“How’d you solve that?” Julie asked.
“Easy,” he said with a wink. “Singing.”
“No, seriously.”
“I mean it.” He refilled his glass of champagne. “The best way to get rid of excess air when you’re coming up is look up, open your mouth, and say ‘ah’ until you get to the surface. So that’s what we did; the Nazis were focusing on you guys.”
“You mean focusing on blowing us up,” Jack said.
“As soon as we came up on the other side of the submarine, without anyone noticing us, Marco got as far away as he could with the bags, and I placed the dynamite . . . You know the rest.”
“Boom!” Julie said, making an explosion motion with her hands.
“Exactly.”
“Do you think we’ll see them again?” Jack asked, suddenly serious.
“No idea. But I sincerely hope not, because if our Gestapo friend survived”—he frowned as he brought his glass to his lips—“I think he’ll be very, very angry with us.”
27
At nine o’clock the next day, Riley and Jack were in the captain’s cabin studying the device. Half a dozen cloth bags full of folders, notebooks, and sheets of paper were stacked on the cot. They didn’t know what value the documents might have, but they hoped March would give them a nice reward for them.
“We should show them to Helmut and Elsa,” Jack said, looking tired in the middle of the room. He held a cup of steaming coffee.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Riley said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.
“You don’t trust them?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then?”
“I mean . . .” Riley said, giving his nose a scratch. “With all the secrecy and loose ends, knowing more than you have to could be dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine we check out the documents and find out they’re really valuable. What are we gonna say to March if he claims they’re worth nothing? That we read something we shouldn’t have? It’s a risk I’m not willing to take, Jack.” Motioning to the wooden box on the table, he added, “Don’t forget our job was to recover the machine, and that’s what he’s paying us for. We’ll sell the pile of papers for whatever he offers us and then forget about it. I’d rather not complicate things.”
Jack thought it over. “Maybe you’re right, but even then, there’s no harm knowing what they are. We just have to be discreet. Aren’t you curious?”
“Yes, like the cat in the saying, look what happened to him.”
“Come on, Alex. And if we had Hitler’s plan to invade England there,” he said, looking toward the bed, “wouldn’t you want to know? It could be worth a whole lot of money. Maybe even more than that thing.”
Riley looked at his friend, then the cloth bags, and finally nodded. “All right,” he said, standing up. “Two hours, no more. And under no circumstance are you to take a single sheet out of this cabin.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway,” he sighed, heading to the door, “I’m going up for a drink. You’re responsible for all this.” Hope I don’t regret it, he thought.
Less than an hour later, Julie stormed onto the bridge. “Capitaine!” she shouted. “You have to come down right now!”
“What’s up?” Riley said, jumping up from the map table. “Are we being attacked?”
“No, nothing like that,” she said, lowering her voice. “Jack wants you to go to your cabin immediately.”
“Jack? Why?”
Without bothering to answer, Julie turned and ran back down.
Riley stood for a pensive moment, a nautical map in one hand and a glass of sherry in the other. “I already regret this,” he mumbled, putting the glass down like someone abandoning a child.
When he got to his cabin, everyone except Marco was there, gathered around the desk. “Can someone tell me what the hell’s going on here?” he asked, hands on his hips.
They all turned around, but no one answered.
“Alex,” Jack said, walking over to him and taking his arm. “You have to see this.”
“Is this your idea of being discreet?” Riley asked angrily.
“Forget that,” Jack said. “Look, Dr. Kirchner, tell me again what you explained earlier.” Jack brought Riley over to Kirchner, who was standing by Elsa next to the table.
“At Mr. Alcántara’s request,” Kirchner said, “Elsa and I came to examine the documents you rescued from the Phobos, the majority of which, I should add, are military and top secret.”
“The point, Doctor.”
“Yes, of course . . .” He cleared his throat. “Well, while we were looking over the documents, Mr. Alcántara showed me the device you’re planning to sell, in case I knew what it was . . . and I was very surprised to find it was nothing more and nothing less than”—he placed his hand on the wooden box—“an Enigma machine.”
If he had been expecting a dramatic reaction from Riley, he was left wanting. “Sure, it’s an enigma,” Riley said. “Is that all?”
“You don’t understand,” Kirchner said, smiling. “The machine is called Enigma.”
“Is that why you called me?” he said, turning to Jack. “To tell me you baptized the writing machine?”
“Damn it, come on, Alex,” Jack said. He lifted the lid and revealed a metal plate inside, which they hadn’t seen before. The word “ENIGMA” was written clearly on it.
Riley took a quick look. “Great,” he said. “It’s called Enigma. And?”
“Enlighten him, Helmut,” Elsa said.
“Look,” Kirchner said, repositioning his glasses, “in truth, this is nothing like a typewriter. It’s a coding machine used by the German military, designed to send orders from Berlin to any unit, ship, or sub anywhere in the world. A system completely indecipherable to the Allies.”
“Coding?”
“To be precise, the term should be encryption.”
“You’re losing me.”
