The sneezing attack subsided and Vicary was actually able to enjoy the ride. He didn't care for the countryside as a rule. He was a Londoner. He liked the crowds and the noise and the traffic and tended to get disoriented in open spaces. He also hated the quiet of the nights. His mind wandered and he became convinced there were stalkers roaming in the darkness. But now he sat back in the car and marveled at England's natural beauty.

The car turned into the drive at Chartwell. Vicary's pulse quickened as he stepped from the car. As he approached the door, it opened and Churchill's man Inches stood there to greet him.

"Good morning, Professor Vicary. The prime minister has been awaiting your arrival most eagerly."

Vicary handed over his coat and his hat and stepped inside. About a dozen men and a couple of young girls were at work in the drawing room, some in uniform, some like Vicary in civilian clothes. They spoke in hushed, confessional tones, as though all the news was bad. A telephone rattled, then another. Each was answered after one ring.

"I hope you had a pleasant trip," Inches was saying.

"Marvelous," Vicary replied, lying politely.

"As usual, Mr. Churchill is running late this morning," Inches said. Then he added confidingly, "He sets an unattainable schedule, and we all spend the rest of the day trying to catch up with it."

"I understand, Inches. Where would you like me to wait?"

"Actually, the prime minister is quite eager to see you this morning. He asked that you be shown upstairs immediately upon your arrival."

"Upstairs?"

Inches knocked gently and pushed open the bathroom door. Churchill lay in his tub, a cigar in one hand, the day's second glass of whisky resting on a small table within easy reach. Inches announced Vicary and withdrew. "Vicary, my dear man," Churchill said. He put his mouth at the waterline and blew bubbles. "How good of you to come."

Vicary found the warm temperature of the bathroom oppressive. He also found it hard not to laugh at the enormous pink man splashing about in his bath like a child. He removed his tweed jacket and, reluctantly, sat down on the toilet.

"I wanted a word with you in private--that's why I've invited you here to my lair." Churchill pursed his lips. "Vicary, I must admit from the outset that I am angry with you."

Vicary stiffened.

Churchill opened his mouth to continue, then stopped himself. A perplexed, defeated look dawned over his face.

"Inches!" he bellowed.

Inches drifted in. "Yes, Mr. Churchill?"

"Inches, I believe my bathwater has dropped below one hundred four degrees. Would you check the thermometer?"

Rolling up his sleeve, Inches retrieved the thermometer. He studied it like an archaeologist examining an ancient bone fragment. "Ah, you're right, sir. The temperature of your bath has plummeted to one hundred two degrees. Shall I warm it?"

"Of course."

Inches opened the hot water tap and let it run for a moment. Churchill smiled as his bathwater attained its proper temperature. "Much better, Inches."

Churchill rolled onto his side. Water cascaded over the side of the tub, soaking the leg of Vicary's trousers.

"You were saying, Prime Minister?"

"Ah, yes, I was saying, Vicary, that I was angry with you. You never told me that in your younger days you were quite good at chess. Beat all comers at Cambridge, so I'm told."

Vicary, thoroughly confused, said, "I apologize, Prime Minister, but the subject of chess never arose during any of our conversations."

"Brilliant, ruthless, gambling--that's how people have described your play to me." Churchill paused. "You also served in the Intelligence Corps in the First War."

"I was only in the Motorcycle Unit. I was a courier, nothing more."

Churchill turned his gaze from Vicary and stared at the ceiling. "In 1250 B.C. the Lord told Moses to send agents to spy out the land of Canaan. The Lord was good enough to give Moses some advice on how to recruit his spies. Only the best and the brightest men were capable of such an important task, the Lord said, and Moses took his words to heart."

"This is true, Prime Minister," Vicary said. "But it is also true that the intelligence gathered by the spies of Moses was poorly utilized. As a result the Israelites spent another forty years wandering the desert."

Churchill smiled. "I should have learned long ago never to argue with you, Alfred. You have a nimble mind. I've always admired that."

"What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to take a job in Military Intelligence."

"But, Prime Minister, I'm not qualified for that sort of--"

"Nobody over there knows what they're doing," Churchill said, cutting Vicary off. "Especially the professional officers."

"But what about my students? My research?"

