“Tiny,” Dunwiddie said, offering his hand again. “Nice to meet you, Enrico.”
“I hate to interrupt the mutual admiration society,” Clete said, “but who are these guys? This one and the one cutting the grass?”
Dunwiddie looked a little uncomfortable.
“Colonel, they knocked on the door just about as soon as I got here. They said they used to work here and would do anything that needed to be done in exchange for food.”
“So you put them to work?”
“I never minded shooting the bastards, but watching them starve to death is something else.”
“Just so they don’t turn out to be some of those Nazis Morgenthau is looking for,” Clete joked.
That possibility was immediately put to rest when Boltitz, also following his nose, walked into the kitchen and saw the man setting out coffee cups.
The man setting out the coffee cups popped to rigid attention, and said, “Herr Kapitan.”
“Why do I think they know each other, Dunwiddie?” Frade asked. “
“Max was the admiral’s chief bosun’s mate when he commanded the cruiser
“And the other one?” Frade asked.
“What other one?”
“The one pushing the lawn mower,” Clete said, and pointed out the window.
Boltitz looked, then opened the kitchen door. He barked, “Egon!”
The elderly, poorly dressed old man in the backyard walked quickly—almost ran—to the kitchen door, popped to attention, and said, “Herr Kapitan!” as if he was having trouble using his voice.
“Stand at ease, the both of you,” Boltitz ordered. “This is Egon. He was Admiral Canaris’s chief of the boat when the admiral commanded U-201 in the First World War.”
“And what are they doing here?” Frade asked.
Boltitz looked at them and asked, “Well?”
“Herr Kapitan,” Egon said, “we have been keeping an eye on the house for Frau Admiral Canaris since the SS took the admiral away.”
“And the Frau Admiral?” Boltitz asked softly.
“The last word we have is that she is with friends in Westertede,” Max answered. “The Nazis took their house in Westertede, too. You have heard what they did to the admiral?”
Boltitz nodded. “How come they didn’t take you, too?” he asked.
“Every good chief petty officer knows when to be stupid, Herr Kapitan,” Egon said. “We told the SS we had heard nothing, seen nothing, knew nothing. After we had told them that fifty times, they put us in the Volkssturm.”
“The what?” Frade asked as Dunwiddie opened his mouth to ask the same question.
“As the Russians approached Berlin, every German male from sixteen years old who was not already in uniform was pressed into the Volkssturm,” Max said.
“There were boys as young as twelve,” Egon said. “And men even older than Max and me.”
“And?” Boltitz asked. “When the Soviets came?”
“We deserted,” Egon said. “We took three of the younger boys with us, and hid in the ruins of my apartment building until we heard the Americans had come. Then we came here to look after the house for the Frau Admiral.”
“And where are you living now?” Boltitz asked.
“In a ruin off Onkel-Tom Strasse.”
“What happened to the boys?” Frade asked.
“One of them managed to get home. His mother was still alive. The two other boys are waiting for us to return. Herr Dunwiddie said he would give us some rations. . . .”
“How did you learn what happened to the admiral?” Boltitz asked.
“Herr Kapitan,” Max said. “Egon and I served the admiral for most of our lives. We know how to find things out.”
“We—the U.S. Army—have buried Admiral Canaris with the honors appropriate to a senior officer,” Mattingly announced from behind Frade.
Frade was a little startled; he hadn’t heard him walk up.
“That is good to hear, Herr Oberst,” Max said. “The admiral did not deserve what the SS did to him.”
“I missed the first part of this,” Mattingly said, and looked at the elderly Germans. “How is it that you’re in the kitchen making coffee and you’re cutting the grass in the garden?”
Dunwiddie answered: “They came to me, Colonel, and said they used to work here.” He pointed to each and added, “Max and Egon offered to make themselves useful if we fed them.”
Karl put in: “They did more than simply work for Admiral Canaris. They served under him.”
As he finished giving the details of that, von Wachtstein and Peralta walked into the kitchen.
“I knew I smelled coffee,” Peralta said.
“This is Captain Peralta,” Boltitz said. “He is an Argentine pilot.”
Egon and Max acknowledged Peralta with a nod.
“And this is the Graf von Wachtstein,” Boltitz said.
Max and Egon snapped to attention.
“Herr Graf,” they said in unison.
“You have heard what happened to Generalleutnant von Wachtstein, presumably,” Mattingly said.
They nodded.
“I heard you say before that both of you know ‘how to find things out,’” Mattingly said.
Neither Max nor Egon said anything, but both nodded and looked at him curiously.
“Would you be willing to find some things out for us?” Mattingly went on.
Both looked uncomfortable.
“Would you be willing to help us,” Mattingly pursued, “by suggesting to whom Boltitz should talk to find out about the submarines that are supposed to be taking high-ranking Nazis to South America?”
“You remember General Gehlen, of course, Max? Egon?” Boltitz said.
“The last time we saw your father, Herr Graf,” Egon said softly, “was in this house. There was a small dinner. Your father, Fregattenkapitan von und zu Wachting, and Oberst Gehlen of Abwehr Ost. The gentlemen were joined after dinner by SS-Brigadefuhrer Ritter von Deitzberg, Himmler’s adjutant. With the exception of von Deitzberg, all distinguished German officers. Fregattenkapitan von und zu Wachting was tortured and then hung by the SS and then left to rot beside the admiral. I don’t know where Oberst Gehlen met his fate. I can only hope it was quicker. . . .”
“General Gehlen,” von Wachtstein said, “I am happy to tell you, is alive and well. We had dinner with him last night. SS-Brigadefuhrer von Deitzberg was sent to hell by one of General Gehlen’s officers, Oberstleutnant Niedermeyer . . .”
“The admiral liked Oberstleutnant Niedermeyer,” Max said.
“. . . who blew von Deitzberg’s brains all over the men’s room of the Hotel Edelweiss in Barlioche, Argentina. The police found his body in the urinal.”
Boltitz began: “Graf von Wachtstein and I, and General Gehlen, are now working with Colonel Mattingly —”
“Herr Kapitan,” Egon interrupted him. “If you and I could somehow get to Bremen and talk to some of our old
“Bingo!” Clete said.
“Thank you, Egon,” Boltitz said.
Clete added, “Now, can I have some of that coffee before it gets cold?”
“I’d forgotten why I came down here,” Mattingly said, “but now remember. Stein needs electrical power to get the Collins up and running. What’s the status of the generator, Tiny?”
“Generators, plural, two of them, are on the way. I guess my guys waited to pick up what was going to fall
