“Pity,” the Graf said.
I wonder, Boltitz thought, what the state secret in Augsburg is?
“And I have to leave you, too, Peter,” Boltitz said. “Fregattenkapitän von und zu Waching telephoned me a few moments ago to tell me I have been charged with organizing Oberst Grüner’s funeral. He wants to talk to me about it now.”
Willi looked at him but said nothing.
“Willi, I’ll want to talk to you about that, obviously,” Boltitz said. “Where can I get in touch with you?”
“That may pose a problem,” Willi said. “I am under very specific orders to tell no one where I’m going.”
“I’m sure the Luftwaffe will know,” Boltitz said. “And be able to tell me.”
“Good luck,” Willi said wryly. “They couldn’t find me to tell me my father had…died, could they?”
“I’m sure that can be straightened out,” Boltitz said.
He stood up. “It was a very great pleasure to meet you, Herr Generalleutnant Graf,” he said, clicking his heels and bobbing his head in a curt bow.
“It was my pleasure,” the Graf said.
“Have a pleasant leave, Peter,” Boltitz said, putting out his hand to him.
“I’ll try,” Peter said.
Boltitz came to attention again, gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute, then walked out of the bar.
The Graf, Peter, and Willi watched him walk out, but none of them said anything.
[SIX]
The Admiral’s Mess
Office of the Director, Abwehr Intelligence
Berlin
1305 11 May 1943
Korvettenkapitän Karl Boltitz stepped into the small, darkly paneled private dining room of the Director of Abwehr Intelligence, came to attention, rendered the Nazi salute, and barked, “Heil Hitler!”
Canaris’s reply was to point to a chair.
“Good afternoon, Herr Admiral, Herr Fregattenkapitän,” Boltitz said, and sat down.
A steward in a stiffly starched short white jacket immediately began to ladle soup onto their plates.
“If we are to judge from the excellent photography so kindly provided to us by the SS,” Canaris said, his fingers grazing over a large brown envelope, “von Wachtstein was not at all interested in the recreation available to him at the am Zoo—”
“Certainly less interested than Hauptmann Grüner,” von und zu Waching said, “and yourself.”
My God, that Gestapo swine photographed me and the Hungarian redhead!
Canaris looked at Boltitz.
What the hell am I supposed to say?
“It has been my experience, Boltitz,” Canaris said after a long moment, “that when one has nothing to say, one should say nothing.”