I must admit that you have grounds for complaint; although, to me, it seems hardly credible that eight years should have slipped by since I last provided you with material for a book. I am all the more touched to hear that still, after all this time, a week seldom passes without some of your readers writing to ask what has happened to me.
In self-defence, I would point out that you could have satisfied their kind interest at least to the extent of relating my activities up to the end of World War II: but you chose to terminate your account of them in December 1941. Moreover, you left your readers under the impression that Erika’s husband had been liquidated by Grauber. Had Erika and I been less mentally exhausted after our nightmare crossing of Lake Constance, we should have realised that none of the Nazis in the boat was armed; and that, as we learned later, the shot we heard was fired from a Swiss patrol boat in an unsuccessful endeavour to prevent Grauber and his pals getting back to Germany.
I think it rather a pity that you have not yet described for your readers how von Osterberg really met his death, my final round with Grauber, and those unforgettable last hours with Hitler in the bunker. But perhaps you are right about the public being temporarily surfeited with tales of how we got the better of the Nazis, and that they would arouse much greater interest after a lapse of a few more years, which would give them almost an historical flavour.
As far as my activities since the war are concerned, it is true that I have been on a number of secret missions; but to give an account of any of them in detail would involve disclosing information which a foreign power would be very glad to have; so there can be no question of publishing these for the time being. However, although few people know it, I was recently written off as dead for the best part of a year. During that time I became involved in what might almost be termed a private enterprise of a ‘kill or be killed’ nature; and, rather than disappoint your readers altogether, I am sending you my notes about it.
The Pacific is a big place; the Chinese are a strange people: but love and greed don’t vary much the world over, do they? You know how my mind works well enough by now for me to be confident that you will give a fair picture of my reactions during these strange events which nearly cost me my reason and did cost a lot of other people their lives. More power to your elbow.
Yours ever,
P.S.
I still have a little of the Pol Roger ’28 you sent me in return for my last batch of notes, and it is now so good I’m keeping it for very special occasions. This time I rather favour Louis Roederer ’45, preferably in magnums, if you can find me some.
G.
P.P.S.
I am hoping to be back in England shortly, and that will definitely be an occasion for us to knock off a bottle or two of the ’28.
G.