Death and Honor

“I decided some time ago, Canaris, that because of his opportunistic tendencies, he probably could be trusted, up to a point. He would have to be watched, of course.”

“At the risk of repeating myself, I don’t know the man well enough to make a decision like that.”

“The decision was not yours to make, Canaris, but mine. Gradny-Sawz has already begun to make approaches to Perón. The problem is that Grüner is no longer available to watch Gradny-Sawz.” He paused to let that sink in, and then went on. “That’s what we’re really talking about here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We need a replacement for Grüner. Von Deitzberg has suggested Boltitz.”

“Why not the ambassador?” Canaris asked. “Wouldn’t that be the obvious choice?”

“I’m sure von Deitzberg has considered Graf von Lutzenberger,” Bormann said, “and concluded Boltitz would be preferable.”

“Is there an implication in that that von Deitzberg has less than full faith in von Lutzenberger?”

“The traitor in the embassy has not yet been detected,” Bormann said. “Until he has been, everyone is therefore under suspicion.”

“Even so, while I am reluctant to question SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg, I’m not at all sure that Boltitz is a wise choice.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, Boltitz has no experience—absolutely none at all—in these areas—”

“And, for another, you’d like him back here in Berlin?” Bormann interrupted.

“Frankly, yes, I would. I would like him doing work for which he is qualified. And he’s not qualified for this.”

“He has two very important qualifications for this. He enjoys the full confidence of SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg and Vizeadmiral Canaris.”

“He does not have my full confidence to perform in a role like this,” Canaris said.

“The decision has been made, Canaris. Frankly, von Deitzberg said that he thought you would be unhappy with it. I understand. But we must think of what is best for Operation Phoenix, Operation Perón, and the Führer.”

“Those are also my priorities, Herr Reichsleiter. I can propose to you the names of half a dozen—”

He stopped when Bormann held up both hands, palms outward.

“Perhaps you didn’t understand me when I said the decision has been made, Herr Vizeadmiral,” Bormann said with a cold smile.

Canaris didn’t reply.

“Korvettenkapitän Boltitz will be assigned to the embassy as naval attaché,” Bormann went on, “where he will be in a position to keep an eye not only on Gradny-Sawz but on the ambassador and von Wachtstein as well. He will—von Deitzberg will set up the details of how before he returns—report directly to me. I will, of course, furnish you with the pertinent details of his reports.”

Canaris nodded his understanding.

"A word of advice, Canaris, in case you were thinking of appealing this decision. ”

“I know full well how much faith the Führer has in you, Herr Reichsleiter. And I try hard to avoid fighting battles I know I cannot win.”

“Don’t think of it as a battle, Canaris. But rather as an accommodation— even a sacrifice—on your part for the common good.”

Canaris nodded.

“And now, Herr Reichsleiter, may I plead the press of duties and ask to be excused?”

“I understand,” Bormann said.

“Thank you for a splendid luncheon,” Canaris said.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Canaris.”

Canaris laid his napkin on the table, came to attention, thrust his right arm out, and barked, “Heil Hitler!”

Bormann returned the salute with an almost casual wave of his arm.

Canaris’s car, an Opel Kapitän, was the least pretentious on the row of official cars lined up outside the Reich Chancellery. All the others were either a Mercedes-Benz or a Maybach; there even was an American Packard. The vizeadmiral walked to his Opel and got in before the SS trooper in charge of what was the parking lot for very senior officers could have it waved to meet him at the steps.

Canaris thought about the exchange with Bormann all the way to his office. It had gone well, far better than he had hoped it would, and thinking that raised caution flags.

When things are obviously going very well, they almost surely are not.

He opened the door for himself when he got to his office building, and returned the salutes of the navy petty officers on guard with a military—not the Nazi—salute.

He went into his office and told his secretary to get him a cup of coffee, then leave him undisturbed.

He waited until the coffee—black, and in a heavy navy-issue china mug— was delivered. Then he got from behind his desk and went to his private toilet.

After a moment, without having used the facility, he flushed the toilet and turned the water on in the sink.

And then, very softly, almost in a whisper, he said, “I will be goddamned. The swine not only let my fox into his chicken coop, but practically pushed him in.”

[TWO]

Office of the Director Office of Strategic Services National Institutes of Health Building Washington, D.C. 0930 29 June 1943