“They brought me back,” Peter said. “I think temporarily.”
Von Stauffenberg pointed at the corners of the room, then at the light fixture.
My God, he’s warning me they have surveillance microphones in here!
Peter nodded his understanding.
“You look well fed,” von Stauffenberg said.
“The food is magnificent!”
“And the ladies?”
“Even tastier,” Peter said.
“Anyone in particular?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Tell me.”
“How’s Nina?”
“Tell me, Peter.”
“Her name is Alicia,” Peter said. “A really nice girl, Claus.”
“That’s a change.”
“How’s Nina?”
“Fine. Every other Friday, she is permitted to visit.”
“And the kids?”
“Growing amazingly.”
“You get to see them?”
“Before they instituted the No Visitors Rule, I did,” von Stauffenberg said. “I hope to be given a leave.” He held up the stump. “As soon as this thing stops leaking.”
“What happened?”
“I was driving across the desert when an American P-51 strafed me. I woke up in a field hospital, and then I woke up again here in Munich, at the General Hospital.” He paused, and added: “At first—my eyes were covered with bandages—I was afraid I was blind.”
“You look like a pirate,” Peter said. “One-Eyed Claus, the scourge of the Spanish Main. All you need is a hook for your right arm.”
“I knew I could count on a comforting word from you, old friend.”
“Well, at least you’re not in an American POW camp. You—”
Von Stauffenberg pointed at the ceiling again.
Peter stopped himself, just in time, from saying, “You heard about von Arnim?” and instead finished, “…and you’re obviously well on the road to recovery.”
“I’m anxious to get back to active duty,” von Stauffenberg said.
“I’m sure it won’t be long.”