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He believed that sort of favoritism was the basic flaw in the Nazi party and its leadership.
The SS, especially, is riddled through with thieves and sociopaths.
“May I offer you a glass of wine, Canaris? Or champagne, perhaps?” Bormann asked as he sat down and gestured for Canaris to take the chair at the side of the table.
“Thank you, no, Herr Reichsleiter. If there is any, I’ll have a glass of beer.”
Bormann snapped his fingers and one of the interns hurried to produce a bottle of beer, the proper glass for it, and to set it before Canaris.
Bormann lifted the silver covers on the plates on the tables, and nodded approvingly at what they had been keeping warm.
“That will be all, thank you,” he said to the waiters. “The admiral and I will serve ourselves.”
Both young men clicked their heels, bowed crisply, and walked out of the dining room, closing the door after themselves.
Canaris wondered if Bormann had his wire recorder running and was recording this meeting. It was an idle thought, as Canaris always acted as if he knew whatever he was saying was being recorded, and said nothing that could possibly be used against him.
Wordlessly, the two served themselves. First, a consommé, then roast pork with mashed potatoes, green beans, applesauce, and red sauerkraut.
“Very nice,” Canaris said.
“Truth to tell, Canaris,” Bormann said. “I suspected getting people out of the office and my desk clear was going to take more time than I would have liked, and that I would be forced to ask you to wait. So a special lunch was in order, by way of apology. And if I proved to be wrong, and I could have received you on time, you would have been impressed by both my efficiency and the lunch.”
Canaris smiled and chuckled dutifully.
“I wanted to talk to you about Argentina, about Operation Phoenix,” Bormann then said. “That’s becoming a problem, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would.”
“And with everything else the Führer has to deal with, I really hate to bother him with it.”
“I understand,” Canaris said. “It hasn’t gone well, has it?”
“The only good news was that we didn’t lose the special shipment on the shore of . . . what was it? Bonbon Bay? Something like that?”
“Samborombón Bay,” Canaris furnished.
“Why do you suppose that was, Canaris? Why didn’t the people who shot Standartenführer Goltz and Oberst Whatsisname, the military attaché?”
“Grüner,” Canaris furnished.
“. . . and Oberst Grüner grab the special shipment?”
“There are several possibilities,” Canaris said. “The story Korvettenkapitän Boltitz got from the captain of the Océano Pacífico suggests that they didn’t have time to even begin unloading the special cargo from the Océano Pacífico’s lifeboat when the shooting started. The Luftwaffe officer, von Wachtstein, then put the bodies into the boat and they went back to the ship.”
“You believe that story? I’ve always thought it was odd that the other two were killed and von Whatsisname wasn’t hurt.”
“Von Wachtstein,” Canaris furnished. “May I go on, Herr Reichsleiter?”
“Of course. Excuse me, Canaris.”
“What I was about to say was that that suggests the possibility that the Argentines accomplished what they may have set out to do. That is, get revenge for the killing of Oberst Frade by killing two German officers. Once that was done, they had no further interest in the boat or its crew. And von Wachtstein was in civilian clothing, which suggests the possibility they thought he was just another seaman. And, of course, they had no idea what was in the crates.”
“You think, then, that it was an act of revenge? By Argentine army officers?”
“Excuse me, Herr Reichsleiter, but what I said was that it suggests the possibility. We have no facts to go on. But, having said that, the fact that they showed no interest in the crates suggests they didn’t have any idea what they contained, and didn’t care. Robbery was not the motive, ergo sum. And robbery would offend the Argentine officer’s code of honor.”
“They can murder in cold blood but not steal?”
