“And that’s where you got the Purple Heart?”
“And the DFC. The freighter blew up.”
Clete snatched a glass of Champagne from a tray in the hand of a passing maid. “I wonder what the boys on Fighter One are drinking?” he asked.
“Warm Kool-Aid,” Almond said. “War is hell, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got a few hours in that Lodestar,” Clete said. “But I need about twenty hours with a good IP.”
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely,” Clete said.
“Hell, I’m available, Señor Frade.”
“I owe you, Milton,” Clete said.
“It’s nothing, Don Cletus,” Leibermann said with a smile.
XVIII
[ONE]
Office of the Director, Abwehr Intelligence
Berlin
1425 22 May 1943
“Korvettenkapitän Boltitz, Herr Admiral,” Admiral Wilhelm Canaris’s aide announced.
Canaris signaled Boltitz to enter. Boltitz took six steps inside the office, came to attention, clicked his heels, and said, “Good afternoon, Herr Admiral.”
“I expected you earlier,” Canaris replied, and pointed to the upholstered chair in front of his desk. “We are expected by Himmler at four-thirty.”
“The aircraft was delayed, Herr Admiral.”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation,” Canaris said, then: “You came here directly from Templehof? Then you missed your lunch, Boltitz?”
“It’s not important, Sir.”
“I didn’t ask if you thought it was important,” Canaris said.
“I have not had lunch, Sir.”
Canaris nodded. “Neither have I,” Canaris said. “The brain requires sustenance, a fact I frequently forget.”
Boltitz didn’t reply.
The door opened.
“Herr Admiral?” Canaris’s aide asked.
“One, I thought I asked you to remind me to eat at twelve o’clock.”
“I did, Herr Admiral. The Herr Admiral’s response was ‘Later. Not now.’”
“Two, get Boltitz and me something to eat. Sandwiches and milk and coffee will do, as long as we can have it in five minutes.”