“The Enigma machine,” he said, leaning over the gadget, “is a portable device for encrypting any message, making it impossible for anyone without the same machine to read it. It’s the cornerstone of all the Third Reich’s communications and one of the reasons Germany is winning the war. Don’t let its plain appearance deceive you,” he said, tapping it with his finger. “This is actually the most powerful weapon in Hitler’s arsenal.”
“Are you joking?” Riley asked, looking again at the ordinary box holding a black apparatus covered with keys, with four sprockets and a pair of switches on top.
“Absolutely not,” Elsa said. “If the Allies get ahold of this, the Nazis would lose their greatest asset.”
A long minute passed before Riley processed what they were telling him. “How do you know so much about this machine?” he asked Kirchner. “I thought you were a physicist.”
“Oh, easy. In the laboratory at Peenemünde we have one just like it.”
“In your lab? I thought you said it was for the military.”
“And it is. So as soon as the SS took control of the project and classified it as top secret, they put one in the radio room to communicate with their headquarters in Berlin. That way no one could intercept our messages or figure out how far along we were in nuclear physics.”
“And you’re totally sure it’s the same as the one there?”
“Without a doubt,” he said.
“I see . . .” Riley stroked his beard.
“But that’s not all,” Jack said. “We . . . they found something else in the papers.”
“Something else?”
“Actually, two things,” Kirchner said. “One is the identity of the cabin’s occupant.” He unfolded a military identification document. “SS colonel Klaus Heydrich.”
“An SS colonel just to take care of that thing?” Riley said, studying the photo of a slick, nondescript man in a black Schutzstaffel uniform.
“Well, that may not have been his mission
. He may have just been a passenger, and he or the Enigma had another destination, whatever that may have been. Although,” Kirchner said, “I don’t think it matters too much. The interesting thing—”
“The interesting thing,” Elsa said, holding a wrinkled, typewritten sheet of paper, “is this.”
Everyone looked at her and the paper with an SS letterhead.
“It’s a single page,” she said, “which should be part of a larger document in the middle of that mess on the Phobos. But what it says . . .”
Riley raised his eyebrows.
“I found it accidentally,” she said, seeming to excuse herself. “I was going to put it aside when the title caught my attention.” She pointed at it.
“Operation Apokalypse?” Riley asked, reading the words. “Apokalypse means what it sounds like?”
“Exactly, and it’s probably the beginning of a much longer document.” She looked at the paper pensively.
Riley crossed his arms. “And what else?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said with a start. “I’m still trying to figure out what it means . . . Let me explain.”
“That’d be great.”
“You have to keep in mind it’s just one page, and only part of the information is understandable. But despite that, it’s . . . it’s very disturbing.”
“Do you always beat around the bush this much?”
“This document,” she said, bringing it closer to her face, “mentions an impending attack by sea. A secret operation led by the SS against the city of Portsmouth. An operation intended to have a devastating effect and bring the Reich to absolute victory.”
Riley was quiet. “Is that it?” he asked finally. “A page referring to a German plan to attack a British city? What a surprise. Do I have to remind you that the two countries are at war and have been bombing each other for two years already?”
“This is different,” Elsa said.
“Why?”
“Let me read you one part,” she said as she looked for it. “‘Our scientists estimate that the mortality of the population exposed to the Wunderwaffe would exceed 90 percent.’”
“What’s Wunderwaffe?” Julie interrupted.
“I can’t think of an exact translation, but Wunderwaffe is something like a superweapon.”
“Those Nazis are even pompous naming things,” Julie said.
Elsa shrugged. “There’s more: ‘The impact of this new weapon will be so definitive that the Allies will not only surrender but be completely annihilated.’” She looked at Riley. “What do you think?”
“I think the Nazis like to exaggerate,” he said with a shrug. “If half their fantastic plans were real, they’d have won the war a long time ago.”
“You mean you don’t believe it?” she said. “It’s on SS letterhead!”
“And? You know the Führer gets played like a fiddle. Anyone with a plan for world domination gets an audience, and the SS just humors its boss. Honestly, I don’t believe a word of it.”
“And if it’s true?” Jack asked. “And this time it’s not a bluff?”
“An attack by sea on Portsmouth that will annihilate all the Allies?” Riley said. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe it’s a little exaggerated,” Jack admitted. “But if I remember correctly, that city has the largest Royal Navy shipyards. A German attack there could be very bad for the British.”
“And do you think it hasn’t been attacked already? The Germans have been bombing them for two years, but it’s safe because no German sub has been able to get within twenty miles.”
“Okay,” César said. “Maybe the Nazis figured out a way to camouflage their U-boats and get close to the port. I’ve heard rumors that they’re coating them with rubber to absorb sonar waves and make them almost invisible underwater.”
Riley looked at him impatiently. “That doesn’t matter. The shipyards are on land. All a sub could do there is torpedo a ship, then get destroyed. It’d be an unexpected blow to the Royal Navy’s morale, like Scapa Flow a couple of years ago, but it definitely wouldn’t have a big impact on the war.”