"Your students will be in the service soon, fighting for their lives. And as for your research, it can wait." Churchill paused. "Do you know John Masterman and Christopher Cheney from Oxford?"

"Don't tell me they've been pulled in."

"Indeed--and don't expect to find a mathematician worth his salt at any of the universities," Churchill said. "They've all been snatched up and bundled off to Bletchley Park."

"What on earth are they doing there?"

"Trying to crack German ciphers."

Vicary made a brief show of thought. "I suppose I accept."

"Good." Churchill thumped his fist on the side of the tub. "You're to report first thing Monday to Brigadier Sir Basil Boothby. He is the head of the division to which you will be assigned. He is also the complete English ass. He'd thwart me if he could, but he's too stupid for that. Man could fuck up a steel ball."

"Sounds charming."

"He knows you and I are friends and therefore he will oppose you. Don't allow yourself to be bullied by him. Understood?"

"Yes, Prime Minister."

"I need someone I can trust inside that department. It's time to put the intelligence intelligence back in Military Intelligence. Besides, this will be good for you, Alfred. It's time you emerged from your dusty library and rejoined the living." back in Military Intelligence. Besides, this will be good for you, Alfred. It's time you emerged from your dusty library and rejoined the living."

Vicary was caught off guard by Churchill's sudden intimacy. He thought of the previous evening, of his walk home, of staring into Helen's passing car.

"Yes, Prime Minister, I believe it is is time. Just what will I do for Military Intelligence?" time. Just what will I do for Military Intelligence?"

But Churchill had vanished below the waterline.

4.

RASTENBURG, GERMANY: JANUARY 1944.

Rear Admiral Wilhelm Franz Canaris was a small, nervous man who spoke with a slight lisp and possessed a sarcastic wit on those rare occasions when he chose to display it. White-haired, with piercing blue eyes, he was seated in the back of a staff Mercedes as it rumbled from the Rastenburg airfield to Hitler's secret bunker nine miles away. Usually, Canaris shunned uniforms and martial trappings of any kind, preferring a dark business suit instead. But since he was about to meet with Adolf Hitler and the most senior military officers in Germany, he was wearing his Kriegsmarine uniform beneath his formal greatcoat.

Known as the Old Fox by friends and detractors alike, Canaris's detached, aloof personality suited him perfectly to the ruthless world of espionage. He cared more about his two dachshunds--sleeping now on the floor at his feet--than anyone except his wife, Erika, and his daughters. When work mandated overnight travel, he booked a separate room with double beds so the dogs could sleep in comfort. When it was necessary to leave them behind in Berlin, Canaris checked in with his aides constantly to make certain the animals had eaten and had proper bowel movements. Abwehr staff who dared to speak ill of the dogs faced the very real threat of having their careers destroyed if word of their treachery ever reached Canaris's ears.

Raised in a walled villa in the Dortmund suburb of Aplerbeck as a member of the German elite so detested by Adolf Hitler, Wilhelm Canaris was the son of a chimney baron and descendant of Italians who emigrated to Germany in the sixteenth century. He spoke the languages of Germany's friends as well as her enemies--Italian, Spanish, English, French, and Russian--and regularly presided over recitals of chamber music in the salon of his stately Berlin home. In 1933 he was serving as commander of a naval depot on the Baltic Sea at Swinemunde when Hitler unexpectedly chose him to head the Abwehr, the intelligence and counterespionage service. Hitler commanded his new spymaster to create a secret service on the British model--"an order, doing its work with passion"--and Canaris formally took control of the spy agency on New Year's Day 1934, his forty-seventh birthday.

The decision would prove to be one of Hitler's worst. Since taking command of the Abwehr, Wilhelm Canaris had been engaged in an extraordinary high-wire act--providing the German General Staff with the intelligence it needed to conquer most of Europe while at the same time using the service as a tool to rid Germany of Hitler. He was a leader of the resistance movement dubbed the Black Orchestra--Schwarze Kapelle--by the Gestapo. A tightly knit group of German military officers, government officials, and civic leaders, the Black Orchestra had tried unsuccessfully to overthrow the Fuhrer and negotiate a peace settlement with the Allies. Canaris had engaged in other treasonous activities as well. In 1939, after learning of Hitler's plans to invade Poland, he warned the British in a futile attempt to spur them into action. He did the same in 1940 when Hitler announced plans to invade the Low Countries and France.

