Heroes Page 28

  “Sounds like some sort of trouble back there,” the cabby said.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Schey mumbled, as the vision of Eva’s body being flung to the floor, her head erupting in blood, flashed into his mind. It began to build and pound, threatening to engulf him completely, but then changing so that her image seemed to meld with the image of poor Katy going down in their house in Oak Ridge.

  He thought about his son back in Kentucky. He would never see him again. Never. He had come to this country alone. He would leave it that way. Behind him was death and destruction.

  Had it been worth it? Had he served as an honorable soldier of the Reich? Would his father be proud of him?

  Katy, he cried inside. Eva. What in God’s name had he done?

  I Erwin Delbruck poured coffee for Baron Kaulbars, then for his Uncle Willi, and finally for himself. He sat down, “I can take care of Motte and the other horses out at our place, but what about Kasper and Sabine?” Erwin asked. “Won’t you take them with you?”

  | Canaris sipped his coffee and smiled wanly. Kaulbars knew what was going on, even if Canaris’ nephew did not. “I’m not necessarily going anyplace, Erwin,” he said. “I merely mentioned it as a possibility.”

  “But what about the dogs?”

  | “You would have to take care of them as well.”

  ‘ Erwin shrugged. “It’s all right with me, but for how long?

  I Maria will almost certainly want to know that. And how about Aunt Erika? Wouldn’t she rather take care of the animals?”

  “I don’t think so,” Canaris said.

  ‘,, Kaulbars had not said much of anything all afternoon. But it I was clear he was nervous, on edge. He was very worried about I Canaris.

  “I miss Helmut’s piano playing,” he said now.

  : “He had to be at work this afternoon. They are very busy just now,” Canaris said, glancing toward the windows. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone from a lovely blue sky. Surprisingly, there had been no bombing raids this morning. Everyone had been expecting the planes to come. But they had not. He was sure that the beaches at Wannsee would be crowded.

  “Did he stop by yesterday?”

  “Yes, Uncle Mau was here,” Canaris said. Kaulbars had always been very emotional. Canaris watched him closely now.

  It seemed as if he was ready to burst into tears.

  “How is your new job at Eiche?” Erwin asked.

  “It’s fine,” Canaris said. “But tell me, how have you been?

  How are Maria and the boys?”

  “Everyone is in good health …“the younger man started to say, when they heard a car pull into the driveway and stop out front.

  Kaulbars half rose out of his seat, but Canaris waved him back.

  “Mohammed will see to it,” Canaris said. His heart was racing, and it was difficult for him to catch his breath.

  Someone came to the door, and moments later they could hear Mohammed talking. He appeared at the drawing room door.

  “SS-Brigadefiihrer Walter Schellenberg is here to see you, sir.”

  This time when Kaulbars rose out of his seat, Canaris did not wave him back.

  “Show him in,” Canaris said. He stood. “Perhaps you two ‘should wait in the living room.”

  “Of course,” Kaulbars said. He waited for Erwin to join him and they stepped across the stair hall. A moment later the SD chief entered. He was dressed in uniform. He was alone.

  “Good afternoon, Walter,” Canaris said.

  Schellenberg, who was very handsome, a dueling scar on his chin, came across the room and shook hands. “Good afternoon, Herr Admiral. You are in good health?”

  Canaris nodded. They looked at each other for a long time.

  They had been rivals, but never really enemies.

  “Somehow, I felt it would be you,” Canaris said.

  Schellenberg said nothing. It was obvious he had his instructions as to exactly what he was to say and what not to say.

  “Tell me, have you found anything in writing by that fool Colonel Hansen?”

  Schellenberg nodded. “We think it’s possible there was a connection between Georg and Stauffenberg.”

  Again they looked at each other for a long time. Canaris’ heart was still hammering wildly in his chest. He hadn’t known how he would react when the time came, but certainly he’d not thought he’d be like this. He felt like a stagestruck schoolboy who has suddenly forgotten his lines for the Christmas pageant.

