Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

"You'll go through the motions of being an active member of the team, but the truth is you're finished." Vicary stood up. "We should get back to the house, Commander Jordan. We have a few papers for you to sign before we leave."

"What sort of papers?"

"Oh, just something that binds you to never breathe a word of this for the rest of your life."

Jordan turned away from the river and finally looked at Vicary.

"Believe me, you don't need to worry about that."

Kurt Vogel was fussing with his collar. He was wearing his Kriegsmarine uniform for the first time in longer than he could remember. It fit before the war but Vogel, like almost everyone else, had lost weight. Now his tunic hung on him like prison pajamas.

He was nervous as hell. He had never met the Fuhrer; in fact he had never been in the same room with the man. Personally, he thought Hitler was a lunatic and a monster who had led Germany to the brink of catastrophe. But he found he was eager to meet him and, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to make a good impression. He wished he had a better speaking voice. He chain-smoked to ease his nerves. He had smoked the entire flight from Berlin and now he was smoking again in the car. Canaris finally pleaded with him to put the damned thing out for the sake of the dachshunds. They were lying at Vogel's feet like fat sausages, glaring up at him malevolently. Vogel cracked the window and tossed his cigarette into the swirling snow.

The staff Mercedes stopped at the outer checkpoint of Hitler's Wolfschanze. Four SS guards descended on the car, threw open the hood and the trunk, and used mirrors to search the undercarriage. The SS men waved them forward and they drove a half mile toward the compound. It was late afternoon, but the forest floor burned with brilliant white arc light. Guards with Alsatians patrolled the footpaths.

The car stopped again in the compound, and again they were set upon by SS men. This time the inspection was personal. They were ordered out of the car and body searched. Vogel was shocked at the sight of Wilhelm Canaris, the chief of Germany's intelligence service, standing with his arms in the air, an SS man patting him down as if he were a beer hall drunk.

A guard demanded Vogel's briefcase, and he reluctantly handed it over. It contained the photographs of the Allied documents and the hastily produced analysis from the Abwehr technical staff in Berlin. The SS man dug inside the briefcase with a gloved hand and then returned it to Vogel, satisfied it contained no weapons or explosives.

Vogel joined Canaris, and they walked wordlessly toward the stairs that descended into the bunker. Two of the photographs Vogel had left behind in Berlin, locked in his file cabinets-the photographs of the note. The hand was hers; Vogel recognized the jagged scar at the base of her thumb. He was torn. Accede to her wishes and extract her from Britain or leave her in place? He suspected the decision would be made for him.

Another SS man waited at the top of the stairs, just in case the Fuhrer's visitors were somehow able to arm themselves during the walk across the compound. Canaris and Vogel stopped and submitted to yet another search.

Canaris looked at Vogel and said, "Welcome to Camp Paranoia."

Vogel and Canaris were the first to arrive. "Smoke now before the chicken farmer gets here," Canaris said. Vogel cringed at the remark; surely the room was thoroughly bugged. Leafing through his files, he fought off the craving for tobacco.

Vogel watched as the most powerful men of the Third Reich filed into the room one by one: Reichsfuhrer SS Heinrich Himmler, Brigadefuhrer Walter Schellenberg, Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, and Hermann Goring.

They all rose when Hitler entered the room, twenty minutes behind schedule. He wore slate gray trousers and a black tunic. He remained standing after everyone else sat. Vogel watched him, fascinated. The hair was graying, the skin sallow, the eyes red-rimmed. The dark circles beneath them were so pronounced they looked like bruises. Yet there was a daunting energy about him. For two hours he dominated the other men in the room as he led the conference on preparations for the invasion-probing, challenging, dismissing information or insight deemed irrelevant. It was clear to Vogel that Adolf Hitler knew as much, if not more, about the disposition of his forces in the West than his senior military officers. His attention to detail was astonishing. He demanded to know why there were three fewer antiaircraft guns in the Pas de Calais than in the previous week. He wanted to know the exact kind of concrete used for the Atlantic Wall fortifications and the precise thickness at which it was laid.

Finally, at the end of the conference, he turned to Canaris and said, "So. I'm told the Abwehr has uncovered another piece of information that might shed some light on the enemy's intentions."

"Actually, my Fuhrer, the operation was conceived and executed by Captain Vogel. I'll allow him to brief you on his findings."

"Fine," Hitler said. "Captain Vogel?"

Vogel remained seated. "My Fuhrer, two days ago in London one of our agents took possession of a document. As you know, we have discovered the enemy is engaged in something called Operation Mulberry. Based on these new documents we are now closer to learning exactly what Mulberry is."

"Closer?" Hitler said, his head tilting back. "So you are still engaging in guesswork, Captain?"

"If I may continue, my Fuhrer."

"Please, but I have limited patience this evening."

"We now know much more about the giant concrete and steel structures being built at several points around England. We now know they are code-named Phoenix. We also know that when the invasion comes they will be towed across the English Channel and sunk off the coast of France."

"Sunk? For what possible purpose, Captain Vogel?"

"For the past twenty-four hours, our technical analysts have been poring over the documents stolen in London. Each of the submersible units contains quarters for a crew and a large antiaircraft gun. It is possible the enemy is planning to create a huge coastal antiaircraft complex to provide additional cover for their troops during the invasion."

"Possible," Hitler said. "By why go to so much trouble to construct an antiaircraft facility? All your estimates indicate the British are desperately short of raw materials-steel, concrete, aluminum. You've been telling me that for months. Churchill has bankrupted Britain with this foolish war. Why waste precious supplies on such a project?"

Hitler turned and glared at Goring. "Besides, I'm afraid we must assume that the enemy will enjoy supremacy in the air during the invasion."

Hitler turned back toward Vogel. "Do you have a second theory, Captain Vogel?"

"We do, my Fuhrer. It is a minority opinion, very preliminary, and still open to a great deal of interpretation."

"Let's hear it," he snapped.

"One of our analysts believes the submersible units might actually be components of some sort of artificial harbor, a device that could be constructed in Britain, towed across the Channel, and installed along the French coast during the first hours of the invasion."

Hitler, intrigued, was pacing again. "An artificial harbor? Is such a thing possible?"

Himmler cleared his throat gently. "Perhaps your analysts are misreading the information provided by the agent, Captain Vogel. An artificial harbor sounds a little far-fetched to me."

"No, Herr Reichsfuhrer," Hitler said, "I think Captain Vogel may be on to something here." Hitler paced the room violently. "An artificial harbor! Imagine the arrogance, the audacity of such a project! I see the fingerprints of that madman Churchill all over this."