tuition money from the father I was deceiving. There was then a stir among the crowd. His Highness Friedrich Wilhelm, King of Prussia, walked into the church.” Nostalgia brought a smile to Stieber’s face. “His presence inspired me. My words rolled through the arches like thunder: ‘Divine forgiveness will not be accorded you on the flaming day of the Last Judgment-unless you bow to the earth in penitence!’”
Had his character been as holy as his preaching was dramatic, he might have made as good a vicar as Papa.
“The King was impressed,” Stieber said. “As he left the church, he gave me a most gracious bow. I experienced the glory of approval from on high. From that moment, I desired to experience it again.”
That desire was what drove Stieber, I realized. It was more seductive than the wish to achieve power, wealth, and fame for himself. I began to understand why he’d made service to the high and mighty his calling.
“But I was not so free of conscience then as now,” Stieber said. “I felt guilty for deceiving my father, so that night I confessed. My father was furious. He drove me out of his house and refused to pay for my studies. I then had to earn my own tuition and living. This I did by working as a secretary to the Berlin police department. I met police inspectors, who took me along when they investigated crimes and arrested criminals. I found much more satisfaction in that than in the courtroom, even after I was appointed a junior barrister. I instead became a police inspector in the criminal division.
“I solved a murder that the police had been investigating unsuccessfully for eighteen months. I also traced a band of robbers who’d been hiding in the woods, after the army had searched in vain. I heard them snoring in a cave.” Pride radiated from Stieber even as he smiled wryly. “Then came the Tomascheck case. A tailor named Franz Tomascheck had insured his life for one hundred thousand talers. When he died a year later, the insurance company paid the money to his widow, who left Berlin for parts unknown. I arrested a Hungarian swindler who said he’d recently met Tomascheck in Bohemia. Acting on this evidence that Tomascheck was alive, I had his grave opened. The coffin contained only his old flatiron and a load of bricks. I then traveled incognito to Bohemia, where I found Tomascheck living with his wife. I also found the physician they’d paid to sign a fraudulent death certificate. I arrested them all.”
Stieber fell silent. We watched the landscape passing below us. A miniature waterwheel paddled in a creek as narrow as a ribbon. Tiny men fished in the stream. As Stieber contemplated them, I sensed his thoughts: he was fancying himself as God, from whom no human sins could remain secret, who could dispense justice as he saw fit.
“Not long afterward, a privy councilor in the Ministry of the Interior asked me to come and see him,” Stieber said. “He told me that the authorities in Silesia had uncovered a conspiracy to overthrow the government. He ordered me to conduct a secret investigation. I traveled to Silesia in disguise. Upon arriving I contacted a man named Hermann, who’d supplied the tip about the conspiracy. Hermann said the conspirators planned to seize property from the rich and distribute it to the poor. I discovered their identities and arrested them. They were charged with treason and sentenced to prison. The case caused a scandal. Politicians excoriated me for illegal ‘secret police’ work. But I was just following orders. I didn’t reveal who gave them because I’d been sworn to secrecy.”
In addition to his desire to please his superiors, he had such a strong sense of loyalty that he would rather bear the brunt of public censure than betray them. His loyalty transcended the law and the fact that they were mere mortals with human failings. Slade and I were amazed that such an evil man was motivated by such a noble trait.
“In 1848, I was drawn into the turmoil of the revolutions that plagued Europe,” Stieber continued. “The King had made himself unpopular by dissolving a new constitutional convention formed by his people. He rode through the city alone, hoping that his boldness would prevent a rebellion. Instead, he was assailed by a violent mob. I happened to be there. I single-handedly cleared a path for him and pulled him to safety inside the palace gates.”
Stieber clearly relished his heroism. “The King fainted. I carried him into the palace, where I was surprised to discover that he was an actor impersonating the King. The real King thanked me for my brave service. He actually took my hands in his and squeezed them,” Stieber marveled. “And he recognized me from my sermon that he’d heard. I informed him that I was now a police inspector and secret agent. I took the opportunity to tell him about my accomplishments. He rewarded me with a promotion to chief of the Berlin police force. It was the proudest day of my life.”
I suspected that the King’s esteem had compensated Stieber for his father’s disapproval, but not entirely. Perhaps Stieber had never recovered from being cast off by his father, and he continued to seek approval from his superiors out of a need to heal the wound that would never heal. That need was the vulnerable human core in Stieber.
“I investigated and thwarted many conspiracies against the King’s regime,” Stieber said. “Word of my expertise spread. Other heads of state applied for my assistance in unmasking members of secret societies in their kingdoms. One of them was the Tsar.”
“That explains how a Prussian agent became the Tsar’s chief spy,” Slade said. “I was wondering. But how do you justify working for the Tsar? Doesn’t that interfere with your loyalty to your King?”
“Not at all,” Stieber said. “The King loaned me to the Tsar in exchange for certain favors.”
“Favors such as military support from Russia, I suppose,” Slade said. “But how can you serve the King while you’re chasing Dr. Kavanagh and his weapon for the Tsar? Aren’t you spreading yourself a bit thin?”
“I am killing two birds with one stone. The King ordered me to travel to England to track down the Communist League, a revolutionary society that has established its headquarters in London. I infiltrated it and befriended its leader. He suffers from painful hemorrhoids. I posed as a physician and obtained a remedy for him. When I brought it to his house, I stole the register of the Communist League. The members will soon be arrested.” Stieber added, “In case you are interested, the leader’s name is Karl Marx.”
Slade said with incredulity and contempt, “How can you do it? Have you no sympathy for the people that your masters oppress?”
“I have much sympathy,” Stieber said. “I believe that the soil that nourishes their grievances is poverty, and eliminating poverty is the only truly effective weapon against subversion. Poverty can only be eliminated by providing better education, better pay, and a better standard of living for workers. But I disapprove of secret plots and attempts to overthrow governments. Changes in society must be implemented within the framework of law and order, rather than by rebellion and violence.”
His views were more liberal and humane than I’d assumed, but I could not approve of his actions, and neither could Slade.
“That’s a pretty speech,” Slade said, “but instead of acting on your beliefs, you abdicated your personal responsibility.”
“I have stated my ideas to the Prussian court, and it has made me many enemies there.”
“According to you, you have access to European heads of state. You could have influenced them and worked to eliminate poverty. Instead, you became a running dog for corrupt dictatorships.”
Anger rekindled in Stieber’s eyes. “I’m no different from you. You’ve done things that you think are wrong, because you followed orders. There must be as much blood on your hands as mine. Your conscience can’t be any more free of guilt.”
Slade gazed straight ahead at the clouds in the distant sky, his jaw tight. I knew that Stieber’s words had stung him because there was truth in them. But he said, “I’m not like you. I’ll prove it by making a proposition that you never would: Let’s put our loyalty to our superiors aside and join forces to put Niall Kavanagh out of commission and protect the world.”
Stieber didn’t hesitate for an instant before saying, “I cannot do that.”
Slade looked at me, smiled ruefully, and shrugged; he hadn’t expected Stieber to agree, but he’d thought the deal worth a try. Now he and Stieber were at an impasse. They could never reconcile their different ideas of duty and honor.
During the next few hours, the novelty of flying wore off, and I grew tired of standing in the basket and sitting on its hard floor. I was exhausted due to the terrible toll that the past few harrowing days had taken from me. The constant noise from the engine frayed my nerves; the sun burned my skin and made my eyes ache. Using the pail was an embarrassing necessity. Friedrich and Wagner remained immobilized by fear. Slade and Stieber spoke no more while they helped Dr. Kavanagh operate the airship, but their mutual hostility was palpable. Learning that they
