A Gathering of Spies (16 page)

And yet the furious, frantic motion of his hands spoke of more than pressure. It spoke of palsy. He was a man in poor health, and there was no disguising it.

“Soon the Allies will attempt their invasion!” Hitler cried. “Let them! Let them come! Let them charge to their own doom! After their attempt has failed, none will stand in our way! None will dare!”

Hagen felt his patriotism stirring.

“
They will never set foot on European soil
!” Hitler thundered. “
We will slaughter them on the beachheads! We will slaughter them on the oceans! We will send them to the bottom of the sea
!”

“
Heil
Hitler!” Hagen exploded.

“
Heil
Hitler!” von Hassel and Goering echoed.

“
Mein Führer
,” Canaris said calmly, “it seems possible that the landing force may be too great for such optimism.”

“Too great?” Hitler said. “One thousand American dogs are not equal to a single German soldier! The Americans are Jewish pawns! Jewish pawns!
Too great
? If they were ten times what they are, they would not be too great!
Too great
? If they were twenty times, or thirty—”

“And yet one must recognize,” Canaris said, “the value of knowing where the invasion will come.”

Hitler looked at him, his eyes sparkling.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course. That is why we are here today.”

“If it would please you,
Führer
, I will make my report now.”

“Do so,” Hitler said. As quickly as his harangue had started, it was over. He stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, and gave Canaris his full attention.

The admiral reached down, shuffled a few papers on his desk, and cleared his throat.

“Our intelligence from England,” Canaris said, “is disconcerting. It suggests an attack within the near future—this year or next. A great number of troops are coming into England and, as we all know, a great number of bombs are falling on Germany.”

Several of the men shared rueful smiles; they had had personal experience with the great number of bombs falling on Germany.

Goering did not smile.

“Cowardly behavior from a cowardly race,” Hitler said.

“Of course,
mein Führer
. Yet militarily, their logic is sound. Even as the bombing lays the groundwork for their invasion, however, it reveals their intentions. The question that needs to be addressed is where—where will they come? If we can ascertain that, we have won the battle. And if we win this battle, we have won the war.”

“Go on,
Herr
Admiral.”

“As the Allies begin assembling their troops, we will likely hear of it from our agents in England. But we must take this information with a grain of salt. We must be prepared for an attempted deception.”

“Churchill will come at Calais,” Goering said from the window.

Hagen glared at him. He felt that he understood Field Marshal Goering, and his understanding led him to contempt. Goering's only concern when the invasion came would be getting his treasures, his jewels, his precious artwork out of Germany. Once he had been a soldier, even a hero, but time and gluttony had made him fat and greedy. He would not trouble himself overmuch with repelling the invasion. He was nearly as bad as Canaris—weak, self-serving, lazy. Why could Hitler, who saw so much, not see the incompetence of his own inner circle?

“
Herr
Admiral?” Hitler said.

Canaris shrugged.

“Calais is certainly the most obvious choice. Which is precisely why we need to be prepared for other eventualities. Dunkirk, or Normandy.”

“They will never return to Dunkirk,” Goering said. “They fled with their tails between their legs. Normandy? Normandy is ill-suited to attack. No, they will come at Calais.”

“And yet,” Hitler said. “And yet …”

He began to pace again, more slowly, his brow knit with concentration. The men in the room were silent, waiting. Hagen noticed that the
Führer
was displaying a slight limp as he moved. He wondered how bad Hitler's health had really become. It was rare, these days, for Hitler to come to Berlin at all—he spent much of his time in the
Wolfsschanze
, the Wolf's Lair, under reinforced concrete, while Allied bombs rained down on Germany. It would be possible, Hagen thought, for Hitler to become very ill indeed without anybody knowing; the vast majority of the German populace never saw him.

“
Herr
Admiral,” Hitler said, “you have over one hundred agents in England, correct?”

“Yes,
mein Führer
”

“You are confident in their abilities?”

Canaris did not hesitate. “Regrettably, none of them enjoys my full confidence.”

“Why?”

“The type of individual who spies,
mein Führer
, is a peculiar type. There is often a willingness to deceive, a lack of principle. Few have much allegiance to Germany …”

Hagen bristled. The irony of Canaris saying that, of all people …

“And so few are willing to risk injury to their own persons. They will not extend themselves as much as we may require. In many cases, we had inadequate time to conduct their training. And do not underestimate the psychological effect of having been behind enemy lines for so long. Many of them may be forgetting exactly where their allegiances lie.”

“Worthless,” Hitler growled.

“Not quite worthless. But perhaps not as dependable as we require.”

“Shall we train more men? Paratroopers? Time is of the essence, and the British are no doubt wary.”

“Perhaps there is another alternative,
mein Führer
. One of the last group—a man named Schroeder—has made preliminary contact with a man who works for British Military Intelligence. The man's wife is at Dachau. He has made it clear that he would be willing to offer assistance in return for the woman.”

The room was momentarily quiet.

“Military Intelligence,” Hitler said.

“Yes.”

“That would be helpful.”

“Yes.”

“You trust this man?”

“He has provided sample intelligence already. It is accurate.”

“Then we must secure his cooperation,” Hitler said, “at any price.”

“I agree,
mein Führer
. He could answer many questions for us.”

“But perhaps it is a deception. Perhaps he still works for the British.”

Canaris shook his head. “His intelligence conforms with the information we've gotten from our other agents. If he is lying, they are all lying. And I do not believe that is the case.”

“Bring this man to me,” Hitler said. “Where is he?”

“In London,
mein Führer
. In two days we will be making contact with Schroeder again. At that point, we can arrange a
treff
.”

“Do so,” Hitler said.

“Yes,
mein Führer
.”

