119
THE DRINKING FINALLY ENDED in the wee hours of the morning. Erich sat on the floor against the wall nursing a bottle of beer.
“I said I was sorry,” Thomas said.
“We had her,” von der Haas said. “We had her right there. She was about to take me down to see the portrait in Hitler’s private office. I was in. And then you had to spill a drink all over her dress and bolt out of the room.”
“I had no choice. I didn’t even know Müller was in the bunker until I saw him.” Bauer sighed. “Sorry, pal. Sorry I screwed things up.”
“If I were you, I’d have done the same thing. Except I probably would’ve killed Müller, not shot him in the foot.” Von der Haas waved him off. “But we’re screwed now. You’re lucky she didn’t have us thrown out of here.”
“I’ll make it up to her,” said Bauer. “I’ll apologize.”
“If we even see her again.” Von der Haas threw the bottle down on the ground, smashing it into pieces. “It’s over. I’m going to sleep.”
He pushed himself up and past Bauer toward the dormitory where they’d thrown their bags.
“What about our bet?” Bauer asked.