Chapter 18 #2
Knut bit his lower lip. “Are you suggesting we shouldn’t see each other for a while?”
“Not at all!” Bernd squeezed his partner’s hand. “We just need to come up with a better excuse for my frequent visits.”
“Or a different place.”
“A conspiratorial meeting place? I’m all in.” Knut grinned, poking him in the ribs. “We’ll think of something. For now, let’s go to bed. You have to get up very early in the morning.”
“As do you. Unless you’d rather sleep on the couch, so I won’t wake you.” Bernd smirked and got up to walk to the bathroom. When he entered the bedroom, Knut was already waiting for him.
The next morning, the alarm tore him out of a deep sleep. He left his suitcase with Knut and packed a change of clothes in his briefcase, in case the meeting was postponed and he unexpectedly had to spend the night at the Wolf’s Lair.
Once the plane carrying him and Admiral Canaris landed, they reported to the adjutant’s office, where they were told that Hitler was in a briefing and they would have to wait.
“It would have been unlike him to keep to the schedule,” muttered Bernd.
Instead, they first reported to Field Marshal Keitel, the head of Wehrmacht High Command about the unfortunate outcome of Operation Pastorius. Bernd and the admiral then spent several tense hours walking to and fro outside Hitler’s bunker.
“He’s going to blow his top, isn’t he?” asked Bernd nervously.
Canaris looked at him unperturbed. “It won’t be the first outburst from the Führer to crash over me and it certainly won’t be the last.”
“It’s an honor to serve under you.” Bernd admired the old man, waiting with such composure for the inevitable.
His own knees were shaking, even though he wasn’t in the line of fire – his rank was far too insignificant.
He wasn’t alone in his admiration for Admiral Canaris: half the Abwehr idolized their boss and would have done almost anything for him.
Indeed, a small group among them was even willing to commit treason under his leadership.
Without Canaris as a leader, the group of conspirators could never have formed within the organization. He had appointed regime critics such as von Dohnanyi and Oster to positions of trust, and his close confidant Lahousen was no Nazi either.
At around 4 p.m., the bunker door flew open and Hitler stepped out, followed by Generaloberst Jodl, Chief of Wehrmacht Operations Staff, and Joachim von Ribbentrop, Reich Minister of Foreign Affairs.
The instant the Führer spotted Canaris, he turned pale with anger and stormed toward him.
“I demand an explanation! Why do I have an intelligence agency at all, if such unqualified disasters as this happen? We had practically the same mess a year ago. Do you want to explain to me how this is possible?”
Bernd stood behind Canaris, his knees shaking. Instinctively, he shuffled a little closer to the admiral, partly seeking protection, partly in support of his superior, though his support was unnecessary.
Admiral Canaris stood unmoved, shoulders straight, facing the Führer, his head only slightly bowed as Hitler’s fury poured out over him.
Ribbentrop kept his distance, almost bursting with schadenfreude, since he’d always detested Canaris, and with him, the Abwehr. Bernd’s heart dropped into his boots. Luckily, he wasn’t the one receiving a roasting.
Hitler’s fury was increasing with every moment.
Furious, he heaped one accusation after another onto the Abwehr Chief.
Bernd doubted that he himself would have been able to remain so calm.
Canaris’ composure was probably the secret to how the admiral had managed to maintain his position in the upper echelons of power for so long, despite having countless enemies on all sides.
Finally, the Führer spat out, “You are responsible. You should have thought things through more carefully. But above all, you should have examined your people more thoroughly. Then it would have been impossible for a traitor to sneak in.”
Bernd shrank under the tirade like a leaky balloon. Cold sweat ran down his back as he wondered whether he or Knut would soon have to answer before a court-martial.
Admiral Canaris, on the other hand, betrayed no emotion. Finally, as Hitler was forced to pause for breath, the admiral seized the opportunity to reply. Bernd’s heart almost stopped in terror.
“Mein Führer,” said Canaris, giving a hint of a bow, “all the agents in Operation Pastorius are long-serving party members. They were recommended to me by the foreign department of the NSDAP as loyal National Socialists without exception. The operation leader is a holder of the Blood Order medal.”
Hitler’s cold, stern eyes bored into the admiral.
Bernd swallowed hard, as he noticed the Führer’s inner battle – he’d realized he couldn’t simply brush aside the admiral’s argument.
Tense as a bowstring, Bernd watched for what would happen next, grateful he wasn’t the target of Hitler’s rage.
As it was, he yearned to crawl away like a mouse into a hole.
After an uneasy silence, during which not even the birds in the trees chirped, the Führer spat out, “And what will happen to the poor men who so bravely volunteered for this operation? They will undoubtedly be hanged or shot. If this is how your operations turn out, you’d be better off recruiting criminals or Jews. ”
With those words, the Führer turned on his heel and walked away without as much as a greeting, Jodl and Ribbentrop in tow.
Before Bernd had recovered from the shock, Admiral Canaris turned to him, a small smile playing about his lips. “You heard the Führer. Start recruiting criminals or Jews for the next foreign intelligence mission.”
A wave of relief washed over Bernd. It was all he could do to resist shouting in triumph.
Thanks to the admiral’s hardened demeanor, not only could they present a direct order from the Führer to use Jews as agents, they also had high-ranking witnesses who could confirm every word.
Not even the Gestapo could stonewall any longer.
Almost floating with elation, Bernd boarded the plane for home. He could hardly wait to report that their plans could finally progress.