Lange and the medic struggle with Rydel, manoeuvring him through bulkhead doors and between engines. The restricted aft tube room door is a hindrance but they squeeze him through and set him down on a bunk. Blood is soaking the dressings. The medic attends to them and adds more lint pads. Marek Lewandowski, knowing nothing of events, looks on, open-mouthed. Then Theo is there, watching.
‘There is nothing more I can do for him, Kapitän,’ the medic says, wiping his hands. ‘We must hope he recovers.’ He looks around the room and sees for the first time the figure in the bunk near Marek and he stares, first at the bunk, then at Lewandowski and then at his captain. Theo holds the man’s gaze.
‘He is my son,’ Theo says. ‘I had no choice. Please, not one word…’
Securing Roth is simple. He has returned to his cabins. Theo, armed with the automatic pistol from the drawer in his cabin, jams a long steel bar through the handles of the cabin’s wooden door. Roth does not appear. The pistol is not needed.
As Theo passes his own cabin one of the two phones on wall gives a single, short ring. This phone has not rung before. It is a direct line to Roth’s cabin.
‘Kapitänleutnant, this is an outrage. I demand you free me immediately.’
Roth sounds calm, he speaks quietly. Theo listens to more demands. He is tempted to hang up but instead he responds.
‘You struck and injured one of my men.’
‘He was insolent and stupid. You command a boatload of fools. How long do you think you can get away with this charade? If you release me now I shall forget the matter. If you do not you will certainly live to regret it.’
Theo slams the phone down. It rings again but he ignores it. In a Kriegsmarine court he would plead Roth jeopardised the safety of his boat. But would he be tried it be a naval court? Unlikely. The SS looks after its own. It executes men, women and children for trivial offences. Justice in Germany has gone to the wall – which is where Theo will go if Roth has his way.
The phone rings again. This time Theo answers.
‘Perhaps I was hasty, Kapitänleutnant. Possibly it was not a deliberate act on the man’s part. Possibly he stumbled.’
‘My witnesses say it was you who stumbled.’
‘You must appreciate I reacted in the only way I could. I believed I was being attacked and I defended myself. The Schutzstaffel will not be threatened, Kapitänleutnant.’
‘You will remain in my custody.’
‘How do I eat? It is a long voyage.’
‘How do I navigate? The man you wounded is my navigating officer. Food and drink will be brought to you. First you will surrender your pistol.’
‘Very well. I am under arrest?’
‘You are under arrest, Herr Sturmbannführer.’
There is a buzz on the line. Roth has hung up on him. Using the other phone Theo pages the bosun. Two or three seconds pass before the man knocks on his door.
‘Sturmbannführer Roth is my prisoner, Bosun. He will remain confined to his quarters and has agreed to hand over his gun. It is of course possible he has other weapons. You and I will search his bags.’
‘His suitcases, Kapitän.’
Despite the man’s smile there is fear. Imprisoning an SS officer and the searching his belongings is courting death.
‘As you know, I have no gunnery officer. You are responsible for discipline and will be there when I search. If you are ever called to explain your actions you will say you were under my orders. You need not fear Sturmbannführer Roth, not aboard my boat.’ Theo hands him his automatic pistol. ‘I want you armed. Take this…’
Soon they are at Roth’s door. Theo bangs on it and calls out. There is no response.
‘Perhaps he is sleeping, Kapitän.’
‘He is not.’
He calls out again. Slowly he slides the steel rod from the handles on the door and the Bosun moves forwards, pistol gripped firmly.
Again and again the Bosun apologises. An hour has passed since Roth kicked open the cabin door and smashed down on the Bosun’s gun hand with a long, heavy spanner. For such an overfed man Roth moved surprisingly quickly. He was still armed. Theo was powerless to help.
Roth has gone, again securing the bulkhead door with the padlock and chain. The Bosun is in pain, his wrist hangs limp, there are broken bones. Theo has bound it tight with strips of cloth torn from Roth’s spare shirts. Theo suspects that by now Roth will have assumed command of the boat. Chief Engineer Lange, with the muzzle of a pistol in his ribs, will have no option other than to obey. He is a capable officer but he is no U-boat commander and certainly no navigator. Theo fears for Peter. Hopes Roth will see no reason to visit the aft tube room – the gangway between the main engines is narrow and the natives unfriendly.
