Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

“I know.”

“I am on my way to Lyon. From there I shall proceed by air to a small airstrip near the town of Portarlier. There will be a full moon so no lights will be needed. I will wait there until one hour before dawn.”

“Impossible. You will have to cross the border.”

“I cannot. I will have no access to a car. Our border patrol there is very lax. The Swiss are not.”

“How do we know this is not a trap?”

“You do not,” Canaris said. “But I give you my word, I merely must talk with … him. This is of extreme importance to us all. Of the highest importance. I cannot emphasize it strongly enough.”

“It cannot be done so quickly …” the man started, but Canaris hung up. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding, and he was having trouble catching his breath. It seemed as if the walls of the old ice storage room were closing in on him.

He jumped up, remembered to stub out his cigarette, and left the room, making sure the door was locked before he made his way again to the front of the house.

“Ah, there you are, sir. Your car is waiting,” the houseman said.

Von Auenrode appeared at the head of the stairs, and he hurried down. “Herr Admiral, you are leaving so soon?”

“Yes. It’s time to get back to work,” Canaris said, forcing a calmness to his voice. Despite his extreme anxiety, his palms were warm and dry. He and the major shook hands. Canaris looked into von Auenrode’s eyes. “You are doing a good job for the Reich.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I just wanted you to know that,” Canaris said. “Have a safe trip back.” “You, too, sir,” von Auenrode said.

Canaris turned, left the house, got into the back seat of his ‘ Mercedes, the dogs all over him, and the big car pulled around the circular drive and headed down the long road out to the main highway. Von Auenrode was joined by his wife on the front veranda, and they both waved.

It was well after six by the time he made it to the Luftwaffe airfield just outside the Basque seaport of Bayonne, where, if his memory served him correctly, the bayonet was invented. His driver brought him around to operations, where the officer of the day, a young lieutenant, came out and saluted, looking askance at the dogs. A Dornier Do 17F, which had been used as the Germen’s chief reconnaissance aircraft until the advent of the faster Junkers 88, was warming up on the field.

“They are ready for you, Herr Admiral,” the lieutenant shouted over the noise.

The driver had climbed out of the car with Canaris* bags. He handed them to the officer who carried them out to the plane.

The navigator was waiting by the hatch to receive the bags.

When he had them, Canaris hoisted up the dogs, one at a time.

“We hope you enjoyed your stay here, sir,” the lieutenant said.

“Immensely,” Canaris replied with more levity than he felt at the moment.

The navigator helped him climb up into the belly of the aircraft, and he crawled forward and strapped himself down in one of the observation seats just behind the pilot. The dogs were tethered aft.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the pilot said. He was a twice passed over captain. Too old for combat. At least for the moment, though Canaris suspected that if the war continued to go as badly as it was, his pilot would be taken as well. “We should be in Berlin in time for a midnight schnapps, unless there’s a raid tonight.”

“We’ll put down at the depot in Lyon for the evening and continue on to Berlin in the morning,” Canaris said.

“Very good, sir,” the pilot said without blinking. “It’ll be a hell of a lot less dangerous if we wait.” His name was Erich Hewel. He had been detached to Abwehr service fourteen months ago. Of the pilots Canaris knew, he liked Hewel the best. The man knew how to keep his mouth shut.

“Let’s go then, Erich; I haven’t had my dinner yet.”

“Of course, sir,” Hewel said. He and his crew busied themselves with the plane.

Within five minutes, their preflight checks completed, they were hurtling down the runway and lifting off, the dark Atlantic rising off to the west, his beloved Spain to the south, and the war—his war—to the northeast.

When they were settled at altitude, Canaris went aft to check on the dogs. Kasper had piddled, the urine running farther aft in a long stream. The dogs were leashed to a bulkhead. An old greatcoat had been laid down for them. They were wild with I excitement that their master was with them.

He smiled indulgently at his animals as he petted them. “If you were the Fiihrer,” he said to Kasper, “you would not have done such a naughty thing.” He smiled. “Or you, Sabine, you I would have had him before a firing squad.” He laughed out loud at his own joke.

After a while he strapped down in one of the camera operator’s positions, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. But sleep was a long time coming. His gut hurt from anxiety, and his face and neck were so warm that he began to sweat. The doctor had said he was having trouble with high blood pressure.

The technical details of Schey’s report were beyond his grasp.

But overall he well understood what he carried with him.

The Americans were going to win this war with or without their new super weapon. There was absolutely no doubt of that.

Within a year, perhaps two, the war here in Europe would be | over. It could take another five years to defeat the Japanese with normal methods. But if the atom-smashing bomb were perfected ‘ and used, it would end the war immediately.

The bomb was the guarantor of an immediate and decisive victory for whoever possessed it—Roosevelt and Churchill, or the Fuhrer.

The weather was very bad across the Texas panhandle. As he