Thunder Point Part 4

Her frown deepened and she came and sat beside him. "What is it, Henry?"

"Something happened when I was diving this morning, something extraordinary. I found a wreck about eighty or ninety feet down."

"You d.a.m.n fool." She was angry now. "Diving at that kind of depth on your own and at your age. Where was this?"

Although not a serious diver, she did go down occasionally and knew most of the sites. He hesitated. It was not only that he knew she would be thoroughly angry to know that he'd dived a place like Thunder Point and it certainly wasn't that he didn't trust her. He just wanted to keep the location of the submarine to himself for the moment, certainly until he'd seen Garth Travers.

"All I can tell you, Jenny, is that I found a German U-boat from nineteen forty-five."

Her eyes widened. "My G.o.d!"

"I managed to get inside. There was a briefcase, an aluminum thing. Watertight. I found the Captain's diary inside. It's in German, which I can't read, but there were a couple of names I recognized."

"Such as?"

"Martin Bormann and the Duke of Windsor."

She looked slightly dazed. "Henry, what's going on here?"

"That's what I'd like to know." He took her hand. "Remember that English friend of mine, Rear Admiral Travers?"

"The one you served in the Korean War with? Of course, you introduced me to him the year before last when we were in Miami and he was pa.s.sing through."

"I phoned him earlier. He's got all sorts of records on the German Kriegsmarine. He checked on the boat for me. One-eighty, that's what's painted on the conning tower, but one-eighty was a different type boat and it went down in the Bay of Biscay in nineteen forty-four."

She shook her head in bewilderment. "But what does it all mean?"

"There were stories for years about Bormann, dozens of books, all saying he didn't die in Berlin at the end of the War, that he survived. People had sightings of him in South America, or so they said."

"And the Duke of Windsor?"

"G.o.d knows." He shook his head. "All I know is this could be important and I found the d.a.m.n boat, Jenny, me, Henry Baker. Christ, I don't know what's in the diary, but maybe it changes history."

He got up and walked to the rail, gripping it with both hands. She had never seen him so excited, got up herself and put a hand on his shoulder. "Want me to come with you?"

"h.e.l.l no, there's no need for that."

"Billy and Mary could run things here."

He shook his head. "I'll be back in a few days. Four at the most."

"Fine." She managed a smile. "Then we'd better get back to the house and I'll help you pack."

His flight in the Carib Aviation Partenavia was uneventful except for strong headwinds that held them back a little so that the landing was later than he'd antic.i.p.ated, around six-thirty. By the time he'd pa.s.sed through customs, collected his luggage and proceeded to the British Airways desk, it was seven o'clock. He went through security into the departure lounge and the flight was called ten minutes later.

The service in British Airways First Cla.s.s was as superb as usual. He had carried Korvettenkapitan Friemel's case through with him and he accepted a gla.s.s of champagne from the stewardess, opened the case and browsed through it for a while, not just the diary, but the photos and the letters. Strange, because he didn't understand a word. It was the photo of the Kriegsmarine officer that really intrigued him, presumably Friemel himself, the face of the enemy, only Baker didn't feel like that, but then seamen of all nations, even in war, tended to have a high regard for each other. It was the sea, after all, which was the common enemy.

He closed the case and put it in the locker overhead when takeoff was announced and spent his time reading one or two of the London newspapers which were in plentiful supply. The meal was served soon after takeoff, and after it had been cleared away the stewardess reminded him that each seat had its own small video screen and offered him a brochure which included a lengthy list of videos available.

Baker browsed through it. It would at least help pa.s.s the time, and then he s.h.i.+vered a little as if someone had pa.s.sed over his grave. There was a film there he'd heard about, a German film, Das Boot Das Boot, in English, The Boat The Boat, from all accounts a harrowing story of life in a U-boat at the worst time in the War.

Against his better judgment he ordered it and asked for a large Scotch. The cabin crew went round pulling down the window blinds so that those who wished to might sleep. Baker inserted the video, put on the earphones and sat there, in the semidarkness, watching. He called for another Scotch after twenty minutes and kept watching. It was one of the most disturbing films of its kind he had ever seen.

An hour was enough. He switched off, tilted his seat back and lay there, staring through the darkness thinking about Korvettenkapitan Paul Friemel and U180 and that final ending on Thunder Point, wondering what had gone wrong. After a while, he slept.

