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“Just so they don’t turn out to be some of those Nazis Morgenthau is looking for,” Clete joked.
That possibility was immediately put to rest when Boltitz, also following his nose, walked into the kitchen and saw the man setting out coffee cups.
“Gott in Himmel!” Boltitz said. “Max!”
The man setting out the coffee cups popped to rigid attention, and said, “Herr Kapitän.”
“Why do I think they know each other, Dunwiddie?” Frade asked. “Herr Kapitän, are you going to tell us what’s going on?”
“Max was the admiral’s chief bosun’s mate when he commanded the cruiser Schlesien,” Boltitz said.
“And the other one?” Frade asked.
“What other one?”
“The one pushing the lawn mower,” Clete said, and pointed out the window.
Boltitz looked, then opened the kitchen door. He barked, “Egon!”
The elderly, poorly dressed old man in the backyard walked quickly—almost ran—to the kitchen door, popped to attention, and said, “Herr Kapitän!” as if he was having trouble using his voice.
“Stand at ease, the both of you,” Boltitz ordered. “This is Egon. He was Admiral Canaris’s chief of the boat when the admiral commanded U-201 in the First World War.”
“And what are they doing here?” Frade asked.
Boltitz looked at them and asked, “Well?”
“Herr Kapitän,” Egon said, “we have been keeping an eye on the house for Frau Admiral Canaris since the SS took the admiral away.”
“And the Frau Admiral?” Boltitz asked softly.
“The last word we have is that she is with friends in Westertede,” Max answered. “The Nazis took their house in Westertede, too. You have heard what they did to the admiral?”
Boltitz nodded. “How come they didn’t take you, too?” he asked.
“Every good chief petty officer knows when to be stupid, Herr Kapitän,” Egon said. “We told the SS we had heard nothing, seen nothing, knew nothing. After we had told them that fifty times, they put us in the Volkssturm.”
“The what?” Frade asked as Dunwiddie opened his mouth to ask the same question.
“As the Russians approached Berlin, every German male from sixteen years old who was not already in uniform was pressed into the Volkssturm,” Max said.
“There were boys as young as twelve,” Egon said. “And men even older than Max and me.”
“And?” Boltitz asked. “When the Soviets came?”
“We deserted,” Egon said. “We took three of the younger boys with us, and hid in the ruins of my apartment building until we heard the Americans had come. Then we came here to look after the house for the Frau Admiral.”
“And where are you living now?” Boltitz asked.
“In a ruin off Onkel-Tom Strasse.”
“What happened to the boys?” Frade asked.
“One of them managed to get home. His mother was still alive. The two other boys are waiting for us to return. Herr Dunwiddie said he would give us some rations. . . .”
“How did you learn what happened to the admiral?” Boltitz asked.
“Herr Kapitän,” Max said. “Egon and I served the admiral for most of our lives. We know how to find things out.”
