Himmler stared at Cranz for a full thirty seconds to give him time to consider what he had just said.
“Admiral Canaris further told me that he had told Bormann that while he considers Boltitz a fine officer, he does not consider him qualified for those sort of intelligence and security duties. Off the top of my head, Cranz, thinking aloud, so to speak, what I replied to that was, ‘I’d really rather have someone like Obersturmbannführer Cranz in that role.’ ”
Cranz didn’t reply.
“The problem now, of course, Cranz, is that Bormann has made his decisions known. The only way to have them reversed would be for Canaris and me to go directly to the Führer. For obvious reasons—the Führer’s time is fully occupied, for one thing, and Canaris and I believe that our Führer would be reluctant in any case to overturn any decision of Parteileiter Bormann—we don’t want to do that.”
“I think I understand the problem, Herr Reichsleiter.”
“I hope so, Cranz,” Himmler said. “But there is, if I might coin a phrase, a silver lining to the black cloud. If Bormann feels he may make unilateral decisions, it would seem that Admiral Canaris and I have the same right.”
“Yes, sir?”
“For example, despite that Wehrmacht Generalmajor’s uniform he is wearing while offering suggestions and recommendations on my behalf to Bormann, Brigadeführer von Deitzberg is a member of the Schutzstaffel, and consequently subject to my orders. I can, for example, order him back to Berlin without having to consult with anyone.”
“Is that your plan, sir?”
“It is my decision, Cranz. There’s a difference. Admiral Canaris went on to say that he thinks Boltitz would make a fine naval attaché and probably would be very useful in the other areas I mentioned had he someone skilled in those areas to advise him. Which brings us back to what popped into my head earlier—‘I’d really rather have someone like Obersturmbannführer Cranz in that role.’ ”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“I have every hope, Cranz, that when you permit me to finish, everything will be clear to you.”
“I beg your pardon, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop was good enough to come here when Canaris called him,” Himmler went on. “Canaris told him that inasmuch as Gradny-Sawz had not been entirely cleared of suspicion of involvement, he and I were both a little uncomfortable with Bormann’s decision to put him in charge of Operation Perón and having him continue his role in Operation Phoenix without having someone more skilled than Korvettenkapitän Boltitz watching him. And Canaris told the foreign minister that we were understandably loath to bother the Führer with the problem.
“Von Ribbentrop asked if we had any ideas, whereupon I said that the ideal solution would be to have someone in the foreign service with the necessary skills—someone already privy to Operation Perón and Operation Phoenix— who could advise Boltitz and keep an eye on everybody. I asked the foreign minister if he could think of such a person he could send. He said that without making that person privy to both operations, he could not. Whereupon Canaris asked me, ‘What about your man Cranz, Himmler?’
“I replied that you would be ideal for that duty, were you a member of the Foreign Service. To which von Ribbentrop responded that he could see no reason why you could not be seconded to the foreign ministry—the precedent having been set with the seconding of von Deitzberg to the Wehrmacht—and sent to Buenos Aires as, say, the commercial attaché.”
He paused and smiled. “Congratulations on your new duties, Foreign Service Officer Grade Fifteen Cranz.”
“Sir, when is this going to happen?”
“Your credentials and diplomatic passport will be delivered to you just before you board the Lufthansa Condor flight at Tempelhof at seven tomorrow morning.”
“So quickly.”
“Does that pose a problem, Cranz?”
“No, sir. But I did have a thought—”
“Which is?”
“I think fewer questions would be raised about my assignment to the embassy if I were accompanied by my family.”
“Being accompanied is obviously out of the question,” Himmler said simply. “You will be on the plane tomorrow. But I can see the merit of your suggestion, so perhaps your family could join you there later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Insofar as ‘fewer questions’ is concerned, Admiral Canaris said that fewer questions would be raised by Boltitz being named naval attaché if he had the appropriate rank. He brought this to the attention of Grand Admiral Doenitz, who agreed. So you will be taking with you Korvettenkapitän Boltitz’s promotion orders to fregattenkapitän dated several months ago, and which somehow became lost in the bureaucracy. When his appointment as naval attaché is announced to the diplomatic community, it will be as Fregattenkapitän Boltitz. A month or six weeks from now, he will be promoted kapitän zur see.”
Cranz nodded.
“May I ask my role vis-à-vis Kapitän zur See Boltitz, Herr Reichsprotektor? ”
“May I be the first to offer my congratulations on your promotion, Herr Standartenführer Cranz?” Himmler said, smiling. “Since your promotion will predate Boltitz’s promotion to kapitän zur see, when that comes through, you will be the senior officer in the embassy.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“Under the circumstances, your promotion will not be made known to Brigadeführer von Deitzberg until he’s back here. You will carry to him a letter ordering his return to his duties in Berlin. Since you have no idea why I am recalling him, those orders will be as much of a surprise to you as they are to him.”
“I understand, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“That raises the question of Sturmbannführer Raschner,” Himmler said. “Would you prefer that he return to Berlin with von Deitzberg, or would he be useful to you?”
Cranz considered that for a moment.
“I think he would be very useful to me there, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“All right, he’s yours. But don’t tell him until von Deitzberg is on his way back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
V
[ONE]
Tempelhof Airfield Berlin, Germany 0725 8 July 1943
Lufthansa Kapitän Dieter von und zu Aschenburg, a tall, blue-eyed, blond-haired, fair-skinned Prussian, sat in the pilot seat of the Focke-Wulf 200B “Condor,” impatiently tapping the balls of his fingers together.
He had hoped to get off the ground before seven o’clock, and here it was nearly half past, and the only information he could get from the goddamn tower was that permission for him to take off “would be coming momentarily. ” They had been telling him that for half an hour.
Lufthansa Flight 1007 was about to begin a journey of some 8,500 miles to Buenos Aires, Argentina. The flight would be made in four legs, and it was arguable which of them was the most dangerous. None of them was anything approaching safe.
The sleek and slender aircraft, powered by four 870-horsepower BMW engines, looked much like the smaller, dual-engine American DC-3, especially in the nose and cockpit area. It would fly—presuming the goddamn tower ever gives me permission for takeoff—first across Germany and German-occupied France, then over neutral Spain, and on to Lisbon in neutral Portugal.
That was the shortest leg—1,435 miles—well within the Condor’s maximum range of 2,200 miles. The danger here was from American and British aircraft over Germany and occupied France. Most of the real danger came from Allied fighters rigged as photo-reconnaissance aircraft. They were fitted with extra fuel tanks, and often most of their machine guns were removed. They were charged with photographing the previous night’s bomber target to see how much damage had been done and which targets needed to be bombed again.