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picked him up when he was discharged. He’d immediately been suspicious of the fawning pleasantries and concern, qualities he had rarely noticed in that branch of the German military. He had disliked the man. He had distrusted the attention. He had soon discovered his instincts had been disastrously correct.
    “I’m a sailor, not a spy,” he argued an hour later in Admiral Canaris’s spacious office.
    “You’re much more than a sailor,” Canaris had said. “What is it…four, five languages you speak fluently?”
    Eric had been silent, not wanting to confirm or deny anything. He detested the current leadership of Germany, yet it was his country and his duty to serve it. When war had broken out between England and Germany, he’d returned to Germany, knowing he would be interned if he stayed with the Canadian shipping line. His father was a German staff officer. He knew he couldn’t stand to be imprisoned in any way, and so, with mixed feelings and divided loyalties, he had returned to the country of his birth.
    He had joined the German Navy, hoping to avoid the politics and fanaticism of some of the other services and had been assigned as an officer on one of the destroyers. The navy, more than any other service, allowed some limited independence of thought. He had steadily risen through the ranks, drawing excellent reports from superior officers, although he was suspiciously quiet in his support of the Third Reich and the Führer. Still, he had a way of instilling loyalty and bringing forth the very best in the men he led, and fitness reports were invariably glowing. Because captains did not want to lose him, they omitted his often caustic references to the Nazi party and less than enthusiastic allegiance to Hitler.
    “You have an opportunity to do a great service for your fatherland,” Canaris said.
    Eric forced his face to remain emotionless as the German admiral outlined his plan. Stifling his growing distaste and apprehension, Michael tried reason. Personal desires, he knew, would get him nowhere. “I’ve had no training in espionage,” he demurred, “and my leg is still damned weak.”
    “We can give you all the training you need. Your injured leg is one of the qualifications for this particular job, that and your Canadian background. It’s a perfect entrée onto the island…a wounded war hero.”
    “I know nothing of spying.”
    “All the reports on you emphasize quick thinking and ingenuity. Those are, my dear von Steimen, the two most essential ingredients of a spy. You also speak English flawlessly and have a knowledge of Canada. Your background and that of Michael Fielding match perfectly.”
    “Michael Fielding?” Eric queried.
    “A prisoner we picked up from an English destroyer. He was from a well-to-do family in Canada, now all dead. Like you, he was with a Canadian shipping firm as an officer. Perhaps you’ve even met.”
    “Fielding?” Eric searched his memory. He knew the name, but he didn’t ever remember meeting the man. “Where is he now.”
    “Dead of wounds.”
    “And his family is dead,” Eric said wryly. “Convenient.”
    “Not really. We have been searching for the right prisoner and the right counterpart for months. Someone whose background could be checked thoroughly. No guest is allowed on Jekyll Island without investigation. This combination was particularly fortunate.”
    “I would prefer to return to the navy.”
    “ I would prefer you would not.” Canaris’s voice was no longer pleasant. “Your father would have been most disappointed in your attitude, von Steimen.”
    Eric knew his face had tightened. “If you know so much about me, you would know that I never sought my father’s approval.”
    Canaris turned keen ruthless eyes on him. “And your mother. She is Canadian, is she not?” The words held a slightly veiled threat.
    “She is a German citizen. She chose to stay here with father when the war started.”
    “But your father is no longer alive,