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Canaris nodded his understanding.

"A word of advice, Canaris, in case you were thinking of appealing this decision. ”

“I know full well how much faith the Führer has in you, Herr Reichsleiter. And I try hard to avoid fighting battles I know I cannot win.”

“Don’t think of it as a battle, Canaris. But rather as an accommodation— even a sacrifice—on your part for the common good.”

Canaris nodded.

“And now, Herr Reichsleiter, may I plead the press of duties and ask to be excused?”

“I understand,” Bormann said.

“Thank you for a splendid luncheon,” Canaris said.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Canaris.”

Canaris laid his napkin on the table, came to attention, thrust his right arm out, and barked, “Heil Hitler!”

Bormann returned the salute with an almost casual wave of his arm.

Canaris’s car, an Opel Kapitän, was the least pretentious on the row of official cars lined up outside the Reich Chancellery. All the others were either a Mercedes-Benz or a Maybach; there even was an American Packard. The vizeadmiral walked to his Opel and got in before the SS trooper in charge of what was the parking lot for very senior officers could have it waved to meet him at the steps.

Canaris thought about the exchange with Bormann all the way to his office. It had gone well, far better than he had hoped it would, and thinking that raised caution flags.

When things are obviously going very well, they almost surely are not.

He opened the door for himself when he got to his office building, and returned the salutes of the navy petty officers on guard with a military—not the Nazi—salute.

He went into his office and told his secretary to get him a cup of coffee, then leave him undisturbed.

He waited until the coffee—black, and in a heavy navy-issue china mug— was delivered. Then he got from behind his desk and went to his private toilet.

After a moment, without having used the facility, he flushed the toilet and turned the water on in the sink.

And then, very softly, almost in a whisper, he said, “I will be goddamned. The swine not only let my fox into his chicken coop, but practically pushed him in.”

[TWO]

Office of the Director Office of Strategic Services National Institutes of Health Building Washington, D.C. 0930 29 June 1943

Every once in a great while, there is not much going on that requires me to make an immediate major decision, Brigadier General William J. Donovan, the director of the United States Office of Strategic Services, mused, so it therefore logically follows that when that happens—as now—I am presented with idiotic suggestions, off-the-wall analysis, and problems I really don’t want to—shouldn’t have to—deal with.

There were several such suggestions, analyses, and problems on the desk of the stocky, well-tailored, sixty-year-old Wall Street lawyer who had been chosen by his Columbia Law School classmate and close personal friend, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to coordinate the flow of “war information.” That meant both intelligence and propaganda.

Donovan had learned—or maybe brought with him from the practice of law—that idiot suggestions, on closer examination, sometimes proved really not to be so idiotic after all. And that off-wall-analysis sometimes contained information that was quite useful. And that problems he was reluctant to deal with were really the ones that deserved his full attention.

Reminding himself of this, he unwound the string holding together an accordion folder. He peered inside, then dumped the contents onto his desk.

He shook his head in disbelief. A thirty-second glance at what was being proposed showed him that this really was an idiotic suggestion

: Someone wanted to give OSS agents badges and credentials, as if they were policemen, or agents of the Bureau of Internal Revenue.

Sample credentials had been prepared. Donovan picked up one of them, examined it carefully, and shook his head again.

The original organization—the Office of the Coordinator of Information— had given William J. Donovan the responsibility for coordinating both propaganda and intelligence generated by all the agencies of the federal government. It was created on 11 July 1941 by Executive Order of the President.

It had immediately become apparent that that idea wasn’t going to work.