The Cairo Code by Glenn Meade Page B

friend?”
    â€œThat’s none of your bloody business.”
    â€œYou’re quite right.” Schellenberg stood, wiped sand from his uniform, and picked up his briefcase. “Now, how about we go up to the cottage? There’s something I’d like to discuss.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Schellenberg poured the last of the champagne into two flute glasses and handed one to Halder, who shook his head.
    â€œNot for me. What do you want?” He had showered and changed into a shirt and slacks, and sat on the sofa.
    â€œJust a little chat between friends,” Schellenberg answered. “Military business, I’m afraid.”
    â€œThe last time I heard those lines was over four months ago. You had Canaris have me pose as an American intelligence officer to help rescue one of your SS generals from an interrogation post behind enemy lines in Sicily. I ended up with a bullet in my leg and grenade shrapnel in my chest.”
    Schellenberg sipped from his glass. “Unfortunate that, but no one could have played the role as believably as you, which was why we needed you in the first place. And you lived up to my expectations and succeeded admirably. You’re certain you won’t have some champagne, Jack? It’s really delicious.”
    â€œYou’re beginning to irritate me.”
    Schellenberg shrugged and glanced at the bottle. “An excellent Dom Perignon, ’36. You’re looking after yourself, I see.”
    â€œFor your information, the champagne was a gift from a friend.”
    â€œNo need to explain.” Schellenberg plucked a book from one of the shelves. “The Collected Works of Carl Jung. Rather depressing reading, his philosophy, I would have thought. Old Carl isn’t exactly one for a joke and a laugh.”
    â€œIt goes with the mood I’m in right now.”
    â€œWhat are we going to do with you, my friend?” Schellenberg replaced the book on the shelf and looked at the silver-framed photograph of the woman. He turned back. “You loved her very much, didn’t you, Jack?”
    Schellenberg saw a terrible grief flood Halder’s face, a fathomless sadness in his eyes. He stood and said awkwardly, “The Wehrmacht girl you met, she’s just a nice kid. Someone I got drunk with and poured out my soul to. Maybe I finally needed to talk to someone. And if you really want to know, she didn’t help ease the pain.”
    â€œIt hasn’t been easy for you these last few years, has it? Losing a young wife, and then what happened in Hamburg. I was truly sorry to hear about your father,” Schellenberg said quietly. “I mean that. I hope you’ll accept my condolences. I hear the boy’s still recovering?”
    â€œAnd will be for a long time. All water under the bridge now. Let’s leave it be.”
    Schellenberg put down his glass and became more businesslike. “But you’re still angry, and quite rightly so. And it’s an anger I can put to good use.” He undid the straps on his briefcase, plucked out a file, and laid it on the table.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIt concerns what happened to your father and son. Our latest intelligence reports on the Allied fire-bombing raids on Hamburg.”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œIt seems the raids had the highest approval of the British and American governments. Both agreed they wanted absolute and total destruction, to teach Germany a savage lesson. It turned out to be the worst single act of devastation in world history. Do you know the full extent of the damage?”
    Halder said angrily, “Look, Schellenberg, all I know is I lost my father, and my son’s burned so badly he’ll be lucky if he ever walks again.”
    â€œYour father certainly chose the wrong time to visit relatives in Hamburg with the boy.”
    Halder was bitter. “I was on my back in hospital, recovering after that little escapade