3.

It was ten o'clock when the doorbell rang at the house in Lord North Street. Garth Travers answered the door himself and found Henry Baker standing there in the rain, the briefcase in one hand, his overnight case in the other. He had no raincoat and the collar of his jacket was turned up.

"My dear chap," Travers said. "For G.o.d's sake, come in before you drown." He turned as he closed the door. "You'll stay here of course?"

"If that suits, old buddy."

"It's good to hear that description of me again," Travers told him. "I'll show you to your room later. Let's get you some breakfast. My housekeeper's day off, so you'll get it Navy style."

"Coffee would be fine for the moment," Baker said.

They went to the large, comfortable kitchen and Travers put the kettle on. Baker placed the briefcase on the table. "There it is."

"Fascinating." Travers examined the Kriegsmarine insignia on the case, then glanced up. "May I?"

"That's why I'm here."

Travers opened the case. He examined the letters quickly. "These must be keepsakes, dated at various times in nineteen forty-three and -four. All from his wife from the looks of things." He turned to the photos. "Knight's Cross holder? Must have been quite a boy." He looked at the photos of the woman and the two little girls and read the handwritten paragraph on the back of one of them. "Oh dear."

"What is it?" Baker asked.

"It reads, 'my dear wife Lottie and my daughters, Ilse and Marie, killed in a bombing raid on Hamburg, August the eighth, nineteen forty-four.'"

"Dear G.o.d!" Baker said.

"I can check up on him easily enough. I have a book listing all holders of the Knight's Cross. It was the Germans' highest award for valor. You make the coffee and I'll get it."

Travers went out and Baker found cups, a tin of instant milk in the icebox, had just finished when Travers returned with the book in question. He sat down opposite Baker and reached for his coffee.

"Here we are, Paul Friemel, Korvettenkapitan, joined the German Navy as an officer cadet after two years studying medicine at Heidelberg." Travers nodded. "Outstanding record in U-boats. Knight's Cross in July forty-four for sinking an Italian cruiser. They were on our side by then, of course. After that he was a.s.signed to sh.o.r.e duties at Kiel." He made a face. "Oh dear, mystery piles on mystery. It says here he was killed in a bombing raid on Kiel in April, nineteen forty-five."

"Like h.e.l.l he was," Baker said.

"Exactly." Travers opened the diary and glanced at the first page. "Beautiful handwriting and perfectly legible." He riffled the pages. "Some of the entries are quite short. Can't be more than thirty pages at the most."

"Your German is fluent as I recall," Baker said.

"Like a native, old boy; my maternal grandmother was from Munich. I'll tell you what I'll do, an instant translation into my word processor. Should take no more than an hour and a half. You get yourself some breakfast. Ham and eggs in the refrigerator, sorry, icebox to you, bread bin over there. Join me in the study when you're ready."

He went out and Baker, relaxed now that everything was in hand, busied himself making breakfast, aware that he was hungry. He sat at the table to eat it, reading Travers' copy of that morning's London Times Times while he did so. It was perhaps an hour later that he cleared everything away and went into the study. while he did so. It was perhaps an hour later that he cleared everything away and went into the study.

Travers sat at the word processor, watching the screen, his fingers rippling over the keyboard, the diary open and standing on a small lectern on his right-hand side. There was a curiously intent look on his face.

Baker said cheerfully, "How's it going?"

"Not now, old boy, please."

Baker shrugged, sat by the fire and picked up a magazine. It was quiet, only the sound of the word processor except when Travers suddenly said, "My G.o.d!" and then a few minutes after that, "No, I can't believe it."

"For heaven's sake, what is it, Garth?" Baker demanded.

"In a minute, old boy, almost through."

Baker sat there on tenterhooks, and after a while Travers sat back with a sigh. "Finished. I'll run it through the copier."

"Does it have anything interesting to say?"

