“Is sometimes an impatient man, Herr Reichsprotektor?”
Himmler’s lips curved in a very tight smile, and he nodded. “Keitel and I, and Canaris and Bormann, have decided that it is not necessary to burden the Führer with Operation Phoenix problems until we have that situation under control.”
“I understand, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“It occurs to me, Cranz, that if young von Wachtstein were to go to Wolfsschanze, his father would probably arrange for him to pay his respects to the Führer. And the Führer would very likely wonder why he was back in Germany.”
“I understand, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“Where is young von Wachtstein now?”
“At the Hotel am Zoo, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“Why don’t you keep him there until I have a word with the Generalfeldmarschall about giving Generalleutnant von Wachtstein a few days off?”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
[SEVEN]
Office of the Director, Abwehr Intelligence
Berlin
1605 10 May 1943
When he looked up at Fregattenkapitän Otto von und zu Waching standing in his open door, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris’s face darkened with annoyance, but he said nothing and waited.
Von und zu Waching did not offer an apology for disturbing the Admiral. He knew the Admiral was aware that he regretted wasting his valuable time, and that an apology would do nothing but waste more time. “Boltitz just called, Herr Admiral,” von und zu Waching said. “He’s at the Hotel am Zoo with Major von Wachtstein.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Canaris’s face. “Did you know he was coming to Berlin?”
Von und zu Waching shook his head.
Canaris looked at the ceiling for a moment. “Otto, present my compliments to Korvettenkapitän Boltitz, and tell him that you and I would be pleased to accept his kind invitation to have a drink with him and Major Freiherr von Wachtstein.”
“At what hour, Herr Admiral?”
“There is no time like the present, is there, Otto? Have the car in front in five minutes.”
“Jawohl, Herr Admiral.”
Having just concluded that the glass of Berliner Kindl beer he was drinking in the bar of the Hotel am Zoo, while vastly superior to the beer in Portugal, really had nothing to recommend it over the Quilmes cerveza of Buenos Aires, Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein turned on his stool as Korvettenkapitän Karl Boltitz slid onto the stool beside him. “From the look on your face—” Peter said, smiling at him.
“What look?” Karl interrupted.
“Utter disbelief. What’s wrong? Has your beloved been swept off her feet by a dashing Luftwaffe pilot?”
“Admiral Canaris has accepted my offer to share a drink with you and me,” he said.
“Mein Gott! What’s that all about?”
“I think a good guess would be that the Admiral wants a personal look at the dashing Luftwaffe pilot. Fregattenkapitän von und zu Waching will be with him. And Peter…”
“What?”
“They should be here directly.”
Mein Gott! Karl thought. I stopped myself just in time from warning him not to judge von und zu Waching by his friendly face and simplicity.