The Hour of the Cat (47 page)

As soon as Oster was gone, Canaris stuffed his briefcase with papers, knowing all the time that he'd never get around to reading them at home. At best, they'd help put him to sleep, distracting him from the showdown Oster had described. He felt a wild rush of fear. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to control it. Most times he succeeded. His subordinates on the U-boat he commanded in the last year of the war were impressed by his icy calm as they were almost blown apart by British depth charges. So too, during his service on the
Dresden
. The surface never cracked. No nervous twitches. No hint of the panic tearing at his stomach or the scream held in by the practiced compression of his lips.

Only very rarely did it ever show: That once, years before, an age ago it seemed now, in the summer after the inflation had been tamed, when the Republic seemed to have found its balance, he ran into Paula, an old girlfriend, at an official reception. He didn't recognize her at first. She was bereft of her former mane of curls. Her hair was cut short and straight, in keeping with the new style of the Weimar Republic. The romantic idealism of the German merchant's daughter he'd met as a cadet at the naval academy was also gone; in its place, the sardonic sophistication of a woman whose wits had been sharpened by the financial ruin her family had undergone in the post-war inflation. She had nothing left but a talent to charm and seduce. They began an affair.

On a sweltering July day, Paula talked him into a visit to Luna Park, the sprawling amusement grounds on Halensee Lake, at the edge of the Grunewald. They swam in the great pool, with its artificially produced waves and hordes of squealing, splashing children. They drove a miniature electric car around a small oval, rode in a gondola that was propelled by their own pedaling and listened to a jazz band composed entirely of American Negroes. He enjoyed himself more than he thought he would.

Just before they left, Paula saw the House of Terror. She begged him to go with her, kissed him on the lips when he said no, and promised a larger reward if he changed his mind. They had to wait in a long line that stretched beneath a billboard painted with the face of a hideous green-faced ghoul. Inside, they stumbled through crooked hallways and dark rooms, across wildly pitched floors that sent them crashing into walls. Luminescent skeletons popped out and mechanical bats swooped close to their heads. She clung to him, alternately screaming and laughing. At the final turn, they were confronted by two doors, each marked EXIT. A sonorous, disembodied voice informed them that behind one was the park, the world they left behind, lights, noise, happy crowds—behind the other, the ghoul pictured on the front of the building, face half rotted away, one eyeball hanging down on his cheek.

Choose
, the voice said.

Paula squeezed his arm.
Willi, go ahead!

The mild claustrophobia he sometimes felt deepened into something else. He tried to move but couldn't.

Paula bent close. Her breath touched his cheek.
Willi?
There was surprise and playfulness in her voice, and a slight but unmistakable intimation of mockery:
Don't tell me my brave soldier boy is scared!

 

 

He left the office early and waited beneath the building's portico for his driver to arrive. Though Berlin was in the last days of summer, the light was already autumnal, a suffusion of faded gold, weak and pallid as it filtered through leaves edged in red and yellow. Motes swirled amid sunbeams like tiny snowflakes. The sun dipped lower in the west, caught fire in the windows of the buildings on the east side of the canal, and filled them with an incendiary glow. Summer was retreating and winter closing in. Soon enough, reinforced by relentless battalions of gray Baltic clouds, the cold he despised would overtake the city.
Into the eternal darkness, into fire and ice.
Ciano was right. Latin blood still ran in his veins.

Perhaps Oster and his fellow putschists would succeed. Perhaps they'd bring the cats to their senses and drive the rats away. Or perhaps they'd fail and be disgraced and shot. Or perhaps there would be no war and no putsch. The snag in the conspirators' plan was that it depended on what others did. On the French. On the British. On the Czechs. Fate had to be on their side. But fate seemed to be with the Führer.
My destiny is out of human hands. It is written in the stars.
It had yet to be revealed where that destiny would take them. The only certainty was that spring would arrive. Nature depended on no one, required no conspirators to carry out its designs. Seasons changed whatever men and nations might decide. Winter would have its turn, then April. His driver arrived. Canaris got into the car buoyed by that thought.

Dunne stopped at the furniture store around the corner from the Hackett Building and purchased a Philco Deluxe Table Radio, a floor model on sale that fit on top of the filing cabinet as though built to. He turned the dial away from the bulletins about Prime Minister Chamberlain's imminent address to the House of Commons on the Czech situation, until he found a station content to interrupt the music only for the occasional commercial. Most of the tunes were from movies and Broadway shows.

A duet sang about what drives lovers apart, the petty particulars of a couple's incompatibility, the small stuff that so often overwhelms the grandest of love affairs,
you say ‘either' and I say ‘eyether,'
until the unthinkable becomes the inevitable, and
Let's call the whole thing off.

The phone rang. He picked it up. Her voice at last: “Fin?”

His voice, as casual as he could make it: “Let me turn the radio down.”

‘Either' ‘eyether,' ‘neither' ‘nyether.'
The radio couple no sooner repeated their argument and decision to call the whole thing off, then faced with the terrible finality, they instantly realized that
if ever we part, that would break my heart.

He turned the volume to a notch above a whisper. “I guess you didn't hear. The D.A. is reopening Wilfredo's case.”

“The whole city's heard. I didn't call sooner because I was busy.”

“Back in business?”

Her silence
: That hurt, Fin.

His:
Like it was intended to.

“Is that what you really think?”

He thinks:
The time waiting for you to call. The resentment when you don't.

