“I cannot claim that privilege,” von Wachtstein said, “I have the privilege of the Admiral’s acquaintance, of course.”
“Odd. I somehow had the feeling you were close.”
“No, Sir.”
“I wouldn’t mention this at dinner, Karl,” Keitel said. “Just go out to the airfield in the morning and catch the Dornier courier. With a little bit of luck, perhaps no one will even notice you’re gone.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalfeldmarschall.”
“Give my best regards to your son, Karl.”
“Thank you, Herr Generalfeldmarschall.”
[THREE]
The Hotel am Zoo
The Kurfürstendamm, Berlin
1720 10 May 1943
Boltitz walked across the narrow lane to the tree-lined island that separated the main traffic on the Kurfürstendamm from the rows of hotels, restaurants, and expensive shops.
“Where are we going?”
Boltitz pointed to the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church and started walking in that direction.
“You don’t think the SS has gotten around to putting microphones in there? Don’t be too sure,” Willi said.
“Watch your mouth, Herr Hauptmann,” Karl snapped.
“Yes, Sir, Herr Korvettenkapitän, Sir,” Willi said, and saluted Boltitz contemptuously.
“Willi!” Peter protested.
They entered the foyer of the church. There was no longer the sound of organ funeral music, but a dozen or more people—obviously mourners—filed past them.
Boltitz waited for the last of them to leave before speaking. “Hauptmann Grüner,” he began finally. “I’m afraid there’s very bad news.”
“About my father, obviously,” Willi replied. “What?”
“You should have been notified, Herr Hauptmann—” Karl said.
“Let’s have it, for God’s sake!” Willi interrupted.
“Von Wachtstein,” Boltitz said.
“Willi, your dad is dead,” Peter said. “I’m really sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”
Willi looked at Peter, then, after a moment, nodded and asked, his voice low but under control: “How did it happen?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to provide details,” Boltitz said.
“Obviously, I’m an English spy, right?”
“For God’s sake, Karl!” Peter protested.
Boltitz met his eyes but said nothing.