Canaris turned and peered out the window, watching as the forest swept past--dark, silent, heavily wooded, like the setting of a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm. Lost in the quiet of the snow-covered trees, he thought of the most recent attempt on the Fuhrer's life. Two months earlier, in November, a young captain named Axel von dem Bussche volunteered to assassinate Hitler during an inspection of a new Wehrmacht greatcoat. Bussche planned to conceal several grenades beneath the coat, then detonate them during the demonstration, killing himself and the Fuhrer. But one day before the assassination attempt, Allied bombers destroyed the building where the coats were housed. The demonstration was canceled, never to be rescheduled.

Canaris knew there would be more attempts--more brave Germans willing to sacrifice their own lives in order to rid Germany of Hitler--but he also knew time was running out. The Anglo-American invasion of Europe was a certainty. Roosevelt had made it clear he would accept nothing short of unconditional surrender. Germany would be destroyed, just as Canaris feared back in 1933 when Hitler's messianic ambitions became clear to him. He also realized his tenuous grip on the Abwehr was growing weaker by the day. Several members of Canaris's executive staff at Abwehr headquarters in Berlin had been arrested by the Gestapo and charged with treason. His enemies were plotting to seize control of the spy agency and put his neck in a noose of piano wire. He understood his days were numbered--that his long and dangerous high-wire act was nearing an end.

The staff car passed through a myriad of gates and checkpoints, then turned into the compound at Hitler's Wolfschanze Wolfschanze--the Wolf's Lair. The dachshunds awakened, whimpering nervously, and jumped onto his lap. The conference was to be held in the frigid, airless map room in the underground bunker. Canaris climbed out of the car and walked morosely across the compound. At the bottom of the stairs a burly SS bodyguard stood with hand out to relieve Canaris of any weapons he might he carrying. Canaris, who shunned firearms and detested violence, shook his head and brushed past.

"In November, I issued Fuhrer Directive Number Fifty-one," Hitler began without preamble, pacing the room violently, hands clasped behind his back. He wore a dove-gray tunic, black trousers, and resplendent knee-length jackboots. On his left breast pocket he wore the Iron Cross he earned at Ypres while serving as an infantryman in the List Regiment in the First War. "Directive Number Fifty-one stated my belief that the Anglo-Saxons will attempt to invade northwest France no later than the spring, perhaps earlier. During the last two months, I have seen nothing to change my opinion."

Canaris, seated at the conference table, watched the Fuhrer prancing around the room. Hitler's pronounced stoop, caused by a kyphotic spine, seemed to have worsened. Canaris wondered if he was finally feeling the pressure. He should be. What was it Frederick the Great had said? He who defends everything defends nothing. He who defends everything defends nothing. Hitler should have heeded the advice of his spiritual guide, for Germany was in the same position she had been in during the Great War. She had conquered far more territory than she could possibly defend. Hitler should have heeded the advice of his spiritual guide, for Germany was in the same position she had been in during the Great War. She had conquered far more territory than she could possibly defend.

It was Hitler's own fault, the damned fool! Canaris glanced up at the map. In the East, German troops were fighting along a 2,000-kilometer front. Any hope of a military victory over the Russians had been crushed the previous July at Kursk, where the Red Army had decimated a Wehrmacht offensive and inflicted staggering casualties. Now the German army was attempting to hold a line stretching from Leningrad to the Black Sea. Along the Mediterranean, Germany was defending 3,000 kilometers of coastline. And in the West--My God! Canaris thought--6,000 kilometers of territory stretching from the Netherlands to the southern tip of the Bay of Biscay. Hitler's Festung Europa Festung Europa--Fortress Europe--was far-flung and vulnerable on all sides.

Canaris looked around the table at the men seated with him: Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt, commander in chief of all German forces in the West; Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, commander of Army Group B in northwest France; Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS and chief of the German police. A half dozen of Himmler's most loyal and ruthless men stood watch, just in case any of the top brass of the Third Reich decided to make an attempt on the Fuhrer's life.