  Schellenberg glanced toward the sideboard. “Do you mind if I pour myself a drink?”

  “Please, help yourself.”

  Schellenberg inclined his head. He went across and poured a 1 small measure of cognac. His back was to Canaris as he drank. “I | shall wait here in this room for an hour, and during that time you can do whatever you choose. I shall say in my report that you | went to your room to change.”

  | Canaris had never had any personal gripe with Schellenberg. It was other men, such as Reitlinger, who were the thugs.

  I Schellenberg, on the other hand, was a man of breeding. But this I now was odd. Were they afraid of him? Was there hope, after | all?

  | “No, Schellenberg, there’s no question of my escaping. I | shall’t kill myself either.”

  Schellenberg put the snifter down and turned around. “Are I you sure?”

  I “I know what I’m doing.”

  “I see.”

  “Just let me pack a few things.”

  Schellenberg nodded. “We were all surprised … I did not want to do this. But orders …”

  “I understand,” Canaris said. He left the room, crossed the hall, and started up the stairs. Kaulbars came to the living room door.

  [ Canaris stopped and looked down at him. “This is it, Baron.”

  Kaulbars nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes glittered.

  I “Tell Erwin that he is to take Kasper and Sabine as well.”

  Again Kaulbars nodded.

  Canaris looked at him for several moments, then smiled. “Good; bye, old friend. Perhaps I shall be back.” He turned, went the rest of the way up the stairs, then down the corridor to his room.

  He packed a few things, including his toilet gear, in a single suitcase, then changed into his uniform, the Iron Cross in gold around his neck. He went to the mirror and looked at himself. He had lost a lot of weight recently, and his uniform hung sloppily [ on his frame. There were stains on the lapels, and the cuffs were frayed.

  It was of no consequence.

  When he was ready, he went back downstairs, leaving the suitcase in the hall by the front door.

  Mohammed was with the cook by the kitchen door. Canaris turned to them. “I will be leaving now. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Baron Kaulbars and Heir Maurer have my utmost confidence. They will instruct you.”

  Mohammed nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said uncertainly.

  “You will be all right here. No matter what happens.”

  “Yes, meiner Admiral,” Mohammed said. The cook had begun to cry.

  Canaris took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then went into the drawing room. Schellenberg waited by the sideboard. Canaris went across to him and put his arm around his shoulders. “All right, let’s go.”

  Schellenberg nodded. Together they left the drawing room.

  Canaris retrieved his suitcase and they went outside, down the stairs, and across to the big Mercedes staff car.

  Baron von Volkersam, who had worked in the Abwehr but had later been transferred to the SD, was waiting at the car. He was in the uniform of an SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer. He came to attention and saluted. “Good afternoon, Herr Admiral.”

  Canaris returned the salute. “So they sent you as well.”

  Volkersam opened the rear door for Canaris. Schellenberg took his suitcase and put it in the trunk as Canaris got in. He climbed in with him. Volkersam got in the front seat. Their driver started the car immediately and they pulled away from the house.

  Canaris looked
back, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Motte or one of the other horses, but they were down the driveway and out on the street too fast.

  He settled back in his seat for the ride into the city, but within a few minutes it was obvious they were not going into Berlin itself. They were skirting around to the north, up into Mecklenburg.

  Canaris resisted the urge to ask Schellenberg where they were going. He would find out soon enough. Suffice it that he was not being taken to the labyrinth of cellars at Gestapo Headquarters on Prinz-Albrecht Strasse.

  There was hope.

  It took them nearly forty minutes to make it to the tiny town of Fiirstenberg an der Havel. They pulled up in the courtyard of the Frontier Police College. Maurer had mentioned that a number of the high-ranking officers implicated in the July 20th assassination attempt were being held here in the officers’ mess.

  Schellenberg got out, and Canaris followed him as a disagreeable looking officer came down the walkway. He was an SS Brigadefiihrer, the same rank as Schellenberg.

