The Rhinemann Exchange by Robert Ludlum

profuse; a rash had formed in the cleft below his lips, aggravated by the daily necessity to shave and the continuous pressure.
    His whole face was stinging, his embarrassment compounded by Franz Altmüller’s final words:
    “Really, Wilhelm, you should see a doctor. It’s most unattractive.”
    With that objective solicitousness, Altmüller had gotten up from the table and walked out the door. Slowly, deliberately, his briefcase—the briefcase containing the reports—held down at arm’s length as though it had been some diseased appendage.
    They had been alone. Altmüller had dismissed the group of scientists without acknowledging any progress whatsoever. He had not even allowed him, the Reich official of German Industry, to thank them for their contributions. Altmüller knew that these were the finest scientific minds in Germany, but he had no understanding of how to handle them. They were sensitive, they were volatile in their own quiet way; they needed praise constantly. He had no patience for tact.
    And there
had
been progress.
    The Krupp laboratories were convinced that the answer lay in the graphite experiments. Essen had worked around the clock for nearly a month, its managers undergoing one sleepless night after another. They had actually
producedcarbon particles
in sealed iron tubes and were convinced these carbons held all the properties required for precision tooling. It was merely a question of time; time to create larger particles, sufficient for tolerance placement within existing machinery.
    Franz Altmüller had listened to the Krupp team without the slightest indication of enthusiasm, although enthusiasm certainly had been called for under the circumstances. Instead, when the Krupp spokesman had finished his summary, Altmüller had asked one question. Asked it with the most bored expression imaginable!
    “Have these … particles been subjected to the pressure of operational tooling?”
    Of course they hadn’t! How could they have been? They
had
been subjected to artificial, substitute pressures; it was all that was possible at the moment.
    That answer had been unacceptable; Altmüller dismissed the most scientifically creative minds in the Reich without a single sentence of appreciation, only ill-disguised hostility.
    “Gentlemen, you’ve brought me words. We don’t need words, we need diamonds. We need them, we
must have
them within weeks. Two months at the outside. I suggest you return to your laboratories and consider our problem once again. Good day, gentlemen.”
    Altmüller was impossible!
    After the scientists had left, Altmüller had become even more abrasive.
    “Wilhelm,” he had said with a voice bordering on contempt, “was
this
the nonmilitary solution of which you spoke to the minister of armaments?”
    Why hadn’t he used Speer’s name? Was it necessary to threaten with the use of titles?
    “Of course. Certainly more realistic than that insane march into the Congo. The mines at the Bushimaie River! Madness!”
    “The comparison is odious. I overestimated you; I gave you more credit than you deserve. You understand, of course, that you failed.” It was not a question.
    “I disagree. The results aren’t in yet. You can’t make such a judgment.”
    “I can and I have!” Altmüller had slammed the flat of his hand against the tabletop; a crack of soft flesh against hard wood. An intolerable insult. “We have no time! Wecan’t waste weeks while your laboratory misfits play with their bunsen burners, creating little stones that could fall apart at the first contact with steel! We need the
product!
”
    “You’ll have it!” The surface of Zangen’s chin became an oily mixture of sweat and stubble. “The finest minds in all Germany are …”
    “Are
experimenting.
” Altmüller had interrupted quietly, with scornful emphasis. “Get us the
product.
That’s my order to you. Our powerful companies have long histories that go back many years. Certainly one of them can