Julie said, “What about the references to the annihilation of the Allies, the new weapon never before seen . . . ?”
“Forget it,” Riley said forcefully. “Pure Nazi propaganda. I guarantee you there’s nothing capable of doing what they say. Nothing even close to—”
“Captain Riley.” Kirchner coughed. “That’s not exactly true. Remember what I told you about the uranium project?”
It took Riley a second. “I remember,” he said. “But I also remember your saying it was only a theory, and still needed a lot of time to be put into practice.”
“That’s what I thought,” he confessed, “but after reading this document I’ve started to think I may have been wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time Hitler had various teams working on the same project without them knowing about it. For example, Professor Heisenberg was studying quantum mechanics and radiation—”
“Hold on, Doctor,” Jack interrupted. “Are you saying Hitler may already have the atomic bomb you were telling us about, capable of destroying whole cities?”
“This morning I would have said it was impossible.” He took off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “But now, after reading this document . . . The truth is I don’t know what to think.”
“I see,” Jack murmured. “And tell me, Dr. Kirchner, if the bomb worked, what effect would it have on a midsized city like Portsmouth?”
“Effect? It depends on how much enriched uranium they use, but a small nuclear explosive would completely destroy the city within one or two miles from the point of detonation, and within a ten-mile radius, few would survive the radiation. The radiation would then seep into the ground, making the place uninhabitable for years.”
“Are you talking about just one bomb?”
“A small one,” Kirchner reminded him.
“Meu Deus,” César whispered, crossing himself.
“I can’t believe someone would use something like that on a city. It’s . . . inhumane,” Julie said.
“It’s war,” Jack said quietly. “It’d be inhumane not to use it.”
“You’re a cynic,” Elsa said, fixing her green eyes on him.
Jack didn’t bother contradicting her. “And this small bomb, what size would it be? Like a suitcase, a car?”
“I don’t know what to tell you . . . Until now, I hadn’t believed in its existence.”
“Please,” Jack urged, “speculate. What size would it have to be to have the effect you described?”
Kirchner took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “The uranium-235 needed would be relatively small,” he said thoughtfully, “a few kilograms maybe. But the mechanism to detonate it would have to be extremely complex, heavy, and big enough to keep the radiation from escaping before it blew up. If I had to guess, I’d say in total it wouldn’t be more than twenty or thirty tons.”
“Like a house then?”
Kirchner looked at him closely. “More like a truck. And if you’re asking me if a nuclear bomb would fit on a submarine, the answer is yes. It’s certainly possible.”
“Capitaine?” Julie asked, trying to get Riley to talk.
“Yeah?” he said, looking up.
“What are we going to do?”
Riley was confused. “Do? What do you mean?”
“Julie wants to know what we’re going to do, now that we know . . . what we know,” Jack said.
“We don’t really know anything,” Riley said. “All we have is some speculations, so we’ll continue as planned.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Wanna bet?”
“But if we don’t tell the English . . .” César mused.
Riley shook his head. “We were contracted to do a job,” he said, raising his voice. “A job that we’ll be very well paid for, and I plan on completing to the letter. So I don’t care if the Enigma machine is the best-kept Nazi s
ecret or if there’s a small chance they’ll attack England with a superbomb. Tomorrow,” he went on, putting his hands behind his head, “we’re selling all of this to March for a million dollars. What he does with it afterward isn’t my problem, or yours.”
“But, Capitaine,” Julie said. “We were hired to rescue the Enigma from a corsair ship across from the British base on Gibraltar, which would have been impossible for a German ship. That means once we give them to March, he’ll sell them to his Nazi friends.”
“In a certain sense we’re working for Hitler,” Jack said.
Riley looked at his crew one at a time. “Where are you going to draw the line?”
Jack cleared his throat. “I think I speak for the whole crew and our passengers that we should rethink selling the machine to March and tell the British about a possible attack on Portsmouth.”
Riley squinted. “And why do you think we should do that?”
“Because we have a responsibility we can’t ignore. You heard Dr. Kirchner. What we decide could change the course of the war.”
“That’s not our business.”
“Shit, Alex. I’m talking about saving millions of lives, defeating totalitarianism. Isn’t that why we fought in the Spanish Civil War?”
“Exactly,” he said stepping toward him. “We fought, in the past. I did my part already, now other people are killing each other. This war isn’t mine.”
“But it’s the same!”
“Not for me.”
They faced each other in bitter silence.
“Damn,” Jack said, shaking his head and looking down. “I don’t recognize you.”
“No need to. Just do what I say.”
“Mon capitaine . . . s’il vous plaît . . .”
“Et tu, Brute?” he growled. “Don’t any of you have your heads screwed on straight? We’re about to finish the biggest job of our lives and suddenly you get all moralistic. What the hell’s going on with you? We’re smugglers, not soldiers or secret agents. If you want to fight for democracy and freedom, you can go and enlist. I won’t stop you. But as long as you’re on this ship”—he paused to look at them—“you work for me and follow my orders without complaint. Is that clear?”
Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1) Page 18