So far there are no noticeable changes. The boat is still submerged, still running on motors.
The Bosun is sitting on Roth’s bunk, nursing his wrist.
‘I should have stood further back. I should have anticipated he would pounce.’
‘The error was mine.’
Theo is about to say more when he hears footsteps. The chain on the watertight door clatters to the floor and Roth appears, Theo’s Mauser in his hand. Behind him is Chief Engineer Lange and behind Lange, holding Roth’s small pistol, is the Second Watch Officer, Oberleutnant Ralf Spengler. A loyal Party man, it seems. And a turncoat.
Theo, still staring, nods slowly. In his crew there are rabid anti-Nazis like Stoker Fischer. There are also those whose National Socialist beliefs lie dormant, young men who wait to see how things turn out and then side with the winners. Perhaps, in war, these things are understandable.
The Bosun, standing beside Theo, spits at Spengler. ‘You Judas! You gutless bastard!’
‘I have taken command of your boat, Volker,’ Roth says, tilting his head back and peering along his nose. ‘You will be confined to this room for the rest of the voyage which, I can assure you, will not be a long one. The mission is abandoned, we will return to Hamburg and soon you will face the hangman. Others who disobey me will join you.’
Theo nods. ‘I have no quarrel with armed men, Sturmbannführer.’ Then to Lange: ‘Do as he says, Chief.’ And again, to Roth: ‘You have severely wounded my navigating officer. I am the only other member of the crew capable of returning this boat to Hamburg. What will you do, navigate yourself?’
‘That is no longer your concern.’ He turns to Lange. ‘Engineer! You will navigate!’
‘I cannot. I am not competent.’
Roth turns to Spengler. ‘So?’ he snaps. ‘Who else is there?’
Spengler seems unsure.
‘Only the Kapitän, I think, Sturmbannführer.’
Roth looks at Theo, at his seaboots, his coveralls, and finally at his face. ‘Very well. You will come. Place your hands in your pockets and walk slowly.’
‘I will come on the condition you take care of my bosun. You broke his wrist. He needs medical attention.’
‘You will come now!’
Roth jabs the pistol in Theo’s ribs. Theo winces but stands firm. Roth attempts to outstare Theo. Theo, disinterested in boys’ games, attends to the Bosun’s wrist.
‘Very well,’ Roth says. ‘He can come. A man with one arm is no trouble.’
Crewmen in the gangway stand and listen. As the small group approaches they vanish into cabins and alcoves. At Theo’s cabin Spengler stops and shoves Theo in. The cabin has been ransacked, Theo’s things are everywhere. The transparent chart overlays are unrolled on the bunk, one true chart and one false. Roth comes in, picks one up, shakes it in the air and throws it back.
‘Explain, Volker!’
‘There is nothing to explain.’
The overlays hold no secrets. One shows their true course, the other the course in the orders.
‘And this?’ Roth asks. ‘What is this?’
‘It is a tobacco pipe, as I’m sure you realise. I have several. I collect them.’
‘It is an English briar.’
; ‘It’s a good smoke.’
‘You have English friends, enemies of the Reich?’
‘Our nations have not always been enemies.’
Roth sniffs. ‘And what are these?’
‘They are personal documents.’
On the floor is the specimen bronze box Heiss brought to Walter. Roth tries to slide it to one side with his foot but it is heavy and won’t move. Its lid lies beside it, drilled with screw holes at close centres around all four edges. On Theo’s table are books bound in sealskin, stacked there by Spengler.
‘These are diaries, Volker. Lonely men and misfits keep diaries. Pathetic men, men who are weak.’ He kicks at the box. ‘Why is it so heavy? What is this metal?’
‘It is bronze.’
‘And this, what is this?’
‘A cigarette lighter.’
Roth’s right hand moves fast, his knuckles striking Theo high on his cheekbone. The man knows how to cause pain. Theo reels backwards, holding his face.
‘I can see it is a lighter, Kapitänleutnant. What is it made of? Where did you get it?’
‘It’s silver. The eagle is gold.’
‘It is the Luftwaffe eagle.’
‘It was given to me by Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring. A personal present.’
