"Higgins, Jack - Sheba" - читать интересную книгу автора (Higgins Jack)

'My Fiihrer.' Canaris led the way to the door, turned and forced himself to give the Nazi salute. 'Let's get out of here,' he whispered to Ritter, turned and opened the door.

As they went along the Marble Gallery Canaris said, 'You certainly covered yourself with glory there. Naturally I'll authorize the necessary funding for the Catalina but it occurs to me that there might be a problem regarding a suitable crew. Of course, there is no reason why Germans should not be flying for a Spanish airline.'

'But much better if they were Spanish,' Ritter said.

'And where would you procure them?'

'The ranks of the SS, Herr Admiral, they have many Spanish volunteers.'

'Of course,' Canaris said. 'It would be perfect.'

'I have already tracked down a suitable pilot, a man with much combat experience in the Spanish Civil War. He is at present employed as a courier pilot by the SS. I'm seeing him later this morning at Gatow airfield.'

'Good. I'll come with you and see for myself,' Canaris said, and led the way down the marble stairs.

Carlos Romero was twenty-seven; a saturnine, rather handsome young man, son of a wealthy Madrid wine merchant, he had learned to fly at sixteen, had joined the Spanish Air Force at the earliest possible moment and trained as a fighter pilot. When the Civil War came he had opted for Franco, not because he was a dedicated Fascist, but because that's what people of his class did. He'd shot down eleven planes, and had the time of his life. He'd even flown with the German Condor Legion.

Suddenly it was all over and he didn't want that, and then he'd got a whisper that the SS were taking Spanish volunteers. A pilot with his record they had snapped up without hesitation, employing him mainly on courier duties, ferrying high-ranking officers.

So here he was at the controls of a small Stork spotter plane a thousand feet above Berlin, an SS Brigadefuhrer behind him. He called the tower at Gatow, received permission to land and drifted down towards the airfield, bored out of his skull.

'Mother of God,' he whispered softly in Spanish, 'there must be something better than this.'

There was, of course, and he found it when he went into the mess and took off his flying jacket, revealing a well-tailored SS uniform in field grey. He had a small Spanish shield on his left shoulder, and wore the Spanish Order of Merit for gallantry in the field and an Iron Cross First Class for his exploits with the Condor Legion.

He was aware of Canaris first, because of his high rank, although he did not recognize him, but Ritter he did, and went forward with genuine pleasure.

'Hans Ritter, by all that's holy.'

Ritter got up to greet him, leaning on his stick, and shook hands. 'You look well, Carlos. Spain seems a long time ago.'

'I heard about your leg. I'm sorry.'

Ritter said, 'Admiral Canaris, Head of the Abwehr.'

Romero got his heels together and saluted. 'An honour, Herr Admiral.'

'Join us, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer.' Canaris waved to the mess steward. Champagne. Bollinger for preference, and three glasses.' He turned to Romero. 'You are a courier pilot, I understand. Do you like that?'

To be frank, Herr Admiral, these milk runs of mine bore me to death.'

'Then we'll have to see if we can find something more rewarding for you,' Canaris said as the champagne arrived. 'Tell him, Hans.'

Romero finished reading the file and closed it. His face was pale and excited as he looked up. Canaris said, 'Are you interested?'

'Interested?' Romero accepted a cigarette from Ritter and his hand shook. 'Herr Admiral, I'm willing to go down on my knees and beg.'

Canaris laughed. 'No need for that.'