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“My Führer, I was very saddened to hear of General Jeschonnek’s death.”

“I asked, Admiral, for your evaluation of the effect of his death on Germany, not its effect on you.”

Canaris suddenly realized that Hermann Göring, head of the Luftwaffe, was not in the room.

I should have seen that sooner.

“My Führer, as I understand the situation—and I don’t know much; it only happened last midnight—General Jeschonnek took his life because he was in a state of depression and temporarily bereft of his senses. Apparently he felt that he had failed—the Luftwaffe had failed—to adequately protect Germany from Allied air raids.”

“As it has,” Hitler said. “But this ‘failure,’ as you so delicately put it, has not caused Reichsmarschall Göring to become depressed—to blow his brains out—and I would say, Admiral, wouldn’t you, that the reichsmarschall is at least as responsible for the Luftwaffe’s failure as was General Jeschonnek?”

“My Führer, I don’t pretend to understand suicide. My feeling is that men have different breaking points. I can suggest only that General Jeschonnek reached his when he realized what had happened.”

“Germany cannot afford to have its generals blowing their brains out every time they suffer a temporary setback,” Hitler said bitterly.

Hitler glared at him for a long moment, during which Canaris had decided it was his time to be on the receiving end of one of Hitler’s tyrannical rages.

“Dr. Goebbels suggests that we report that General Jeschonnek met his end, quote, test-flying a new fighter plane, end quote,” Hitler said, “and that he be buried, with all the attendant publicity, with full military honors. I have mixed feelings. I wonder if Jeschonnek didn’t take the coward’s way out.”

He looked at Canaris, waiting for him to reply.

“My Führer, I am wholly unqualified to offer an opinion about anything Dr. Goebbels says vis-à-vis a delicate situation like this one.”

Hitler stared at him with icy eyes.

Here it comes. I am about to be dressed down by the Austrian corporal in front of the leadership—less Göring, of course—of the Thousand-Year Reich.

It didn’t.

“Where, in your opinion, Admiral, is Benito Mussolini?” Hitler asked.

My God, where did that question come from?

On 25 July, Italian king Victor Emmanuel had stripped Italian fascist dictator Benito Mussolini of his power and arrested him. Nine days later, a representative of Marshal Badoglio, who had replaced Mussolini, secretly surrendered Italy unconditionally to a representative of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander. The surrender would not be made public for weeks, on 8 September 1943.

“On the island of Ponza, my Führer.”

“Where?”

“On the island of Ponza, my Führer,” Canaris repeated. He pointed at the map-strewn table. “May I?”

“Please do,” Hitler said.

Canaris went to the table, found the map he needed, and pointed his index finger at a cluster of islands in the Tyrrhenian Sea off the west coast of Italy.

“On Ponza, the larger island, my Führer,” Canaris said.

“Himmler, would you take a look at this, please?” Hitler asked.

Heinrich Himmler walked quickly to the table.

“That is where Admiral Canaris tells me Mussolini is,” Hitler said. “It is not where you told me he is. I wonder which of you is right.”

Himmler said firmly: “Captain Skorzeny reported within the last forty-eight hours, my Führer, that Il Duce is being held in the Campo Imperatore Hotel in Abruzzi, in the Apennine Mountains.”

“Admiral?” Hitler asked very softly.

“I have a man in the Italian marines who are guarding Il Duce, my Führer,” Canaris said. “In his daily report—as of four this morning, Mussolini is on Ponza.”