“There are facilities for approximately one hundred,” the Graf replied. “The hospital consists of three villas. Claus has been given a pleasant private room on the second floor of the largest of them. It was the home of a Munich businessman who accumulated a large fortune making candy for children.”
“A private room? Because he’s senior? Or because he’s so badly shot up?”
“I don’t know,” the Graf replied, his tone making it clear he did not like either the question or the interruption. “Obviously, both factors were considered.” He paused and went on, more gently. “You are going to have to be ready to face Claus’s injuries, Hansel,” he said. “And when I saw him last, he had lost a good deal of weight.”
“I have seen wounded men before, Poppa.”
“The last thing Claus wants is your pity,” the Graf said, paused, and then went on: “There are, as I said, three villas, each on what I suppose is about a hectare of land. They were originally walled off from the street and each other—three-meter-high steel-mesh fences, concealed by shrubbery. A portion of the interior fencing has been removed, so now there is what amounts to a single compound.”
“I understand,” Peter said.
“The building where Claus is quartered holds officers who have been blinded, or who have lost a leg,” the Graf went on, “probably because the stairways are wider and shallower than those in the other villas—thus more easily negotiable by someone on crutches, or learning to navigate with the aid of a cane.”
“And the others?” Peter asked softly.
“The building next to his—it belongs to Max Stammt, the motion picture producer—houses officers who have lost both legs, or both arms, or who suffer from mental distress, and consequently require greater attention. And the third building was once owned by Peter Ohr.”
Peter nodded his understanding. Peter Ohr, a well-known actor, was a Jew who had had the good sense—and/or the good luck—to abandon the movie studios of Grünwald for those of Hollywood while there was still time.
“That is utilized to care for officers considered unlikely to recover.”
In other words, those waiting to die.
“Slow down a little, Hansel,” the Graf said. “It’s the second turn to the right after the Strassenbahn stop ahead.”
Peter made the turn.
“On the right, in the second block,” the Graf said.
As he approached the entrance to the compound, Peter could see little of the villas behind the fence but their roofs. At the entrance itself, there was a helmeted soldier with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
He turned off the cobblestone street and stopped.
The soldier approached the car, saw that Peter was a major, and saluted. Then he saw the Graf, and popped to rigid attention. Like the guards at Schloss Wachtstein, the soldier was in his forties and didn’t look fit for active service.
Peter rolled the window down. “Generalleutnant Graf von Wachtstein,” he said. That announcement had quickly gotten him past the guards at Schloss Wachtstein. It didn’t work here.
“Heil Hitler!” the guard said, adding, “May I have your authorization, please, Herr Major?”
“What authorization? We are here to visit a patient.”
“I regret, Herr Major, that you must have an authorization to visit the hospital.”
“Summon your officer,” Peter said. He looked at his father, who shrugged.
Three minutes later, the gate opened and a Wehrmacht doctor—a major in his late fifties—emerged. He gave the Nazi salute the moment he saw the Graf’s collar tabs, then gave it again as he walked to the passenger side of the car. “Heil Hitler! How may I be of service to the Herr Generalleutnant?”
“We’re here to see one of your patients, Oberstleutnant von Stauffenberg,” the Graf said.
“I regret, Herr Generalleutnant, that we were unaware of your coming.”
“Is there some sort of a problem?” the Graf asked.
“The hospital has been closed to visitors, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“Certainly not to a general officer of the OKW,” the Graf said impatiently.
“I’m sure an exception can be made in your case, Herr Generalleutnant, but I will have to ask you to come with me while I speak with the Munich Area Medical Commandant’s office for permission.”