"Interesting?" Travers laughed harshly. "That's putting it mildly. First of all I must make the point that it isn't the official s.h.i.+p's log; it's essentially a private account of the peculiar circ.u.mstances surrounding his final voyage. Maybe he was trying to cover himself in some way, who knows, but it's pretty sensational. The thing is, what are we going to do about it?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Read it for yourself. I'll go and make some more coffee," Travers said as the copier stopped. He shuffled the sheets together and handed them to Baker, who settled himself in the chair by the fire and started to read.Bergen, Norway, 30 April 1944. I, Paul Friemel, start this account, more because of the strangeness of the task I am to perform than anything else. We left Kiel two days ago in this present boat designated U180. My command is in fact a craft that was damaged by bombing while under construction at Kiel in nineteen forty-three. We are to my certain knowledge carrying the number of a dead s.h.i.+p. My orders from Grand Admiral Doenitz are explicit. My pa.s.senger will arrive this evening from Berlin, although I find this hard to swallow. He will carry a direct order in the Fuhrer's own hand. I will learn our destination from him.There was a gap here in the diary and then a further entry for the evening of the same day.I received orders to proceed to the airstrip where a Feiseler Storch landed. After a few minutes an officer in the uniform of an SS General appeared and asked if I was Korvettenkapitan Friemel. He in no way identified himself, although at that stage I felt that I had seen him before. When we reached the dock, he took me to one side before boarding and presented me with a sealed envelope. When I opened it I found it contained the order from the Fuhrer himself, which had been mentioned in Grand Admiral Doenitz's personal order to me. It ran as follows: From the leader and Chancellor of the State. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann acts with my authority on a matter of the utmost importance and essential to the continuance of the Third Reich. You will place yourself under his direct authority, at all times remembering your solemn oath as an officer of the Kriegsmarine to your Fuhrer, and will accept his command and authority as he sees fit and in all situations.

I recall now, having seen Bormann once at a State function in Berlin in 1942. Few people would recognize the man, for of all our leaders, I would conclude he is the least known. He is smaller than I would have thought, rough featured with overlong arms. Frankly, if seen in working clothes, one would imagine him a docker or laborer. The Reichsleiter enquired as to whether I accepted his authority which, having little option, I have agreed to do. He instructed me that as regards my officers and the crew, he was to be known as General Stra.s.ser.

1 May. Although the officers' area is the most s.p.a.cious on board, it only caters for three with one bunk lashed up. I have taken this for myself and given the Reichsleiter the Commanding Officer's compartment on the port side and aft of what pa.s.ses for a wardroom in this boat. It is the one private place we have, though only a felt curtain separates his quarters from the wardroom. As we left Bergen on the evening tide, the Reichsleiter joined me on the bridge and informed me that our destination was Venezuela.

2 May 1945. As the boat has been fitted with a snorkel I am able to contemplate a voyage entirely underwater, though I fear this may not be possible in the heavy weather of the North Atlantic. I have laid a course underwater by way of the Iceland-Faroes narrows and once we have broken into the Atlantic will review the situation.

3 May 1945. Have received by radio from Bergen the astonis.h.i.+ng news that the Fuhrer has died on the 1st of May fighting valiantly at the head of our forces in Berlin, in an attempt to deny the Russians victory. I conveyed the melancholy news to the Reichsleiter, who accepted it with what I thought to be astonis.h.i.+ng calm. He then instructed me to pa.s.s the news to the crew, stressing that the war would continue. An hour later we received word over the radio that Grand Admiral Doenitz had set up a provisional government in Schleswig-Holstein. I doubt that it can last long with the Russians in Berlin and the Americans and British across the Rhine.Baker was more than fascinated by this time and quickly pa.s.sed through several pages which at that stage were mainly concerned with the s.h.i.+p's progress.5 May. We received an order from U-boat command that all submarines at sea must observe a cease-fire from this morning at 08.00 hours. The order is to return to harbor. I discussed this with the Reichsleiter in his quarters, who pointed out that he had the Fuhrer's authority to continue still and asked me if I queried it. I found this difficult to answer and he suggested that I consider the situation for a day or two.

8 May 1945. We received this evening by radio the message I have been expecting. Total capitulation to the enemy. Germany has gone down to defeat. I again met with the Reichsleiter in his quarters and while discussing the situation received a ciphered message from Bergen instructing me to return or to continue the voyage as ordered. The Reichsleiter seized upon this and demanded my obedience, insisting on his right to speak to the crew over the intercom. He disclosed his ident.i.ty and the matter of his authority from the Fuhrer. He pointed out that there was nothing left for any of us in Germany and that there were friends waiting in Venezuela. A new life for those who wanted it, the possibility for a return to Germany for those who wanted that. It was difficult to argue with his reasoning and, on the whole, my crew and officers accepted it.

