“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, Fregattenkapitän von und zu Wachting, and Oberst Gehlen of Abwehr Ost. The gentlemen were joined after dinner by SS-Brigadeführer Ritter von Deitzberg, Himmler’s adjutant. With the exception of von Deitzberg, all distinguished German officers. Fregattenkapitän 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-Brigadeführer 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 Kapitän,” Egon interrupted him. “If you and I could somehow get to Bremen and talk to some of our old U-boot comrades, I think we could learn from them anything they know.”
“Bingo!” Clete said.
“Thank you, Egon,” Boltitz said.
Clete added, “Now, can I have some of that coffee before it gets cold?”