“Better that von Deitzberg is there than here, Herr Admiral, would be my judgment.”
“Otto?”
“And better still, Herr Admiral, if he could be—if Cranz and he—could be eliminated over there,” von und zu Waching said.
Canaris looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “By the Americans, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That would presume the Americans would be amenable to such a suggestion. Even relaying the suggestion to them would be difficult. And once that had been done, they might decline, for a number of reasons. For one, it might interfere with the status quo agreement they seem to have with the Argentines. And, for another, they would have to somehow get close enough to him to do it.”
He let that sink in a moment, then went on.
“I suggest we go upstairs and have as much of our supper as possible before von Deitzberg shows up and ruins our appetites.”
Von und zu Waching, who had long ago learned to listen to what Canaris was not saying, rather than what he was saying, realized that Canaris had accepted Gehlen’s suggestion that the best way to deal with the problems von Deitzberg and Cranz were posing was to have the Americans eliminate them in Argentina.
And I don’t think either General von Wachtstein or Oberstleutnant Gehlen understands that.
Gehlen possibly—he’s bright and an intelligence officer—but von Wachtstein has no idea what Canaris has just decided.
[FIVE]
Ten minutes later, as they were sitting over their supper listening to the news from the BBC in London over an ornate Siemens radio on a sideboard, Egon appeared at the door. This time he was far more formal than he had previously been. Standing at rigid attention, he barked:
“Heil Hitler! Herr Admiral, I regret the intrusion. SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg’s compliments, Herr Admiral. The brigadeführer asks that you receive him.”
“Show him in,” Canaris said.
“Jawohl, Herr Admiral!”
A moment later, Egon returned and again popped to attention and barked, “Herr Admiral, SS-Brigadeführer Ritter von Deitzberg!”
Von Deitzberg marched in, gave a straight-armed Nazi salute, and barked, “Heil Hitler!”
Von Wachtstein, Gehlen, and von und zu Waching returned it snappily. Canaris made a sloppy wave of his arm.
“I didn’t expect to see you, von Deitzberg, until tomorrow morning,” Canaris said, not too pleasantly. “I hope it’s important. As soon as I finish my supper, I want to go to bed.”
“I thought it would be best to have a word with you, Herr Admiral, before tomorrow morning.”
“You want something to eat?”
The invitation was not warm.
“Very kind of you, Herr Admiral. But no, thank you.”
“Well, then fix yourself a drink, have a seat, and as soon as I’m finished and the news is over, we can talk.”
About ten minutes later, torn between listening to cricket scores of teams he had never heard of, which he had no interest in whatever, and watching von Deitzberg squirm impatiently in his chair, which he did find amusing, Canaris opted for seeing what the squirmer wanted.
“Well, that’s another onerous chore done,” he announced. “If we are to believe the BBC, the war is lost. What’s on your mind, von Deitzberg?”
“No offense to these gentlemen, of course, but I would like to speak with you in private, if that would be possible, Herr Admiral.”
“Of course. We can go into the living room.”
Canaris stood up.