by APC APC
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Deep in the heart of Germany two men raised their shotguns and fired. The first man missed. The second did not. Caught in the chest with an ounce of buckshot, the pheasant folded up its brown feathery wings and plunged into the leafy undergrowth where it would be retrieved a minute later by a yelping English setter.
“Fine shot, admiral. You are an amazing sportsman for a man of your age.” Heydrich put an extra emphasis on the last few words, but Canaris appeared not to notice.
Stepping down from his magnificent white gelding, he broke open his shotgun and emptied the spent shell.
Admiral Canaris was an older man with gray hair and wrinkles deep in his forehead, but his eyesight was still sharp and he rode like a true gentleman. Obergruppenfuhrer Heydrich wasn’t particularly jealous of the admiral’s hunting abilities. He could shoot and ride just as well as the next man and some day he was sure to surpass his old master, if not today. But if there was a particular talent that worried Heydrich, it was the admiral’s sinister brand of intelligence, his uncanny way of knowing things he should not and speaking and acting in polar antithesis. If he ever became an enemy, Admiral Canaris would be a truly dangerous opponent.
“You flatter me, Herr Heydrich. I am lucky. That is all.” Canaris took the morning’s catch from his enthusiastic canine companion. It was a good-sized bird and would make a lovely dinner. “I do wish you would reconsider. My Nora makes a lovely raisin strudel, my cellar is fully stocked and I can’t possibly finish this buxom bird all by myself.” He held up the dead pheasant to prove his point. “We can while away the end of spring in warm fellowship, good food and even better wine.”
Heydrich waved away the suggestion as if it were a troublesome fly. “That may be all right for a retired admiral such as yourself, but I have a country to run.”
“I understand.” He lowered the bird sadly. “I heard you were recently promoted to Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. Congratulations. It must be a great honor, especially to a man so young.”
“Yes, admiral, it is.” Heydrich eyed Canaris for a moment, trying to see past the polite words. Just then Heydrich’s chauffeur appeared through the trees, running awkwardly down the narrow forest trail in his heavy black boots.
“See what I mean, admiral. My job is never done. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course.”
Heydrich urged his horse down the trail to meet the beleaguered soldier who then handed him a message. Heydrich read it quickly and his eyes widened.
“Codename Vengeance?” he asked with surprise.
“Yes. I don’t know what it means, but that’s what the marshal said on the telephone.”
The sergeant may not have known the codename, but Heydrich did. After three years, Germany’s top spy in America had finally come home. But who was he and why had he returned? And why Amsterdam? Heydrich looked back over his shoulder at Canaris who was busy loading the dead bird into his satchel. He must know something, but he would never tell, that wily old fox. Heydrich would have to move quickly if he wanted to out-spy the spymaster.
He turned back to his chauffeur. “Wake Colonel Hausenberg. Tell him to purge the ghetto.”
“Sir?” The sergeant looked stunned. “But there are thousands of Jews still in Amsterdam. The camps are not ready.”
“Call in the Wolf Corps. Get it done.”
“Yes sir.”
“But first I want you and Klein to go on ahead. See to this other matter personally. And Schliemann, no mistakes this time.” Heydrich stared at the old sergeant sternly.
“Heil Hitler!” Schliemann answered with a stiff salute and then hobbled off down the forest path. Heydrich glanced back at Canaris who was waiting patiently on his beautiful white horse.
“Nothing urgent, I hope,” the retired admiral called over the fifty-foot patch of trail between the two men. A flock of pheasant scattered into the air between them, startled by the admiral’s prowling bird dog. Neither man aimed raised his gun.
“Trouble in Bohemia.”
“Pardon me!”
“I said trouble in Bohemia. I’m afraid I will have to decline your invitation and head back immediately.”
“What a shame.”
Heydrich laughed to himself. He was confident that the old admiral had heard none of what was said to the sergeant nor did he know anything yet about his recent bit of news. There was a time when nothing of interest to the Third Reich could have occurred in Europe, or in the rest of the world for that matter, without Canaris somehow knowing about it. But the old man’s cunning intuition was failing him at last, just as his hearing had failed him years ago. His days as the vaunted spymaster of Germany were numbered, and Heydrich was poised and ready to take his place.
But the over-confident Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia, and head of Germany’s ever expanding National Security Department, the SD, was forgetting one important detail. He had been so focused on the old admiral’s failing hearing that he had completely forgotten about his sharp eyesight and keen ability to read lips. Canaris may not have been able to hear the words spoken between Heydrich and his SS goon, but he could see them. And one word was of particularly interest to him, a word he had not seen or heard spoken for a very long time.
The codename Vengeance.