“A very great honor, Herr Baron,” von und zu Happner said, popping to attention, clicking his heels, and nodding his head in a bow.
Peter gave him his hand. “Hello,” he said.
“The ever-efficient Ziggie has found a compartment for us on the three-oh-five to Wachtstein…from here, right, Ziggie?” The Graf made a vague wave in the general direction of the am Zoo railroad station.
“Yes, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“And once you go to the station and get the tickets, Ziggie, you are also on leave,” the Graf said.
“The Herr Generalleutnant is very kind, but I am perfectly willing to stay with you, Sir.”
“Hansel and I are going home, where we are going to drink beer and eat sausages and do nothing that will require your services. Go see your family, Ziggie. I’ll meet you here a week from today, or get other word to you.”
“If the Herr Generalleutnant—”
“Go get our tickets, Ziggie,” the Graf interrupted.
“Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant.”
Von und zu Happner came to attention again, clicked his heels, and walked away from them.
“Very efficient young man,” the Graf said. “And a devout National Socialist. He was recommended to be my aide by Generaloberst Jodl. His mother is Jodl’s cousin.”
Their eyes met.
Peter wondered if Jodl had simply been seeking a posting for his cousin’s son far from the sound of guns, or whether Jodl wanted someone he could trust watching Generalleutnant von Wachtstein. Or perhaps both.
This is not the time or the place to ask.
“I thought perhaps we would spend a couple of days at Wachtstein, and then perhaps go to Munich. Claus von Stauffenberg is in a hospital there.”
“How is he?” Peter asked.
“His recovery has been slow, I’m afraid,” the Graf said. “The question before us now is how do we pass the time until our train leaves? Would you like a glass of beer?”
“There are two people I would like you to meet,” Peter said.
“Here?”
“One of them is Korvettenkapitän Boltitz. He works for Admiral Canaris. The other is an old comrade, Hauptmann Willi Grüner. I had the unfortunate duty yesterday of having to inform Willi that his father has given his life for the Fatherland. There was some communications problem.”
The Graf asked only, “Where are these officers?”
“I thought we could have lunch together. They should be here any minute.”
The Graf nodded. “Would you like a glass of beer?” he asked. “Whenever I fly, I seem to dehydrate.”
Peter waved his father ahead of him toward the lobby bar.
They found an empty banquette, and a waiter quickly appeared.
“Two Berliner Kindl, please, Herr Ober,” the Graf ordered.
“Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant.”
Willi Grüner came into the bar first, moments before Karl Boltitz.
“I have your photograph in my office, Hauptmann,” the Graf said. “It was taken, I b