Carlos Romero was twenty-seven; a saturnine, rather handsome young man, son of a wealthy Madrid wine merchant, he had learned to fly at sixteen, had joined the Spanish Air Force at the earliest possible moment and trained as a fighter pilot. When the Civil War came he had opted for Franco, not because he was a dedicated Fascist, but because that’s what people of his class did. He’d shot down eleven planes, and had the time of his life. He’d even flown with the German Condor Legion.
Suddenly it was all over and he didn’t want that, and then he’d got a whisper that the SS were taking Spanish volunteers. A pilot with his record they had snapped up without hesitation, employing him mainly on courier duties, ferrying high-ranking officers.
So here he was at the controls of a small Stork spotter plane a thousand feet above Berlin, an SS Brigadefuhrer behind him. He called the tower at Gatow, received permission to land and drifted down towards the airfield, bored out of his skull.
‘Mother of God,’ he whispered softly in Spanish, ‘there must be something better than this.’
There was, of course, and he found it when he went into the mess and took off his flying jacket, revealing a well-tailored SS uniform in field grey. He had a small Spanish shield on his left shoulder, and wore the Spanish Order of Merit for gallantry in the field and an Iron Cross First Class for his exploits with the Condor Legion.
He was aware of Canaris first, because of his high rank, although he did not recognize him, but Ritter he did, and went forward with genuine pleasure.
‘Hans Ritter, by all that’s holy.’
Ritter got up to greet him, leaning on his stick, and shook hands. ‘You look well, Carlos. Spain seems a long time ago.’
‘I heard about your leg. I’m sorry.’
Ritter said, ‘Admiral Canaris, Head of the Abwehr.’
Romero got his heels together and saluted. ‘An honour, Herr Admiral.’
‘Join us, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer.’ Canaris waved to the mess steward. Champagne. Bollinger for preference, and three glasses.’ He turned to Romero. ‘You are a courier pilot, I understand. Do you like that?’
To be frank, Herr Admiral, these milk runs of mine bore me to death.’
‘Then we’ll have to see if we can find something more rewarding for you,’ Canaris said as the champagne arrived. ‘Tell him, Hans.’
Romero finished reading the file and closed it. His face was pale and excited as he looked up. Canaris said, ‘Are you interested?’
‘Interested?’ Romero accepted a cigarette from Ritter and his hand shook. ‘Herr Admiral, I’m willing to go down on my knees and beg.’
Canaris laughed. ‘No need for that.’
Ritter said, ‘The Catalina would not present you with a problem?’
‘Good God no, an excellent aircraft to fly.’
‘And what about a crew?’
Romero sat back thinking about it. ‘I could manage with a second pilot and an engineer.’
‘And where would we find them?’ Canaris asked.
‘Right here in the Spanish Legion of the SS. Like myself, Herr Admiral. I can think of two suitable candidates right now: Javier Noval, a fine pilot, and Juan Conde, an aircraft engineer of genius.’
Ritter made a note of the names. ‘Excellent. I’ll have them transferred to Abwehr duties along with yourself.’
‘What about the explosives and the mines?’ Romero asked.
‘We’ll have them delivered by some suitable freighter,’ Ritter told him. ‘There should be no problem in a place like Dahrein. You will naturally build up your credentials during the run-up to September. Coastal trade, freight, that kind of thing.’
Romero nodded slowly. ‘But I do have a suggestion. When the time comes we could make the transfer of the mines at sea. I could land beside the freighter with no problem. From there a direct flight to the base would simplify the whole thing.’
‘Excellent.’ Canaris stood up. ‘I think you should meet our friend Professor Muller. You can come back to town with us, drop me off on the way and then continue to the University. From now on, you deal with Captain Ritter in all things.’
‘At your orders. Herr Admiral.’
‘Good,’ Canaris said, and he turned and led the way out.