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Updated: May 1, 2025
The man was too far gone in drink to be crafty, too sure of his absolute power of life and death to imagine a need for craft. Since his hand had not immediately sought the holster, it would not. Turbid accents uttered the name of Dr. Rodiek. Lanyard stepped forward alertly. "Yes, Herr Captain?"
As the U-boat, with motors dead and way lessening, glided up alongside the head of that T-shaped landing stage and was made fast, the wireless operator popped up from below, saluted the commander, and delivered a written message. Lanyard, instinctively aware that this was the expected report from Seventy-ninth Street on Dr. Paul Rodiek, quietly pulled himself together and took quick observations.
What is your name?" "Dr. Paul Rodiek." "Your employment?" "Personal Intelligence Bureau confidential agent." "What were you doing on board the Assyrian?" Lanyard mustered enough strength to look the man squarely in the eye. "Pardon," he said coldly. "You must know your question is indiscreet." "I must know more about you."
The imbeciles, saluting mechanically, indicated glimmerings of comprehension. "Then below you go, Dr. Rodiek. And don't get impatient: I will rejoin you as soon as possible." "Don't be long," Lanyard implored. As he lowered himself through the hatch he saw the Prussian stumble down the gangplank and reel shoreward.
Paul Rodiek, Wilhelmstrasse Agent Number 27, he was safe as long as he found no acquaintance of that gentleman in the complement of the submarine; for, largely upon information furnished by Lanyard himself, Dr. Rodiek had been secretly apprehended and executed in the Tower the day before Lanyard left London to join the Assyrian.
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