For a while Roth is speechless. It cannot be. A present from The Führer’s deputy to man like Volker is unthinkable.
‘You are lying.’
‘Walter Wolff was with me. When you see him you must ask him whether or not I am lying.’
Theo watches Roth’s face and sees doubt. Then the man snorts, snatches up the overlays and calls out to Lange.
‘I shall take over this cabin, Engineer. You will remove the Kapitänleutnant’s possessions to the cabins I am vacating. You will do it personally.’
Lange looks anxiously at Theo.
‘Do it, Chief. Do as the Sturmbannführer says.’
The cabin moves go smoothly. When it is over, Spengler, pistol in hand, escorts Theo towards the bow tube room. Theo stops at the latrine, Spengler waiting. He takes comfort from knowing no other crew members have gone over to Roth.
‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ Theo says with his back to the man. ‘It is three days back to Hamburg. How long do you think you can keep this up? You and your new SS friend can’t stay awake the whole time. What happens when you both fall sleep?’
Spengler jerks the pistol, motioning his captain to move. Back in the gangway they pass a cook in the galley, slicing a fat block of cheese with a long bladed knife. It is hours since Theo has eaten and he reaches for a slice. Spengler jabs the gun barrel hard into his back and the cook glares at the man with clear hatred. Theo gives a slight shake of his head and the man puts the knife down. Such men will take risks for him. That is not what he wants.
Two hours pass and the vessel has not yet changed course. Theo, locked in the forward cabins with all his possessions, takes out his fountain pen. He intends to write in his journal but the ink from the pen is everywhere, expelled from its innards by changes in pressure. Unable to write, he worries again about his crew, hopes they won’t move against Roth. A boat like this is no place for such heroics. He has experienced firearms discharged by accident, bullets ricocheting off bulkheads and tearing through flesh.
The phone on the wall gives a barely audible buzz. Theo lifts it, expecting Roth.
‘It is Marek Lewandowski, Kapitän.’
‘Get out of my cabin! Get back aft!’
‘The Sturmbannführer knows I am here, Kapitän. He demands fresher air in here so the Chief Engineer told me to dismantle the vent ducts and check them out. I am working behind the door and I have jammed it closed.’
‘Very well. Take care. How is Rydel?’
‘Still unconscious. Still pale. Robert is with him.’
‘Robert?’
‘The medic.’
‘Of course. And how is…?’
‘He is sleeping. He has eaten bread. I am worried for him.’
‘And Oberleutnant Spengler? Has he not inspected the boat? Not the aft tube room?’
‘The Oberleutnant has stayed in the control room with the Sturmbannführer. Diesel Stoker Fischer says they’ve not got the guts to leave it. He says that if we – ’
‘Do your job and get out of there. Do not pry. Do not take risks.’
It is six in the afternoon and the skies are already dark. The boat has run on its batteries for ten hours, close to their limits. Unless they are recharged soon, all power to the boat will fail.
As if on cue Lange shouts orders. Theo hears the thud of seaboots, hears ballast tanks blow. The boat is surfacing. Soon it will flood with clean air. Theo hears more familiar sounds, the engines starting, first the battery charging sets and then the main diesels. Compressors replenish the air in the tanks, the air the crew will breathe when they next submerge. Through the steel bulkhead he hears twittering Morse Code from the wireless room and then loud music, British or American. He hears Roth shout. The music stops. Then someone is there at Theo’s door. It is Spengler, waving a pistol, motioning him out.
‘Sturmbannführer Roth wants you in the control room.’
‘Sturmbannführer Roth wants you in the control room, Kapitän!’
The result of the reprimand is a dig in the ribs. The control room is silent. Though they are on surface nobody has gone to the bridge. Roth orders Theo to the bridge to take soundings.
‘I assume you mean sightings, Sturmbannführer. Yes, they are long overdue. I hope for your sake we are still on course. Also, I assume you have checked the skies? Is it dark up-top? Is it cloud free? If I am to take star sights it helps to be able to see stars.’
At other times such a comment would raise sniggers. Today there are none.
Lange is there, holding the case containing the sextant. ‘There is some cloud, Kapitän. But possibly the skies are clear enough?’