  The officer came stiffly to attention and saluted. Canaris idly returned it.

  “Permit me to introduce the college commandant, Dr. Hans Trummler,” Schellenberg said. It was obvious he disliked the man.

  Canaris was going to be neutral.

  “Are you hungry, Herr Admiral? Have you eaten?” Trummler asked.

  “I’m not hungry, but I might have a glass of wine,” Canaris said. He turned to Schellenberg. “Would you care to join me?”

  Volkersam had stepped out of the car. But it was clear that Canaris’ invitation did not include him.

  “Of course,” Schellenberg said.

  “I’ll wait here,” Volkersam said.

  Trummler led Canaris and Schellenberg across the courtyard and into the officers’ mess, where they sat at one of the tables.

  There were a few other officers there. It was early dinner. Some of them Canaris recognized. Most, however, were strangers.

  A waiter brought them a bottle of good Italian red wine and poured each of them a glass.

  Schellenberg raised his in toast. “I wish you luck, Admiral.

  Sincerely.”

  Canaris nodded. “Thank you, Schellenberg,” he said. He sipped his wine. “It has been a long time since the thirties.”

  “Yes, it has. A lot has happened. Much of it has been very good.”

  Canaris had looked off. “Yes, there was much that was good.

  Our Fiihrer was so … brave, in the old days.”

  Schellenberg smiled. He too was thinking about the old days.

  “When you get back to Berlin, there is a favor I would like you to do for me,” Canaris said. }

  “If it is possible.”

  “I would like to speak with Himmler.”

  Schellenberg nodded.

  “I believe he owes me an interview. A very brief interview.”

  “I will ask,” Schellenberg said. He sipped his wine.

  “Thank you.”

  “What about your horses? Have you made arrangements?”

  “Yes. Erwin Delbruck, my nephew, has agreed to take care of them … if I am here for very long. Otherwise my house staff will see to them.” “Yes, I see,” Schellenberg said.

  They drank together in silence for a while. Canaris took out a cigar and went through the ritual of lighting it. The smoke tasted excellent at this moment. He only wished that he had been allowed to take his dogs with him, as he had to Burg Lauenstein.

  But he had not thought to ask. Now it was too late.

  “Do you remember what it was you were doing on the first of September in ‘39,” Canaris asked suddenly.

  Schellenberg did not seem startled by the question. He smiled and nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I was home napping when the news came.”

  “Were you excited?”

  “A strange question.”

  Canaris shrugged. “I was almost sad. Yet I was happy that it had begun at last.” He blinked. “It was a very long road back from Versailles.”

  “Yes, it was,” Schellenberg said. He drank the rest of his wine. Canaris offered him more, but Schellenberg put his hand over his glass, then got up. “I must get back.”

  Canaris looked up at him. “I love Germany very much, Walter.”

  “I know that, Herr Admiral. We all know that.”

  Canaris nodded. He felt very odd at the moment. He felt as if he could talk openly to Schellenberg, and yet he knew everything he said could and would be used against him. But it really didn’t matter. Nothing could matter if they already had the diaries from the safe at Zossen.

  “Be careful to steer clear of the kind of trouble I’ve gotten myself into,” he warned.

  “I will,” Schellenberg said.

  Canaris got to his feet. He and Schellenberg looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and then they shook hands.

  “I have no animosity for you, Walter.”

  “I am happy to hear that, Admiral. I have always admired you.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Auf wiedersehen,” Schellenberg said, and he turned and walked off.

  Canaris remained standing until Schellenberg was gone; then “IS

  the looked around the officers’ mess, picked up his wineglass, md offered a silent toast.

  Several of the officers raised their glasses in toast, but Dthers turned away. It didn’t matter, Canaris thought. From this joint on, nothing mattered. His fate was in someone else’s lands.

  / think you’re out of your fuckin’ gourd. I think your head is firmly planted up your ass.

