The courtroom was suddenly silent. Canaris blinked. They were waiting for him to speak. He would speak indeed. As he had for all of these months.
“As you well understand, gentlemen, at the time I was supposedly committing these acts of treason, I was head of Amt Ausland/Abwehr. In that position, may I remind you, it was my job—my duty—to involve myself in every aspect of intelligence gathering. Within, as well as without, Germany.”
“You knew about the coup d’etat plans?” Huppenkothen asked indifferently.
“Of course, I’knew about the plans all along. I followed them with great interest.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
WStf “Because the plans never materialized. It was merely talk. If and when it had become dangerous to the Reich, I would have acted.”
“They said you were a part of the planning itself.”
“They?” Canaris asked imperiously. “Who are they?”
“Colonel Oster, for one,” Stawitzky interjected.
Canaris shook his head. “Naturally he would think such a thing. I was going along with them to better ascertain their true intentions.”
“I see,” Huppenkothen said. “But let’s come back to that in a moment or so. I would like to explore now, the winter of 1939-40. There were certain discussions you had with a number of our military commanders.”
There was no direct evidence for anything they had charged him with, unless they brought out his diaries. He kept expecting Huppenkothen to motion to Thorbeck, who would then slip into the side room and come out with the three books. At that point it would be over for sure. Just the threat of that happening began to wear Canaris down.
For months, until just recently, he had gone without a decent diet. For months he had been forced to lead an almost underground, and certainly an unnatural, life. His strength began to fail him now, when he needed it the most.
Sometimes his interrogators laughed at him; at other times they shouted, but it was meaningless sound. He had no real sense of the passage of time, although he suspected that the trial was going very fast. Too fast.
Suddenly Stawitzky stood over him. “You miserable, stinking little traitor. You wanted to kill our Fiihrer. You wanted to deliver our armed forces to the enemy on a silver platter.”
“No …” Canaris started to say, when Stawitzky reared back and smashed his fist into Canaris’ already damaged nose.
The pain was unbelievable, although he did not black out. The room spun around and around, and his stomach churned. There was a movement, and they were shouting something, but it was all so indistinct, so unreal, that he could not focus on any of it.
He could only try to hold on to his own sanity, his consciousness, for as long as possible.
Hans Oster was suddenly there in the courtroom. He stood across the room from Canaris, who was slowly beginning to see and hear what was happening.
“You were with us, Willi,” Oster was saying, as if from a very great distance.
“No,” Canaris mumbled. It was hard to talk. His face seemed swollen and very numb.
Oster was mad. “Oh yes, you were. In every phase of our activities. He was there.”
“No,” Canaris cried again. “It was all for show. Don’t you understand?” “No,” Oster shouted. “That is not true. I can only say what I know—I’m not a rogue.”
Thorbeck came around to the side. He looked a long time at Canaris. “Colonel Oster was your chief of staff. Are you telling the court, Heir Admiral, that he is falsely incriminating you? Is that what you are telling us?”
Canaris looked from Thorbeck to Huppenkothen and the others on the bench, and then to Oster … poor Hans. He shook his head. There was no fight left in him. “No,” he mumbled.
“Speak up,” Thorbeck boomed.
“No,” Canaris said, looking up.
It was after ten when they passed the guardroom in the bunker and walked slowly down to the cells. Canaris, through pain dimmed eyes, had glanced at the clock.
The verdict had been guilty, of course. The sentence, death. It had all been predetermined.
Meitner had warned him that the Fiihrer had gone into a rage when he had learned of the diaries. He had ordered all of the conspirators destroyed. And now, despite the illegality of the trial, despite the fact he wasn’t really guilty of any crime against the Reich, and despite the fact the war would be over any day now, the end was at hand.
Corporal Binder was especially careful with Canaris as they entered the cell, but Kriiger was swaggering now, and he shoved Canaris toward the cot, making him stumble.
“You little traitor,” he spat.
Binder turned on him. “You Schweinhund, keep your hands off your betters!”
Kriiger stepped back, surprised. But then a slow grin spread across his face. “All right, Binder. You may have your way. But I will not forget this.”
“See that you don’t,” Binder said. He turned and helped Canaris to his cot. “How do you feel, Herr Admiral? Can I get you something?”
Canaris looked up. He shook his head. It was very hard to keep focused. It was as if he were in a dream. Time kept slipping away from him.
“I’ll check on you a little later, if I can,” Binder said. He turned and left the cell.
Canaris lay back and closed his eyes. The room wanted to spin at first, but then it settled and he dozed off.
He kept seeing Huppenkothen and the others in court. Then Meitner’s image swam into view, but his old friend was crying.
He saw Baron Kaulbars and Uncle Mau and the others back in Berlin. His dogs, Kasper and Sabine, were there, as were Motte and the other Arabians.
Later—he did not know how much later—he could hear Lunding tapping on the wall from the next cell. For a long time Canaris lay where he was, half listening to Lunding’s code but
