The Cairo Code by Glenn Meade Page A

distant air raid siren wailed. Canaris sighed, patted the dogs to calm them, got to his feet, and dusted his knees. U.S. Air Force B-17s had been raiding Berlin during daylight all the previous week with deadly effect, and by the sound of it they were about to start again. “Very well. I suppose you had better organize the car. And make it quick, before the Americans go to work.”
    â€œZ u Befehl, Herr Admiral.” Bauer shouted the reply, snapped to attention, and smartly clicked his heels, causing both animals to whimper. Canaris frowned with displeasure.
    â€œDo me a favor, Bauer. This heel-clicking and shouting business, it’s all very well on the parade ground, but please refrain from doing it in the office. It rather frightens the dogs.”
    Bauer flushed. “As the Herr Admiral wishes.”
    When the adjutant left, Canaris looked down at his beloved dachshunds, their snouts stuck in the bowl, and sighed wearily. “No rest for the wicked, my children. I have a feeling young Walter may be up to his tricks again.”
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    Walter Schellenberg was one of the most unorthodox SS intelligence officers Canaris had ever met, and perhaps also the most likable. A young man of thirty-two, and a lawyer by profession, he was dashing and handsome, with a taste for the finer things in life. A graduate of the University of Bonn, he had shrewdly joined the SS after Hitler came to power in 1933, and managed to obtain a post in the SD, the SS intelligence department, where his sharp aptitude and businesslike mentality soon attracted Himmler. Schellenberg quickly rose to become a member of Himmler’s personal staff and was eventually appointed Head of SD Ausland, the foreign intelligence branch. For like his boss, he reveled in plots, subterfuges, and secrecy, as if they were his very life-blood.
    A chain-smoker, he had an easy manner, and he was in a good mood when Canaris entered his office on the third floor, despite the fact that the bombardment was going on outside, wisps of smoke and dust drifting up from the wall ventilator.
    â€œSit down, Wilhelm.” Schellenberg smiled. “As usual you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
    Schellenberg wore his black SS uniform, the cuff-titles bearing the legend RFSS in silver thread. Reichsführer der SS. Himmler’s personal staff. The sight of the cuff-title made Canaris shiver inwardly. He always detested having to visit the Reich Main Security Office on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, the headquarters of the SS and the Gestapo, from which Heinrich Himmler and his deputies presided over their empire of evil. The black uniforms and grim surroundings never failed to send a chill down his spine.
    â€œSometimes it certainly feels that way,” he replied. “So, what is it this time, Walter?”
    There was a lull in the bombing and Canaris heard a screech of tires outside in the inner courtyard as a truck and a Mercedes pulled up in quick succession. Leather-coated Gestapo men climbed out in a hurry and began unloading their human cargo, bound for the torture cellars. Several senior Wehrmacht officers were among the prisoners, elderly men mostly, one or two of whom Canaris faintly recognized. Some were with their bewildered wives and families. The Gestapo savagely kicked and beat them with pistol butts as they were herded towards the basement entrance.
    â€œWhat the devil’s going on?” Canaris asked in alarm.
    â€œA messy business.” Schellenberg observed the scene outside. “Suspected subversives, all of them. Himmler has reason to believe there’s a group of traitorous plotters working against the Führer. Recent evidence from our interrogations points to an attempt by high-ranking officers to bomb his plane in March of this year. Only by the grace of God did it fail to go off.”
    â€œGood Lord.” Canaris paled. “You can’t be