Heroes, David Hagberg [me reader .txt] 📗

he reached out and patted Loetz on the shoulder. “That is not why I came up here today.”

“Herr Admiral?” the major said. He was suspicious.

Canaris looked around at the radio operators and the equipment.

The house was warm. It smelted of electrical apparatus and human bodies. It would be much worse for them in the bunkers at Zossen, outside Berlin. But it couldn’t be helped if the SD was to be thrown off.

“The bulk of operations here are to be immediately suspended.”

It was a bombshell. Even Captain Meitner, who for the past seven months had acted as Canaris’ eyes and ears for the entire Hamburg station, was stunned.

“The A and B circuits, of course, will be moved first. Specific written orders have been cut. They’ll be here very soon.”

“Are we to join you at Maybach II, sir?” Meitner asked.

“Yes. The technical staff has already begun attending to your electrical needs. But Captain Unterman will be liaison. He’ll handle the details.” Canaris looked down the corridor past the message center to the radio operator positions in one of the front bedrooms. Three of the operators, their earphones shoved down around their necks, were looking this way. When Canaris caught their eye, they turned back to their radios.

“This comes as a great surprise to me, Herr Admiral.” Loetz was clearly unhappy. In Berlin he would not have as much autonomy as he enjoyed here.

“You mean Brigadier Schellenberg has not informed you?”

Canaris snapped sarcastically.

“No, Herr Admiral … I mean …” Loetz blustered.

“Then you may so inform Department VI, if you wish, Herr Major,” Canaris said harshly. He turned to Meitner. “You are hereby detached to Headquarters Berlin, Amt/Ausland.”

“My position, sir?” Meitner said, obviously pleased.

“My aide-de-camp,” Canaris snapped. He softened. “That is, if you wish to accept such a dangerous assignment.”

“With pleasure, sir, with pleasure,” Meitner said, clicking his heels.

“Now,” Canaris said, turning back to Loetz. “There are certain details that you will have to attend to. I will be much too busy over the next few weeks to do it myself. But I’m sure you will do. a fine job.”

It would tie Loetz up for weeks.

“I see,” he said. “Will you leave me Captain Meitner to help?”

“No,” Canaris said. “I’m taking him with me this afternoon.

I have several pressing jobs for him to start on immediately.”

By morning they had reached the Rhein-Main Luftwaffe Base at Frankfurt, where Canaris sent his railway car back to Berlin and commandeered a Dornier Do 17F reconnaissance aircraft with little difficulty. He still was chief of Amt/Ausland Abwehr, no matter what Walter Schellenberg and his SD were doing behind his back. They had to stop to refuel and to repair a minor problem with a fuel pump at the Luftwaffe Depot in Lyon, France, and then continued over the Pyrenees into Spain, finally coming in for a landing in Seville that afternoon.

“The situation is difficult here in Spain at the moment,” Canaris explained as he and Meitner changed into civilian clothing.

“Franco has become touchy.”

“Why are we here, sir?” Meitner asked. He was uneasy.

“Our Fiihrer has his Berghof, Himmler and the others their Bavarian retreats, while I have Spain. Leave me do the talking if any is necessary.”

But there was no trouble. The crew of the Dornier, in uniform, were required to remain within the confines of the airport, and Canaris and Meitner were both given handbills prepared by the Guardia, in Spanish, German, and English, that activities of any sort that could be construed as having even the remotest connection with any phase of the war were expressly and strictly forbidden.

They each signed a document that testified they had read and understood the handbill, and would comply; their bags were then stamped by the customs people without being opened, and they were waved through.

“Have a pleasant and safe trip, Senor Guillermo,” the official said.

They hired a car, Meitner totally mystified now, and they headed south toward the seacoast. When they had cleared the airport and the city of Seville, Meitner asked Canaris about their reception.

Canaris smiled tiredly. “I was here years ago as a young lieutenant. We were looking for supply depots for our submarine operations in the Mediterranean.”

“And you went by the name Guillermo?”

“f>fn Canaris nodded, the memories coming back in full force now.

Those had been the very best of days.

“They still remember you?”

Canaris shrugged. “I have been a friend of Spain.”

Meitner shook his head. Everyone knew that the Admiral was an amazing man. In the past twenty-four hours he was coming to learn just how true that was.

They skirted north of Cadiz before they headed south along the coast through Chiclana and later Tarifa, which was directly on the Strait of Gibraltar. The view was magnificent, and Canaris felt almost as if he was coming to his ancestral home after a very long absence.

It was only a few kilometers farther when they rounded a curve in the road and came down the long hill around the western shores of Algeciras Bay; they drove into the resort town itself as the sun was setting. And it was like coming home for Canaris.

He had worked here; he had played here; he had loved here since before the War to End All Wars, as it had been called. Every time he came back like this, he had to ask himself why he had ever left.

Meitner read at least part of that on his face. “What is this place, sir?” he asked.

“Algeciras.”

“I know, sir. I meant, have you friends here?”

“Yes,” Canaris said, his voice barely audible. Was it a lost youth, he had to ask himself? Or was it something else? Something even more fundamental that brought him back here time after time?

He directed their driver to drop them off in town at the Hotel Reina Maria Cristina, but Canaris did not go in. Instead, he instructed Meitner to register for them.

“Tell them it is Senor Guillermo, and I would like the little house next door if it is available.”

“And you, sir?” Meitner asked, looking around the square. It was