Brauhaus Biederbeck, Breslau, Saturday, 30 December 1944
Ignatz Griebel was not a happy man; the former commodities broker, now a member of the Reichstag, sat peering into his beer and pondering his future. Griebel had the great fortune to be the sole member of the Deutsche Bauernpartei to have attained a seat in the current session - which rendered him a lone voice in such a large body. That was one reason for his unhappiness; the fact that no member of the Government, nor any members of the Reichstag sitting for any of the larger parties, paid him the smallest heed was another. "What is the sense of representing a constituency when no one knows you exist?" he would ask himself.
Of course, he had the chance to listen to the debates in the Reichstag - he even could speak when he could command attention - but no one bothered to listen to what he said. The small farmers - the people who had elected him - found their immediate needs satisfied by the smart men working for the Government and he doubted that he would be re-elected. "Feed the sheep and they will follow any shepherd," he complained inwardly.
"Ignatz?" said a voice, "Is that you old man?"
Griebel looked up and saw a familiar face. "Wilhelm Lonkowski!" he said in surprise. "I haven't seen you in ages!"
"Not since I pulled you out of that bunker in Flanders back in 1917," replied Lonkowski, sitting down.
Griebel nodded. Back in the Great War Lonkowski had saved his life. "Waiter, two beers please!" he cried. "It has been a long time..."
Lonkowski launched into a well-rehearsed story. Across the room "Adam Bremmer", better known as Walter Schellenburg, watched his agent. The Poles were looking for someone who might be able to give them information about the intentions of the German Government - what better than an unhappy and possibly disaffected Reichstag deputy? It would take some careful playing but Schellenburg thought that eventually they would hook the fish they sought.
Grande Terre, The Kerguelen Islands, Sunday, 31 December 1944