Hitler stopped pacing. "Directive Fifty-one also stated my belief that we can no longer justify reducing our troop levels in the West in order to support our forces battling the Bolsheviks. In the East, the vastness of space will, as a last resort, permit us to give up vast amounts of territory before the enemy threatens the German homeland. Not so in the West. If the Anglo-Saxon invasion succeeds, the consequences will be disastrous. So it is here, in northwest France, where the most decisive battle of the war will be fought."

Hitler paused, allowing his words to sink in. "The invasion will be met with the full fury of our might and destroyed at the high-water mark. If that is not possible, and if the Anglo-Saxons succeed in securing a temporary beachhead, we must be prepared to rapidly redeploy our forces, stage a massive counterattack, and hurl the invaders back into the sea." Hitler crossed his arms. "But to achieve that goal, we must know the enemy's order of battle. We must know when he intends to strike. And, more important, where. Herr Generalfeldmarshal?"

Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt rose and wearily moved to the map, right hand clutching the jeweled field marshal's baton he carried at all times. Known as "the last of the German knights," Rundstedt had been dismissed and recalled to duty by Adolf Hitler more times than Canaris or even his own staff could remember. Detesting the fanatical world of the Nazis, it was Rundstedt who had derisively christened Hitler "the little Bohemian corporal." The strain of five long years of war was beginning to show on the narrow aristocratic features of his face. Gone were the stiff precise mannerisms that characterized the General Staff officers of the imperial days. Canaris knew Rundstedt drank more champagne than he should and needed large quantities of whisky to sleep at night. He regularly rose at the thoroughly unmilitary hour of ten o'clock in the morning; the staff at his headquarters at Saint-Germain-en-Laye rarely scheduled meetings before noon.

Despite his advancing years and moral decline, Rundstedt was still Germany's finest soldier--a brilliant tactician and strategic thinker--as he demonstrated to the Poles in 1939 and to the French and British in 1940. Canaris did not envy Rundstedt's situation. On paper he presided over a large and powerful force in the West: one and a half million men, including 350,000 crack Waffen-SS troops, ten panzer divisions, and two elite Fallschirmjager Fallschirmjager paratroop divisions. If deployed quickly and correctly, Rundstedt's armies were still capable of dealing the Allies a devastating defeat. But if the old Teutonic knight guessed wrong--if he deployed his forces incorrectly or made tactical blunders once the battle had begun--the Allies would establish their precious foothold on the Continent and the war in the West would be lost. paratroop divisions. If deployed quickly and correctly, Rundstedt's armies were still capable of dealing the Allies a devastating defeat. But if the old Teutonic knight guessed wrong--if he deployed his forces incorrectly or made tactical blunders once the battle had begun--the Allies would establish their precious foothold on the Continent and the war in the West would be lost.

"In my opinion the equation is simple," Rundstedt began. "East of the Seine at the Pas de Calais or west of the Seine at Normandy. Each has its advantages and disadvantages."

"Go on, Herr Generalfeldmarshal."

Rundstedt continued in a dull monotone. "Calais is the strategic linchpin of the Channel coast. If the enemy secures a beachhead at Calais, he can turn to the east and be a few days' march from the Ruhrgebiet, Ruhrgebiet, our industrial heartland. The Americans want the war to be over by Christmas. If they succeed in a landing at Calais, they might get their wish." Rundstedt paused to allow his warning to sink in, then resumed his briefing. "There is another reason why Calais makes sense militarily--the Channel is the narrowest there. The enemy will be able to pour men and materiel into Calais four times faster than he would at Normandy or Brittany. Remember, the clock is ticking for the enemy the moment the invasion begins. He must build up troops, weapons, and supplies at an extremely rapid rate. There are three excellent deepwater ports in the Pas de Calais area"--Rundstedt tapped each with the tip of his baton, moving up the coastline--"Boulogne, Calais, and Dunkirk. The enemy needs ports. It is my belief that the first goal of the invaders will be to seize a major port and reopen it as quickly as possible, for without a major port the enemy cannot supply his troops. If he cannot supply his troops, he is dead." our industrial heartland. The Americans want the war to be over by Christmas. If they succeed in a landing at Calais, they might get their wish." Rundstedt paused to allow his warning to sink in, then resumed his briefing. "There is another reason why Calais makes sense militarily--the Channel is the narrowest there. The enemy will be able to pour men and materiel into Calais four times faster than he would at Normandy or Brittany. Remember, the clock is ticking for the enemy the moment the invasion begins. He must build up troops, weapons, and supplies at an extremely rapid rate. There are three excellent deepwater ports in the Pas de Calais area"--Rundstedt tapped each with the tip of his baton, moving up the coastline--"Boulogne, Calais, and Dunkirk. The enemy needs ports. It is my belief that the first goal of the invaders will be to seize a major port and reopen it as quickly as possible, for without a major port the enemy cannot supply his troops. If he cannot supply his troops, he is dead."

