The Paris Spy (Maggie Hope Mystery #7)(13)

“Ah, caraway tea!” he exclaimed with a genuine smile. “Thank you, Fr?ulein Junge.” The young woman ducked her head shyly, then left. “Caraway tea helps with the blood, you know,” he proclaimed to the men. “Aids in digestion, too.”

He blew on his tea, then raised the cup to his lips. “Now, we must turn our attention to other matters. The so-called Allies must be planning an invasion of Europe, even as we speak. I fully expect that sometime in the next weeks, months—or even years—Churchill and his band of thugs will land on the shores of the Continent.”

His eyes closed. “It will be the final showdown. The destiny of the Reich and Occupied Europe hangs in the balance. It will be the decisive event of the war. If landings succeed”—he drew in a deep breath—“then the war is lost.”

Von Rundstedt, a Prussian with hard features and an unflinching gaze, tugged at his sparse mustache. “Of course, we have the men and arms, sir—but the Allies have the element of surprise. We must not underestimate that.”

“What we need to do is hand them a defeat, as we did with the Poles, the French, and now the Russians.” Himmler pushed up the small silver spectacles sliding down his nose, then reached for a gingery Lebkuchen.

“Where will they land?” Hitler murmured, as though to himself. “That’s the gamble, the toss of the dice, the war game on which everything depends.”

“Regardless, we have the forces to defeat them!” Ribbentrop insisted. “And when defeated, they will never have the strength, men, and materials to invade again—we’ll see to that.”

“What then, my Führer?” von Rundstedt asked.

“By then, not only will we have the V-One and V-Two rockets, but our atomic weapons will be operational as well. We’ll conquer Britain. Then we’ll turn to the United States and Canada.”

“And what about Japan?” Ribbentrop asked.

Hitler waved a hand, as if discussing how to divide a loaf of bread. “We will give them the west coast of North America, Vancouver, San Francisco, Los Angeles. There will be a small unoccupied zone, split by the Mississippi River, no, the Rocky Mountains. We, of course, will take the East—Boston, New York, and Washington—and the Midwest.”

He squinted at von Rundstedt. “Where do you predict they will land?”

“France, my Führer,” the field marshal replied without hesitation. “Definitely. We consider four sites most likely for the landings—Brittany, the Cotentin Peninsula, Normandy, and Pas de Calais. But Brittany and Cotentin are points—it would be too easy to cut off their advance. So I don’t think those are serious options.”

Von Rundstedt moved to the edge of his chair. “A landing in Normandy would permit simultaneous threats against the port of Cherbourg, coastal ports farther west in Brittany, and an overland attack toward Paris and eventually into Germany. However, the drawback of the Normandy coast—and it’s a big drawback—is the lack of port facilities.

“And so I consider Pas de Calais the most likely initial landing zone. It’s the closest point in continental Europe to Britain. Between England and Calais, there’s barely twenty miles of open water. It’s their best option,” von Rundstedt continued. “They could deliver men and materials to a bridgehead in Pas de Calais four times faster than they could to Normandy, and six times faster than to Brittany.”

“They can also use their airpower to best effect in Calais,” Ribbentrop mused. “Their plan will most likely be to seize and open a major seaport—and Pas de Calais is the best option, with the most advantages.”

Hitler gave them all a look that silenced them instantly. “They will land in Normandy,” he stated flatly. “If I were planning the invasion, I’d use Normandy.”

The assembled men remained mute, no one wishing to disagree.

“They will not take the obvious approach. Surprise is their friend. However,” Hitler stated, holding up one finger, “surprise expected is not surprise, is it?”

Ribbentrop cleared his throat. “Obersturmbannführer Wolfgang von Waltz, with Gestapo counterespionage in Paris, informs me he has a new lead on intelligence.”

“What does Canaris think?” Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was chief of the German military intelligence service, Abwehr, and Ribbentrop’s rival.

“Canaris isn’t working with von Waltz,” Ribbentrop clarified. “I am.”

Himmler finished his cookie, then brushed crumbs from his uniform. “Von Waltz said he picked up an agent from Rouen.”

“Yes, a female,” Ribbentrop said. “British. Unfortunately, the woman killed herself before we could extract any information.”

“Pity,” Himmler murmured.

“A woman.” Von Rundstedt sneered, steepling his fingers. “What depths they’ve sunk to!”

“It will be Normandy,” Hitler repeated quietly, as though alone in the room. “They will invade at the beaches of Normandy, then head to Cherbourg. Then spread across all of France.

“I say our enemies will choose Normandy, if they haven’t done so already. And I am never wrong.”

“Mein Führer,” said Ribbentrop, “I will go to Paris, to meet with Obersturmbannführer von Waltz personally—and let him know how crucial his work with the English spies is. It is through this back door channel that we will confirm the invasion site.”