His Majesty's Hope(85)

Clara Hess was not used to being summoned. She’d always sided with Ribbentrop, usually against Canaris, in Abwehr politics and policies—and knew the Admiral was no admirer of hers. After powdering her face and applying a fresh coat of scarlet lipstick, she strode reluctantly into his office, leaving behind her a trail of Chanel No. 5.

As a former stage performer, she knew not to let any fear show, and held her head high. Canaris stood up behind his massive desk when she entered. “Heil Hitler!”

“Heil Hitler!”

“Please have a seat, Frau Hess.”

Clara did so, displaying her silk-covered legs in spectator pumps to their best advantage. Canaris sat as well. He picked up a file. “We’ve received the photos from your man in Britain,” he said.

Clara smiled. She’d been in touch with Krueger and knew things were on track. “Fantastic,” she said. “May I see them?”

Canaris passed the folder to Clara, and she opened it to look at the glossy photographs. When she saw the first, of a crate emblazoned with the sloppy challenge IN LONDON IN 1914, YOU MURDERED HUGH THOMPSON, SR., she blinked, and became very still.

One photograph after another showed wooden crates, painted with personal messages: I GREW UP TO TAKE HIS PLACE.

WE OUTWITTED YOU AT WINDSOR & WE HAVE OUTWITTED YOU AGAIN. She paged through them, one by one, her face betraying nothing.

And then, in stark black and white, was a picture of Hugh, from behind, trousers pulled down, displaying his lean and pale buttocks to the camera.

Clara closed the folder and swallowed hard. She slid the folder across the desk, back to Canaris. He took it and slipped on a pair of glasses. “I’m afraid, Clara, in light of the Windsor situation and now, this botched mission—”

“My spy was turned,” Clara interrupted. “He was weak, susceptible …”

“You were in charge. You must take responsibility.”

“I hope they hanged him,” she spat. “Bullets would be wasted on him.”

“Clara—” Canaris put the folder into a desk drawer and locked it. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but there have been too many mistakes. It’s hard enough that you’re a woman, working in a man’s world—”

“You won’t get away with this!” Clara raged, standing. “Wait until Goebbels hears about this!”

Canaris spoke gently but firmly, the way he would have with a child or dog. “It’s over, Clara. I’m sorry. I’ve spoken with Goebbels—he’s the one who interceded for you, actually.” He pressed a button on his telephone.

Two SS guards appeared at the door. Canaris nodded. “Please escort Frau Hess to the car we have waiting to take her home.”

“I need to go back to my office,” she insisted. “I’m going to the opera tonight and I have to change.”

“Still playing the part.” Canaris sighed. “All right, you may go back to your office.” He nodded at the waiting guards. “Tell the driver to take her directly to the Berlin Opera House when she’s finished.” He looked back to Clara. “Any personal effects you have in your office will be packed and sent to your home.”

She looked down at him with a cryptic, almost pitying smile. “Jawohl,” she said, and swept out.


At St. Hedwig’s, Elise and Father Licht decided that Maggie would go to Elise’s. “I know I prepared those rooms for the children …”

“Children?” Maggie asked.

“The children of the euthanasia program,” Elise explained. “Operation Compassionate Death.”

“What?” Maggie was bewildered. Children? Euthanasia?

“I’m being selfish, telling you any of this—but I can’t bear to keep the secret any longer. Nazi doctors are murdering children. ‘Life unfit for life’ they call them—blind, deaf, epileptic, schizophrenic …”

“Wait—” Maggie was still trying to wrap her mind around the terrible things Elise was telling her. “Yes, Gottlieb told me—the blind, the deaf. But—how are you involved?”

“I’ve seen the children at the hospital,” Elise said. “I’ve seen how they’re evaluated. And I’ve seen them put on the black buses and taken to places such as Hadamar, where they’re—” Elise swallowed. “I’m a witness. And I’m trying to get the paperwork the resistance needs to publicly denounce this program, which was approved by the Führer himself.”

Maggie shuddered. Suddenly, the papers in Oberg’s office made sense. Those weren’t “units.”