"Impressive, Herr Generalfeldmarshal," Hitler said. "But why not Normandy?"

"Normandy presents the enemy with many problems. The distance across the Channel is much greater. At some points, high cliffs stand between the beaches and the mainland. The closest harbor is Cherbourg, at the tip of a heavily defended peninsula. It might be days before the enemy could take Cherbourg from us. And even if he did, he knows we would render it useless before surrendering it. But the most logical argument against a strike at Normandy, in my opinion, is its geographic location. It is too far to the west. Even if the enemy succeeds in landing at Normandy, he runs the risk of being pinned down and strategically isolated. He must fight us all the way across France before even reaching German soil."

"Your opinion, Herr Generalfeldmarshal?" Hitler snapped.

"Perhaps the Allies will engage in some trickery," Rundstedt said cautiously, fingers working over the baton. "A diversionary landing, perhaps, as you yourself have suggested, my Fuhrer. But the real strike will come here." He jabbed at the map. "At Calais."

"Admiral Canaris?" Hitler asked. "What kind of intelligence do you have to support that theory?"

Canaris, not one for formal displays at the map, remained seated. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat, where he kept a pack of cigarettes. The SS men flinched nervously. Canaris, shaking his head, slowly withdrew the cigarettes and displayed them. He laboriously lit one and blew a stream of smoke toward Himmler, knowing full well the Reichsfuhrer's pet peeve about tobacco. Himmler glared at him through the swirling pall of blue smoke, eyes betraying no emotion, the side of his face twitching nervously.

Canaris explained that the Abwehr was collecting and analyzing three types of intelligence connected with the invasion preparations: aerial photographs of enemy troops in southern England; enemy wireless communications monitored by the Funkabwehr, Funkabwehr, the agency's listening service; and reports from agents operating inside Britain. the agency's listening service; and reports from agents operating inside Britain.

"And what is that intelligence telling you, Herr Admiral?" Hitler snapped.

"Our initial intelligence tends to support the field marshal's assessment--that the Allies intend to strike at Calais. According to our agents there has been increased enemy activity in southeast England, directly across the Channel from the Pas de Calais. We have monitored wireless transmissions referring to a new force called the First United States Army Group. We have also been analyzing the enemy's air activity over northwest France. He is spending far more time over Calais--for the purposes of bombing and reconnaissance--than over Normandy or Brittany. I have one other piece of new information to report, my Fuhrer. One of our agents in England has a source inside the Allied high command. Last night, the agent transmitted a report. General Eisenhower has arrived in London. The Americans and British intend to keep his presence secret for the time being."

Hitler seemed impressed by the agent's report. If only Hitler knew the truth, Canaris thought: that now, just months before the most important battle of the war, the Abwehr's intelligence networks in England were very likely in tatters. Canaris blamed Hitler. During the preparations for Operation Seelowe--the aborted invasion of Britain--Canaris and his staff recklessly poured spies into England. All caution was thrown to the wind because of the desperate need for intelligence on coastal defenses and British troop positions. Agents were hastily recruited, poorly trained, and even more poorly equipped. Canaris suspected most walked straight into the arms of MI5, inflicting permanent damage on networks that took years of painstaking work to build. He could not admit that now; to do so would be to sign his own death warrant.