12 May 1945. Continued south and this day received general signal from Canadian Navy in Nova Scotia to any U-boat still at sea, demanding we report exact situation, surface and proceed under black flag. Failure to do so apparently condemning us to be considered as pirate and liable to immediate attack. The Reichsleiter showed little concern at this news.

15 May 1945. The snorkel device is in essence an air pipe raised above the surface when we run at periscope depth. In this way we may run on our diesel engines underwater without using up our batteries. I have discovered considerable problems with the device, for if the sea is rough, and nothing is rougher than the Atlantic, the ball c.o.c.k closes. When this happens, the engines still draw in air, which means an instant fall in pressure in the boat and this gives the crew huge problems. We have had three cases of ruptured eardrums, but proceeding with the aid of the snorkel does make it difficult for us to be detected from the air.

17 May 1945. So far into the Atlantic are we now that I feel our risk of detection from the air to be minimal and decided from today to proceed on the surface. We carve through the Atlantic's heavy seas, continually awash, and our chances of encountering anyone in these lat.i.tudes are slim.

20 May 1945. The Reichsleiter has kept himself to himself for much of the trip except for eating with the officers, preferring to remain on his bunk and read. Today he asked if he could accompany me when I was taking my watch. He arrived on the bridge in foul weather gear when we were barreling through fifteen- and twenty-foot waves and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

21 May 1945. An extraordinary night for me. The Reichsleiter appeared at dinner obviously the worse for drink. Later he invited me to his quarters where he produced a bottle of Scotch whisky from one of his cases and insisted I join him. He drank freely, talking a great deal about the Fuhrer and the final days in the Bunker in Berlin. When I asked him how he had escaped, he told me they had used the East-West Avenue in the center of Berlin as a runway for light aircraft. At this stage he had finished the whisky, pulled out one of his duffel bags from under the bunk and opened it. He took out an aluminium Kriegsmarine captain's briefcase like my own and put it on the bunk, then found a fresh bottle of whisky.By now he was very drunk and told me of his last meeting with the Fuhrer, who had charged him with a sacred duty to continue the future of the Third Reich. He said an organization called the Odessa Line had been set up years before by the SS to provide an escape line, in the event of temporary defeat, for those officers of SS and other units essential to the continuance of the struggle.Then he moved on to the Kamaradenwerk, Action for Comrades, an organization set up to continue National Socialist ideas after the war. There were hundreds of millions salted away in Switzerland, South America and other places and friends in every country at the highest level of government. He took his aluminium case from the bunk, opened it and produced a file. He called it the Blue Book. He said it listed many members of the English aristocracy, many members of the English Parliament, who had secretly supported the Fuhrer during the nineteen-thirties and also many Americans. He then took a paper from a buff envelope and unfolded it before me. He told me it was the Windsor Protocol, a secret agreement with the Fuhrer signed by the Duke of Windsor while resident at Estoril in Portugal in 1940 after the fall of France. In it he agreed to ascend the throne of England again after a successful German invasion. I asked him what value such a doc.u.ment could be and how could he be sure it was genuine. He became extremely angry and told me that, in any event, there were those on his Blue Book list who would do anything to avoid exposure and that his own future was taken care of. I asked him at that point if he was certain and he laughed and said you could always trust an English gentleman. At this point he became so drunk that I had to a.s.sist him on to the bunk. He fell asleep instantly and I examined the contents of the briefcase. The names in his Blue Book list meant nothing to me, but the Windsor Protocol looked genuine enough. The only other thing in the briefcase was a list of numbered bank accounts and the Fuhrer order and I closed it and placed it under the bunk with his other luggage.

Baker stopped at this point, put the diary down, got up and walked to the window as Garth Travers entered.

Travers said, "Here's the coffee. Thought I'd leave you to get on with it. Have you finished?"

"Just read what Bormann told him on the twenty-first of May."

"The best is yet to come, old boy, I'll be back," and Travers went out again.25 May 1945. 500 miles north of Puerto Rico. I envisage using the Anegada Pa.s.sage through the Leeward Islands into the Caribbean Sea with a clear run to the Venezuelan coast from there.

