‘A pleasure. Captain Kramer, isn’t it?’ Steiner took in Kramer’s cuff-titles, the ribbon for the Winter War. ‘So, we are old comrades, it would seem?’
‘Yes, Colonel.’
Several paratroopers had emerged from their canteen curious about the arrivals. At the sight of Steiner they all jumped to attention. ‘At ease, lads,’ he called and said to Kramer, ‘What strength have you here?’
‘Thirty-five only, Colonel.’
‘Good,’ Steiner told him. ‘I’m going to need everyone including you, of course, so let’s get in out of this rain and I’ll explain.’
The thirty-five men of the 12th Parachute Detachment stood in four ranks in the rain in the farmyard. They wore the steel helmets peculiar to the Parachute Regiment, baggy jump smocks and most of them had Schmeisser machine pistols slung across their chests. They stood there, rigid to attention as Steiner addressed them, Schellenberg, Devlin and Asa Vaughan behind him, Kramer at one side.
Steiner hadn’t bothered with niceties, only the facts. ‘So there it is. The Fuhrer is to meet his death very shortly at the hands of traitorous elements of the SS. Our job is to stop them. Any questions?’
There wasn’t a word, only the heavy rain drumming down and Steiner turned to Kramer. ‘Get them ready, Captain.’
‘Zu befehl, Hen Oberst.’ Kramer saluted.
Steiner turned to the others. ‘Will fifteen minutes be enough for you?’
‘Then you arrive like a panzer column,’ Schellenberg told him. ‘Very fast indeed.’
He and Asa got in the Kubelwagen. Devlin, the black hat slanted over one ear, the trenchcoat he’d stolen from the Army and Navy Club already soaked, said to Steiner, ‘In a way, we’ve been here before.’
‘I know, and the same old question. Are we playing the game or is the game playing us?’
‘Let’s hope we have better luck than we did last time, Colonel.’ Devlin smiled, got in the back of the Kubelwagen and Asa drove away.
At the Chateau de Belle Ile, Rommel, Canaris and Major Ritter went up the steps to the main entrance. One of the two SS guards opened the door and they went inside. There seemed to be guards everywhere. Rommel said to Canaris as he unbuttoned his coat, ‘It looks rather like some weekend SS convention, the kind they used to have in Bavaria in the old days.’
Berger came down the stairs and advanced to meet them. ‘Herr Admiral _ Herr Field Marshal, a great pleasure. SturmbannFuhrer Berger, in charge of security.’
‘Major.’ Rommel nodded.
‘The Fuhrer is waiting in the dining hall. He has requested that no one bears arms in his presence.’
Rommel and Ritter took their pistols from their holsters. ‘I trust we’re not late?’ the Field Marshal said.
‘Actually, you are early by two minutes.’ Berger gave him the good-humoured smile of one soldier to another. ‘May I show you the way?’
He opened the great oak door and they followed him in. The long dining table was laid for four people only. The Fuhrer was standing by the stone fireplace looking down into the burning logs. He turned and faced them.
‘Ah, there you are.’
Rommel said, ‘I trust you are well, my Fuhrer?’
Hitler nodded to Canaris. ‘Herr Admiral.’ His eyes flickered to Ritter who stood rigidly to attention clutching a briefcase. ‘And who have we here?’
‘My personal aide, Major Carl Ritter, my Fuhrer. He has further details on the Normandy situation that we have already discussed,’ Rommel said.
‘More reports?’ Hitler suggested. ‘If you must, I suppose.’ He turned to Berger. ‘Have another place laid at the table and see what’s keeping the ReichsFuhrer.’
As Berger moved to the door it opened and Himmler entered. He wore the black dress uniform and his face was pale, a faint edge of excitement to him that he found difficult to conceal. ‘I apologize, my Fuhrer, a phone call from Berlin as I was about to leave my room.’ He nodded. ‘Herr Admiral – Field Marshal.’
‘And the Field Marshal’s aide, Major Ritter.’ Hitler rubbed his hands together. ‘I really feel extraordinarily hungry. You know, gentlemen, perhaps one should do this more often. The early breakfast, I mean. It leaves so much of the day for matters of importance. But come. Sit.’