Adolf Hitler was pacing again. Canaris knew Hitler did not fear the coming invasion. Quite the opposite, he welcomed it. He had ten million Germans under arms and an armaments industry that, despite relentless Allied bombing and shortages of labor and raw material, continued to produce staggering amounts of weapons and supplies. He remained confident of his ability to repel the invasion and hand the Allies a cataclysmic defeat. Like Rundstedt, he believed a landing at the Pas de Calais made strategic sense, and it was there that his Atlantikwall Atlantikwall most resembled his vision of an impregnable fortress. In effect, Hitler had tried to force the Allies to invade at Calais by ordering the launching sites for his V-1 and V-2 rockets to be placed there. Yet Hitler was also aware the British and Americans had engaged in deception throughout the war and would do so again as a prelude to the invasion of France. most resembled his vision of an impregnable fortress. In effect, Hitler had tried to force the Allies to invade at Calais by ordering the launching sites for his V-1 and V-2 rockets to be placed there. Yet Hitler was also aware the British and Americans had engaged in deception throughout the war and would do so again as a prelude to the invasion of France.

"Let us reverse the roles," Hitler finally said. "If I were going to invade France from England, what would I do? Would I come by the obvious route, the route my enemy expects me to take? Would I stage a frontal assault on the most heavily defended portion of the coastline? Or would I take another route and attempt to surprise my enemy? Would I broadcast false wireless messages and send false reports through spies? Would I make misleading statements to the press? The answer to all these questions is yes. We must expect the British to engage in deception and even a major diversionary landing. As much as I would wish them to attempt a landing at Calais, we must be prepared for the possibility of an invasion at Normandy or Brittany. Therefore, our panzers must remain safely back from the coast until the enemy's intentions are clear. Then we will concentrate our armor at the main point of the attack and hurl them back into the sea."

"There is one other thing to take into account that might support your argument," Field Marshal Erwin Rommel said.

Hitler spun on his heel to face him. "Go on, Herr Generalfeldmarshal."

Rommel gestured at the large floor-to-ceiling map behind Hitler. "If you would permit a demonstration, my Fuhrer."

"Of course."

Rommel reached inside his briefcase, removed a pair of calipers, and walked to the map. In December, Hitler had ordered him to assume command of Army Group B along the Channel coast. Army Group B included the 7th Army in the Normandy area, the 15th Army between the Seine estuary and the Zuider Zee, and the Army of the Netherlands. Physically and psychologically recovered from his disastrous defeats in North Africa, the famed Desert Fox had thrown himself into his new assignment with an incredible display of energy, dashing about the French coast in his Mercedes 230 cabriolet at all hours, inspecting his coastal defenses and the disposition of his troops and armor. He had promised to turn the French coastline into a "Devil's garden"--a landscape of artillery, minefields, concrete fortifications, and barbed wire from which the enemy would never emerge. Yet privately, Rommel believed any fortification devised by man could be defeated by man.

Standing before the map, Rommel pulled open the calipers. "This represents the range of the enemy's Spitfire and Mustang fighter planes. These are the locations of major fighter bases in the south of England." He placed one end of the calipers on each of the sites and drew a series of arcs on the map. "As you can see, my Fuhrer, both Normandy and Calais are well within range of the enemy's fighters. Therefore, we must regard both areas as possible sites for the invasion."

Hitler nodded, impressed by Rommel's display. "Place yourself in the enemy's position for a moment, Herr Generalfeldmarshal. If you were attempting to invade France from England, where would you strike?"

Rommel made a brief show of thought, then said, "I must admit, my Fuhrer, that all signs point to an invasion at the Pas de Calais. But I cannot rid myself of the belief that the enemy would never attempt a frontal assault on our strongest concentration of forces. I am also tainted by the experience of Africa. The British engaged in deception before the battle of Alamein, and they will do so again before an invasion of France."

"And the Westwall, Herr Generalfeldmarshal? How is the work proceeding?"

"Much to be done, my Fuhrer. But we are making good progress."

"Will it be done before spring?"

"I believe so. But coastal fortifications alone cannot stop the enemy. We need to have our armor arrayed properly. And for that I'm afraid we need to know where they plan to strike. Nothing short of that will be of any use. If the enemy succeeds, the war may be lost."

"Nonsense," Heinrich Himmler said. "Under the Fuhrer, Germany's ultimate victory is beyond question. The beaches of France will be a graveyard for the British and the Americans."