“Have his wife brought to Cecilienhof. We will show him that we are prepared to cooperate.”

“I understand.”

“Churchill,” Hitler scoffed. “He cannot even keep his own subjects loyal. It will be his downfall.”

Hagen, watching with cold eyes, said nothing.

WOHLDORF, NORTH HAMBURG

Two hundred miles northeast of Berlin, a young man was frowning as he listened to his radio receiver.

He was sitting in a soundproof room deep underground. He wore a pair of headphones, with which he monitored radio traffic to and from England. Twenty feet above, the summer sun shone brightly onto the mansion that stood atop this bunker, but down here the light was artificial and somewhat stale. The air was also somewhat stale, since the man was a heavy smoker. Smoking was not permitted, but the man smoked anyway—at twenty-two he had already developed a chronic, hacking cough.

His frown deepened as he reread the message he had just jotted down. It was in code of some kind, but the code was nothing he had ever seen before. The signal that had carried the message, on the other hand, was a signal he
had
seen before, many times. It was the weak signal of the portable suitcase radios, the
klamotten
, with which
Abwehr
agents communicated with Hamburg.

Perhaps I copied it wrong
, the young man thought. He read it twice more but got no more sense from it.

He went to see the man in the next booth, and showed him the message.

This man was five years older, but he also had never seen the code before.

“That's what it is, though,” the older man said. “A code of some kind. No doubt about it.”

The younger man coughed. “Who could have sent it?”

“Let's ask Krupp. He'll know if anybody will.”

They found Krupp in his own booth, listening to his own set of headphones. They showed him the message. By now they were attracting some attention; two other radio operators had appeared from their booths and were watching curiously.

“Know it?” the young man asked.

Krupp frowned, read it again, and shook his head. “I don't know it,” he said. “But maybe Neumann will know it.”

Neumann was the oldest man working at Wohldorf. He was nearly seventy, with grayish-white hair and a slightly stooped posture. When they went to his booth, they found him sitting with his eyes closed, either dozing or concentrating hard.

“Neumann!” Krupp said. “Got a riddle for you!”

Neumann looked up, then stood creakily and read the message. “It's one of the old ones,” he said immediately.

“The old ones?”

“Before your time. Before Enigma. Before the war. Before any of it.”

“Can you crack it?”

“Give me a second,” Neumann said.

It took considerably more than a second. Finally, Neumann found an ancient codebook, moldy and pungent. He flipped through the pages while the group of younger men gathered around, excited.

“Go back to work,” Krupp said, then disobeyed his own order and stood watching.

Another ten minutes passed before Neumann found the code. Then he translated the message, which took five more minutes. Finally he straightened as much as he was able and looked at Krupp with triumph in his eyes.

“Get me Himmler,” he said.

HAM COMMON, SURREY

Rudolf Schroeder accepted the package, his lips quirking into a crooked half smile. His lean fingers began to pick at the string tied around the box. Then he paused and looked up at Winterbotham.

“Andrew will be jealous,” he said.

Winterbotham smiled. “There's more than enough of you to go around, Rudolf, isn't there?”

Schroeder shrugged. He turned his attention back to the package and opened it delicately. He withdrew a box of candy, a bottle of Scotch, several packs of cigarettes. He immediately opened the box of candy, and his smile broadened.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“Intuition,” Winterbotham said dryly.

The box was filled with white chocolates.

“Oh, so naughty,” Schroeder said, delighted. He plucked a candy from the box, deposited it in his mouth, and commenced chewing. “Wonderful,” he said. “Whatever it is you want from me, Professor, you've found my price.”

They were sitting in the same room in which they had first met—dark, damp, draconian. Now, however, there was no AFU set on the table between them. And Andrew Taylor was nowhere to be seen.

Winterbotham had stopped by Latchmere House unannounced this evening, and requested an audience with Schroeder. He had backed up the request with his new alpha security clearance. He had made it clear to the guard that it would not be necessary to keep a record of this visit, and had then given the guard his best alpha-clearance scowl to drive the point home.

“The only other thing I could possibly require,” Schroeder went on, chewing lazily, “is a plant. A nice plant to keep me company. Why won't Andrew bring me a plant, do you think? It's not as if I haven't asked.”

“Perhaps he doesn't think it's a serious request.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Something about a Wandering Jew?”

Winterbotham leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I think Andrew has a bit of that blood himself—somewhere down the line. Do you get that feeling?”

“Why, Professor!”

“I'm simply being honest.”

“Professor!” Schroeder said again. “I don't know how I'm supposed to take that.”

“Do you know anything of my politics, Rudolf?”

“A bit.”

“So you should know that I'm not …
patriotic
… the way Andrew is.”

“Mm,” Schroeder said, and popped another chocolate into his mouth.

“In fact, I have sympathy for your cause. Do you believe that?”

“Do you mean the Nazi cause?”

“Is that your cause?”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” Winterbotham said, “that we are free thinkers, you and I. Men first, and patriots second.”

“Sounds selfish when you put it that way.”

“Only honest.”

“You're being very honest today, Professor.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Does Andrew know you're here?”

“Certainly not.”

“Why
are
you here, Professor?”

“Because there are things we can do for each other,” Winterbotham said, “of which Andrew would not approve.”

Schroeder set aside his chocolates. He lit a cigarette and smiled a humorless smile. “I'm intrigued,” he said.

“Tomorrow, Rudolf, you'll be making contact with Hamburg again, yes?”

Schroeder nodded.

“And if all goes well, they will arrange a
treff
with me.”

“Yes.”

“Do you imagine that you'll be a part of it?”

“I imagine so. They'll probably want me to serve as your escort.”

“My thoughts exactly. So you and I, Rudolf, shall be off on an adventure together, correct?”