26 May 1945. The Reichsleiter called me to his quarters and informed me that it was necessary to make a stop before reaching our destination and requested to see the chart for the Virgin Islands. The island he indicated is a small one, Samson Cay, south-east of St. John in the American Virgin Islands, but in British sovereign waters being a few miles south of Norman Island in the British Virgin Islands. He gave me no indication of his reason for wis.h.i.+ng to stop there.

27 May 1945. Surfaced off the coast of Samson Cay at 21.00 hours. A dark night with a quarter moon. Some lights observed on sh.o.r.e. The Reichsleiter requested that he be put ash.o.r.e in one of the inflatables, and I arranged for Petty Officer Schroeder to take him. Before leaving he called me to his quarters and told me that he was expecting to meet friends on sh.o.r.e, but as a precaution against something going wrong he was not taking anything of importance with him. He particularly indicated the briefcase which he left on the bunk and gave me a sealed envelope which he said would give me details of my destination in Venezuela if anything went wrong and the name of the man I was to hand the briefcase to. He told me to send Schroeder back for him at 02.00 hours and that if he was not on the beach I was to fear the worst and depart. He wore civilian clothes and left his uniform.Travers came back in at that moment. "Still at it?"

"I'm on the final entry."

The Admiral went to the drinks cabinet and poured Scotch into two gla.s.ses. "Drink that," he said, pa.s.sing one to Baker. "You're going to need it."28 May 1945. Midnight. I have just been on the bridge and noticed an incredible stillness to everything, quite unnatural and like nothing I have experienced before. Lightning on the far horizon and distant thunder. The waters here in the lagoon are shallow and give me concern. I write this at the chart table while waiting for the radio officer to check for weather reports.There was a gap here and then a couple of lines scrawled hurriedly.Radio report from St. Thomas indicates hurricane approaching fast. We must make for deep water and go down to ride it out. The Reichsleiter must take his chance."Only the poor b.u.g.g.e.rs didn't ride it out," Travers said. "The hurricane caught them when they were still vulnerable. Must have ripped her side open on the reef where you found her."

"I'm afraid so," Baker said. "Then I presume the current must have driven her in on that ledge under the overhang."

"Where she remained all these years. Strange no one ever discovered her before."

"Not really," Baker said. "It's a bad place. No one goes there. It's too far out for people who dive for fun and it's very dangerous. Another thing. If the recent hurricane hadn't broken away the overhang, I might well have missed it myself."

"You haven't actually given me the location yet," Travers remonstrated.

"Yes, well, that's my business," Baker said.

Travers smiled. "I understand, old boy, I understand, but I really must point out that this is a very hot potato."

"What on earth are you getting at?"

"Number one, we'd appear to have positive proof after all the rumor and speculation for nearly fifty years, that Martin Bormann escaped from Berlin."

"So?" Baker said.

"More than that! There's the Blue Book list of Hitler's sympathizers here in England, not only the n.o.bility but Members of Parliament plus the names of a few of your fellow countrymen. Worse than that, this Windsor Protocol."

"What do you mean?" Baker asked.

"According to the diary, Bormann kept them in a similar survival case to this." He tapped the aluminium briefcase. "And he left it on the bunk in the Commanding Officer's quarters. Now just consider this. According to Friemel's final entry he was in the control room at the chart table, entering the diary when he got that final radio report about the hurricane. He shoves the diary in his briefcase and locks it, only a second to do that, then gets on with the emergency. That would explain why you found the briefcase in the control room."

"I'll buy that," Baker agreed.

"No, you're missing the real point, which is that the case survived."

"So what are you getting at?"

"These things were built for survival, which means it's almost certain Bormann's is still in the Commanding Officer's quarters with the Blue Book, the Windsor Protocol and Hitler's personal order concerning Bormann. Even after all these years the facts contained in those doc.u.ments would cause a h.e.l.l of a stink, Henry, especially the Windsor thing."

"I wouldn't want to cause that kind of trouble," Baker told him.

"I believe you, I know you well enough for that, but what if someone else found that submarine?"

"I told you, no one goes there."

"You also told me you thought an overhang had been torn off revealing it. I mean, somebody could could dive there, Henry, just like you did." dive there, Henry, just like you did."