteous, I will persuade him to apologize for it. Will you not grant him an opportunity to do so?”
The man who had caused of all this trouble on Heinessen was living in peace and tranquility akin to the blue skies at the eye of a typhoon—although he showed no gratitude for this whatsoever.
“Hey,” Wittenfeld asked the guard who brought him his lunch. “Is that minister you think so highly of still alive?”
“The minister is in fine health, sir.”
“He is, huh? Funny—I spent all last night cursing him. I suppose a viper like von Oberstein must be immune.”
The guard set down Wittenfeld’s food and left, a conflicted look on his face. Wittenfeld ate everything provided to him, even drinking the coffee down to the last drop. When asked later if he had not felt at risk of being poisoned, his answer was, “Poison? After all those years working alongside von Oberstein, I’ve long since built up an immunity to it.”
Half an hour after lunch, a guest three years Wittenfeld’s junior arrived.
“Admiral Müller! Nice of you to come by. Did you bring me a nightstick or something I can use to knock out von Oberstein?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Müller said, unable to suppress a wry smile. He had not even been permitted to wear his own sidearm into the room, let alone bring a nightstick for Wittenfeld. On the other hand, it was an act of unexpected magnanimity on von Oberstein’s part that he had been allowed to visit Wittenfeld at all.
Rather than feeling gratitude, though, Müller could not help wondering about the minister’s true intentions. It crossed his mind that von Oberstein might have granted him access to Wittenfeld in order to accuse them both of some plot together. Even Müller, by this point, viewed von Oberstein as a man who would use any means he deemed necessary to achieve his objectives. There was also the danger of eavesdropping, though von Oberstein seemed unlikely to resort to a trick that cheap.
“Remember, they might be listening,” Wittenfeld said loudly. He smirked. “It’s too late for me, but you’d better watch out. Make sure they can’t frame you for anything later.”
Was he brash or just insensitive? Looking out for Müller’s interests, or doing exactly the opposite? It was difficult to tell. After he finished laughing, Wittenfeld spoke again.
“I’ll grant that von Oberstein doesn’t act out of private ambition. I’ll give him that much. The problem is that he knows he has no private ambitions, and has made that his greatest weapon. That’s what irritates me about him!”
Müller conceded that there was something in this. But dwelling on it would not improve their situation.
“Nevertheless, Admiral Wittenfeld, the fact is that you attacked the minister physically. Why not apologize for it and ask him to lift your house arrest?”
He explained the storm that was raging outside Wittenfeld’s residence, but Wittenfeld only crossed his arms and stared off to one side. When he finally spoke, stroking his chin, it seemed to be on an entirely different topic.
“The minister hopes to draw Iserlohn’s leaders to Heinessen using the lives of the political prisoners as shields. Now, Admiral Müller, this is just me thinking, but do you think those guys from Iserlohn would ever actually set foot on Heinessen alive?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m sure you understand, Admiral Müller. It isn’t that wretched Church of Terra that concerns me. It’s the possibility that the minister himself might send men disguised as them to murder the Iserlohn leadership in transit.”
“Surely not,” Müller said, though he felt an all-too-chilly wind blow through him. Nevertheless, he still felt that von Oberstein would be more likely to have the Iserlohn leadership executed for high treason in broad daylight than to resort to secret murders.
“I was not aware you were so concerned for the lives of Iserlohn’s leaders, Admiral Wittenfeld,” said Müller, somewhat jocularly.
Wittenfeld shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m not worried about them,” he said. “I just don’t want that snake von Oberstein to have his way. Besides, I won’t be satisfied until I smash Iserlohn to pieces myself.”
Wittenfeld kicked the wall with a combat-booted foot, then immediately frowned slightly. He shook his foot nonchalantly, not making a sound of complaint. Müller pretended not to see, and tried another tack.
“It isn’t that I don’t understand how you feel,” he said. “But if this quarrel between the two of you continues, it will only add to the kaiser’s troubles. His Majesty is frequently taken ill these days, and Her Majesty the Kaiserin will soon deliver her child. As their servants, are we not called to put aside private grudges?”
At the mention of Reinhard, even Wittenfeld looked ashamed. After a short, grumpy silence, the flame-haired admiral uncrossed his arms. “Fine,” he said. “I don’t want to make trouble for you, either. If I just think of it as apologizing to His Majesty, it shouldn’t be too infuriating. It’s only because we think of von Oberstein as a human being that he angers us so. Don’t you agree?”
Müller was unsure how to reply.