  Someone had come by a few minutes earlier and had sold the younger man a small plastic packet of white powder. The older man figured it was cocaine.

  Let me tell you something. You might be a Tom Terrific bullshit artist, but you don’t know nothing about your so-called heroes.

  Just possession of the coke had made the young man belligerent.

  The older man shook his head in sadness. He had known in the beginning that tonight would be no use. The kid had no conception.

  Did you know this Terry from South Dakota?

  No.

  How about Major Fisher?

  The younger man waved it off. Fuck. no. But I knew plenty of heroes, and they weren’t no saints in shining armor.

  They loved their country, didn’t they?

  The younger man seemed embarrassed by the question. I don’t know.

  Name me one. Did he or didn’t he love his country? It’s an easy question. The older man listened to his own voice in wonder.

  It had been a bitch of a week. Tonight he had drunk too much.

  But going back like he had, trying to make it clear to this punk, was god damned frustrating.

  The jukebox was silent for a while. The young girl was on break. They could talk more easily now, but they were still shouting out of habit. They had attracted some attention. The bar manager was thinking about calling the cops. These two looked as if they were ready to come to blows. The older one was drunk, and the long-haired freako was higher than a kite.

  He just went in there and did his job, and got the fuck out.

  —Was he any different afterward?

  The younger man laughed out loud. He flipped his long greasy hair back. —Yeah, he was different, all right. Half his kneecap was blown off.

  —He got wounded. That doesn’t make him a hero.

  The young man sat forward so fast he almost fell off his chair. —Don’t fuck with my head, man. I don’t appreciate it.

  The older man held up his hands in surrender.

  —I was just trying to tell you something here, if you’ll just shut up and listen a minute.

  The older man figured it was about time to leave. Hell, it was long overdue time for him to leave, but there was something about the younger man, something in his eyes, that was compelling.

  And oddly, so very familiar. Again he got the very strong feeling that he had known this man for a long time; it was almost as if they
were brothers. But that was ridiculous.

  —You’re talking about heroes, here. In the big war. WW Two. But it wasn’t like that in Nam. Honest to Christ.

  —I’m listening.

  The younger man lit another joint. He had a Marlboro box stuffed with them already rolled. He no longer thought to offer the other man a hit.

  —You know, I’m just as American as the next guy. AFL/CIO and all that crap. But I was drafted, man. I didn’t give a shit one way or the other about the war.

  The older man ordered another beer. He did not notice that the barman hesitated.

  —A lot of guys were drafted. They went in and did their jobs.

  Nothin fancy. No extras. But if their backs were up against it, if they got pissed off, then look out. They’d do something’.

  —Was Terry pissed off?

  —Shit, I don’t know. You’re twisting my words. The young man stabbed a finger at the other man. —I’ll tell you this much for sure: Terry sure the fuck didn’t go looking for the slope. It just happened.

  —Right, but he didn’t run away.

  The younger man shook his head. —Terry was one of the good ones. But they weren’t all like that. Just cause some guy’s a hero don’t make him a saint. I keep trying to tell you that. Some of them were absolutely class one sons-a-bitches.

  Maybe Vietnam had been different from the Second World War, the older man thought. Or perhaps his own definitions were off. But what the younger man was saying to him was alien to everything he had been trying to put across here tonight. Duty.

  Honor. Country. Heroism. Christ, things couldn’t have been that much different. This still was the human race, wasn’t it?

  His beer came, and he sipped it, but then he almost dropped the bottle in his lap.

  The kid had opened the packet of coke. He averted his head and held the packet up to his nose. He held one nostril, then sniffed deeply. Almost immediately he rocked back and a slow smile spread across his face. He folded the packet and put it in his shirt pocket. Then he took another hit from his joint.

  —Like I said, man, I don’t want to fuck with your head; I just want to hear the rest of the bitchin’ story. I want to hear how it turns out.

  Understanding hovered just around the older man. It was there. All of it. But he refused for the moment to make the connections. It was easier to continue.