The Honor of Spies

He turned to the maid. "Maria, after you throw all of that herbal junk away, go to the restaurant and get me some scrambled eggs--four scrambled eggs--toast, ham, and a pot of coffee."

She looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"My God, didn't you hear me?"

Maria began to cry.

Von Gradny-Sawz gave von Deitzberg a dirty look, put his arm around Maria's shoulders, and led her out of the room, speaking softly to her. Von Deitzberg went into the bathroom, took a cold shower, and then dressed.

When Maria returned with his scrambled eggs, von Deitzberg apologized to her for raising his voice and whatever else he had done to cause her to be uncomfortable.

While doing so, for the first time since they'd met, he looked at her as a female. He'd heard somewhere that Latin women--or was it Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese?--matured earlier than Aryans. It was apparently true so far as Maria was concerned. She had an entirely mature and quite attractive bosom.

He did not permit his thoughts to wander down that path.

My God, she's fifteen!

Any mature man taking carnal advantage of a fifteen-year-old female child should be lashed at the stake first, and then castrated.

And Peron likes them even younger! That's obscene!

Unfortunately, I don't think I will ever be able to watch el Coronel Peron as he is lashed or castrated.

I have other plans for that degenerate sonofabitch!

Von Deitzberg, to ensure he hadn't missed anything, read Himmler's letter a third time as he ate his scrambled eggs.

He knew that while everything Himmler had written was true, it was not a complete report of what had happened at Wolfsschanze. Himmler was too smart to write that down, and he knew that von Deitzberg--who not only was privy to the backstabbing of the senior Nazis but personally had witnessed at least a dozen of the Fuhrer's legendary tirades--would be easily able to fill in the blanks.

Himmler had not considered it necessary to suggest that Goebbels, the clubfooted propaganda minister, had brought South American Airways' accomplishment to Hitler's attention, not in order to keep the Fuhrer up-to-date, but rather it would direct the Fuhrer's rage at Reichsmarschall Hermann Goring, of whose power he was jealous and whom he loathed.

It wasn't at all hard for von Deitzberg to picture the scene around the map table at Wolfsschanze with Hitler ranting at a cowering Goring. The Fuhrer was wont to stamp his foot. His tirade was often accompanied by a shower of spittle. And a supply of spectacles was kept available to replace those he threw at the floor or at whoever was the target of his rage.

And von Deitzberg could clearly see the concern in Goebbels's eyes when Hitler was on the edge of ordering that the Constellations be shot down, then that concern replaced with relief when Canaris, with his usual skill, kept that from happening.

My God! I'm thinking clearly!

Twenty minutes ago, all I was thinking of was what those gottverdammt concoctions that that moron Muller has been feeding me are doing to my stomach and bowels. Or daydreaming like a sixteen-year-old with raging hormones about Inge von Tresmarck.

It's as if I've been asleep, or drugged, and suddenly woken up.

Why? What happened? What woke me up?

After a moment's thought, he knew what had happened.

He was terrified because of the last paragraph of Himmler's letter: "The discussion ended somewhat abruptly at that point when the Fuhrer turned to me and said, in effect, 'Von Deitzberg is over there; have him take care of this.' "

I have been personally given the task of destroying SAA's aircraft, and in such a manner that the finger of suspicion cannot be pointed at Germany.

Every one of those Sohns der einer Hundin at Wolfsschanze must have been delighted.

Canaris, because Hitler hadn't ordered him to do it.