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Canidy went on: “A genuine arrogance—”
“Like that goddamn Hitler!” the young Sicilian American interrupted.
Appreciative grunts of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Do I need to tell them to shut the hell up until I’m finished?
He was about to say exactly that when he realized that the outbursts proved that the men now were engaged with the subject. Snapping at them would be the equivalent of him pissing on their fire. So, instead, he embraced it.
“Yes, ‘Like that goddamn Hitler,’” Canidy repeated.
Darmstadter saw the young man’s face practically light up.
Canidy’s good at that, Darmstadter thought, making the guy low on the team feel like he’s king.
Canidy went on: “Hitler’s arrogance is their example and they mimic it. Now, to feed this arrogance, these officers need power, and the more people they control, then the more power they appear to have—among their men and their superiors.”
“The more pins on the map!” the young Sicilian American said suddenly.
“You got it,” Canidy said. “And this, you might expect, tends to fuel itself. And competition rises between officers who oversee the spies and their controllers. They think that if, for example, ten agents are good, a hundred has to be ten or more times better. So ignoring whatever talent their recruits may or may not have—or even what loyalty—they fill their ranks with as many men, or women, as possible.”
He paused, letting that set in.
“And here’s where the payoff comes for us: The Asts and Nests—again, acting independently, without direction from above—recruit and train their own spies, then send them on ops. Ast Berlin could, for example, send agents to, say, Porto Empedocle not knowing that Ast Hamburg and Ast Munich already had agents there. And Hamburg and Munich may not know of the other’s existence.”
He paused, glanced at the board, then continued:
“These agents sent into the field may be without talent, but they are not so stupid as not to recognize this arrogance and the fact that they can play to it. They feed the officer information—good, bad, indifferent—and the officer adds that to the information from his other agents, then passes it all up the line to impress his superiors. Meanwhile, the agent skims money he’s given to pay his sources, demands higher payment for his work, lies about his expenses. His loyalty is only to himself. And, clearly, that loyalty has a price.”
He paused.
“And that, gentlemen, is one of the major weak links of the Abwehr—if not the weakest link.”
There were nods of understanding in the crowd.
Pierre, the parachutist, then said, “You’re not suggesting that only the Krauts are corrupt, are you?”
Shit, Canidy thought, looking at Pierre. Good question.
Answer: “Not no but hell, no. We’ve got our own agents rotten to the core.”
Then he wondered: And how much of what I just went over was already perfectly clear to someone here?
“Oh, no,” Canidy said. “You’re going to find that on our side, too. It’s, unfortunately, human nature.”
“Then what’s the difference?” Pierre pursued.
Christ, another good question.
Am I being naïve about this? And he’s seeing right through it?
Because the real answer is: “Not a helluva lot.”
But…there is one difference, however small it might be. And sometimes it’s the small thing that saves the day.
“Very simple,” Canidy said, looking around the crowd, then making a dramatic sweep of the room with his right hand. “We want to fight to win. When you were approached, no one in here volunteered for fear that, if they didn’t, they’d be sent to a concentration camp, or shot on the spot, or that their families would be. Right?”
He saw a few heads nodding in agreement.