“What else am I supposed to think?” he said.

“I've been with Elba. I told her everything. She knows who Wilfredo and I are to her. She's having a tough time dealing with all this at once.”

“Hard to believe that a smart girl like that never figured it out for herself.”

“Even smart people do stupid things.” She paused.

The diminished voices from the radio filled the void:

“Elba and I want you to know, whatever you charge, no amount can repay you.”

“Try my per diem plus expenses, minus the retainer. Stick it in the mail.”

“That's why I called, Fin. I need your help.”

“Another case of the good and the true?”

“Lina Linnet.”

“She's got nothing to worry about. Brannigan and his crew are locked up.”

“She's afraid his friends will do what they can to see she never testifies.”

“The D.A. will make sure she's safe.”

“She's fearful he can't.”

“Tom Dewey might not be Mr. Ball O'Fun, but he's one person she can trust.”

“She needs to get away for a while. Her nerves are shot.”

“Send her on a trip.”

“I'll
take
her on one, but I need a few days with Elba first.”

“Put her in a hotel till you're ready. That's the best advice I can give, Roberta.”

“She thinks they might find her there.”

“Are you asking what I think you're asking?”

“Just for a few days. You can stay at Cassidy's. You're accustomed to that.”

“Seems like you already have it all arranged.”

“You promised her, remember?”

“I said I'd make sure she'd get away from here,
not
live in my apartment.”

“Not live, just stay a few days. That's all, Fin. I promise.”

The song on the radio came to its conclusion:

He told her he'd leave his apartment key with the lobby attendant and went down the hall to the men's room, relieved himself, and washed his hands. He sang to the mug in the mirror:

“If ever we part, that would break my heart

So, I say ‘ursta' you say ‘oyster'

Oh, let's call the whole thing off . . .”

Canaris invited Oster to lunch. Gresser fetched it for them, and they ate in Canaris's office. Canaris expected Oster to be crestfallen that the next day British Prime Minister Chamberlain would take his maiden plane trip to meet with Hitler at his mountain retreat, Berchtesgarten. But, though saturnine, Oster wasn't ready to admit defeat.

“Chamberlain will try to reason with Hitler,” Oster said. “When he learns that's impossible, he'll be back where he started. He'll have to fight. When that moment arrives, we're ready to move.”

Oster left his half-eaten lunch to attend a briefing. Shortly after, Piekenbrock arrived and asked Gresser if he could see the Admiral on an important matter.

Canaris was glad for the company. “Come in,” he said, “and let's hear what vital secrets you've uncovered.”

“It concerns that SS agent in New York.”

“I'd almost forgotten about him. We've had far larger things to be concerned with, I'm afraid.”

“The SS hasn't forgotten. They've demanded the navy dispatch a U-boat to bring him back.”

“A U-boat to violate American waters and return a single agent? Admiral Dönitz is vehemently opposed to the use of U-boats on such missions!”

“The request—or, more accurately, the directive—was received by the admiralty last evening. The Admiral has been overruled, and it's unclear how many are to be picked up. It seems more than one person is involved.”

“It will take a U-boat two to three weeks to reach America.”

“No, it won't. There are a number already waiting off Iceland in case of war. The SS wants one of them to rendezvous with their man in one week, on September 21.” Piekenbrock laid an index card on the desk; on it, in block letters, was hand-printed a single word: MONTAUK.

Canaris glanced down at it. “What's the meaning?

“The U-boat's destination.”

“In America?”

Piekenbrock turned the card over. On the back, he'd drawn a crude map. On the left, a star was labeled “New York City.” A long two-pronged island jutted to the right. At the end of the southern and longer prong was another star, marked “Montauk.” He moved his finger from one side to the other. “Montauk is about 140 miles northeast of New York City.”

“Is it a city?”

“A fishing village, popular in the summer as a tourist resort but left to fishermen the rest of the year. American coastal defenses are paltry and this place seems remote. But, still, it seems a big risk for the navy to rescue one SS small fry, don't you think?

“No doubt. But you've done well in sticking with this and uncovering these facts. It's old dogs like you who make me confident in the future of this department.”

“If you'll permit me to say so, that's the first time anyone called me a dog and intended it as a compliment.”

 

 

Oster seemed to have regained his spirits when Canaris told him of Piekenbrock's discovery. Canaris supposed it would have that effect—a distraction from the consternation caused by Chamberlain's parley with the Führer. “I've put in a call to Heydrich,” Canaris said. “This time he's clearly crossed the line, not only interfering in foreign intelligence matters, but drawing in the navy.”

“Outrageous,” Oster said. “And more and more to be expected.”

The intercom signaled a phone call. “Line one, Herr Admiral,” Corporal Gresser said. “General Heydrich calling.”

Canaris nodded at Oster, who stood next to the phone extension by the couch. He picked up the receiver simultaneously with Canaris, a small, practiced, perfectly synchronized duet. The General's secretary confirmed that Canaris was on the line and asked him to hold. There was a click on the other end of the line. “Wilhelm, how are you?” Without waiting for an answer, Heydrich launched into a monologue about the coming assault on the Czechs and the need to follow annexation with a speedy roundup of Communists and German exiles before they had a chance to escape. “The Führer threw down the gauntlet at Nuremberg. There's no turning back.” He seemed ready to hang up, either forgetful or unconcerned that he was returning Canaris's call.