Theo dresses for topsides. He shrugs on his thick jacket, then his cap and his sea-boots. With the case in his hand he steps to the ladder.
‘What is that, Volker? What is in that box?’
‘The sextant. I need it for a star fix.’ He looks at Spengler and then at Roth. ‘You had better find yourself a new First Watch Officer, Sturmbannführer. My guess is that Spengler here considers such things beneath him.’
Spengler scowls. ‘Do your job, Kapitänleutnant.’
Crewmen within earshot hiss through their teeth. Roth glances at the men around him. Demands silence.
Another night passes. To most of the crewmen all light is artificial, time of day has little meaning. Every few hours Spengler escorts Theo from his prison to work on the charts. So far, neither he nor Roth has discovered Peter. Both men fear the engine room crew; to run the gauntlet between the two diesels is an assault course of noise, vibrations, fumes and moving machinery. Also, Spengler is well aware of Stoker Fischer’s hatred of Party men.
Theo is in the control room when it happens. Lewandowski comes for the medic and says Franz Rydel is now semi-conscious. Both men leave. Spengler, escorting Theo, listens and watches and then alerts Roth. All three, Spengler at the front, Theo behind him and Roth at the rear, file towards the engine room. It is the moment Theo has been dreading.
Spengler swings back the engine room door and steps over the sill. Theo follows, but Roth is less confident. The engine room is a fug of hot oily air. The noise from the diesels is deafening.
Determined to catch up with Lewandowski and the medic, Spengler strides along the walkway between the great engines. At the end of the walkway the aft tube room door is ajar. Spengler, having expected it to fly open when he put his weight behind it, shoves it a second time. Giving up, he squeezes through the gap between the door and its frame. Once inside he pokes his head and shoulders back through the opening and beckons to Roth. He shouts, making himself heard above the diesels’ roar.
‘They have blocked it, Sturmbannführer! They have welded it so it cannot open further!’
&n
bsp; Roth attempts to squeeze through the gap but he cannot. Theo, behind him, notices Fischer, tucked back in the shadows just an arm’s length from Roth. The man is wearing shorts and is stripped to the waist; he has been working on the engines and is smeared with dark oil. In his eyes Theo sees hate and anticipation. The stoker is a predator, ready to pounce.
Theo shakes his head. Fischer scowls.
Roth kicks the door, more from frustration than an attempt to move it.
‘This is your doing, Volker! What do you mean by it? What is the point?’
A childlike cry from the other side of the door provides the answer. Spengler is squeezing back through the gap, one arm around the jammed door and the other dragging a child by the arm, a pale boy with rough mousy hair. The boy trips over the sill and sprawls flat on the engine room walkway.
Theo jumps forwards but Roth blocks his way. Peter is crying now, beating Roth’s boots with his hands. He grasps a boot and hauls himself up it, but when he is almost on his feet Roth steps back and lets the boy fall. Fischer, still in the shadows, gives a roar and springs out with his outstretched and fingers like claws – claws that fasten around Roth’s fat neck.
In the confines of the room the blast from the pistol is deafening. Fischer, hit, spins back into the shadows. Peter clamps his hands to his ears and screams. Theo throws Roth aside and scoops his son.
Men stand aside as the procession moves through the boat. Those that know Theo’s secret look on anxiously. Those that do not, stand and stare at their captain and the child in his arms, they hardly believe what they see.
CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT
SPARGO, IGNORING BAR’S INSTRUCTION to turn down the old route to the plant yard, drove on. The police Land Rover was still far away, travelling slowly towards them on the uneven track. Bar, panicking, grabbed for the steering wheel and yanked it out of Spargo’s hands. The SUV lurched sideways, swerved out of the rutted track and jammed tight in deep heather. The engine stalled. Bar waved his arms at Spargo and cursed in English, Spanish and German.
Reconsidering his position, Spargo restarted the car. The chances of Mitchell being in the Land Rover were slim, and the prospect of having to explain his predicament from scratch to a stranger did not appeal to him. He and Bar would be carted off to a police station and he didn’t want that to happen, not if Murphy was arriving with Jez. If Murphy teamed up with Benares, then god knows what might happen to her.
The Man Who Played Trains: The gripping new thriller from the author of Playpits Park Page 51
