Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1)

by Fernando Gamboa

  Kirchner had been a great actor up to that point, but the question seemed to throw him off. “The orders . . .” he mumbled.

  “We burned them,” Riley said. “We were intercepted by a British destroyer and at the risk of being discovered, we burned all the documentation we had, including the orders from Berlin.”

  Von Eichhain and his second-in-command exchanged glances again. “You burned them . . .”

  “But you saved your colonel’s uniform?” Fromm asked. “That makes no sense.”

  “I understand,” Kirchner said. “But we didn’t have a chance to destroy it. Luckily, the British search wasn’t as careful as we’d feared, and these two gentlemen were able to convince the captain we were an Allied freighter.”

  Fromm scrutinized their faces. “You’re lying. I know a lie when I hear it . . . and you, without a doubt, are lying.”

  “What are you implying?” Kirchner answered, jumping up and facing him. “I demand you take it back immediately!”

  “Gentlemen, please,” von Eichhain said with calm. “I apologize on behalf of my second, Herr Heydrich. I’m sure he did not mean to offend you in any way. But we have strict orders to maintain radio silence until we reach our objective, so we can’t contact Berlin to confirm your identities. So you must understand”—he leaned over the desk—“that we have no way of knowing if you or your men are who you say you are.”

  “Not to mention,” Fromm added, crossing his arms, “that we received no prior notice of your arrival.”

  “Very unusual,” von Eichhain said, shaking his head. “This is all terribly unusual . . .”

  “You could be British spies trying to infiltrate the ship,” Fromm said.

  “British spies?” Jack said, jumping up. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Please sit down, Mr. Alcántara,” Kirchner ordered, waving his arm. Turning to von Eichhain, he said, “I understand your doubts, Captain, and I offer my sincerest apologies for having put you in such an uncomfortable position. So, anticipating your doubts, I brought with me something that should clear them up completely.” He gestured to Riley. “Something we wouldn’t possess if we were British . . . and would never give you if we were.”

  Like a magician practicing sleight of hand, Riley took the heavy bundle wrapped in several layers of cloth, put it on the desk with a thud, and showed everyone the unmistakable dark wooden box containing the Enigma.

  52

  Just as they’d hoped, the machine made all von Eichhain’s doubts go away. Fromm was only partly convinced and kept leering.

  Kirchner was going to discuss parts of the mission with von Eichhain that Riley and Jack didn’t need to hear, so a sailor took them to a small unventilated room by the engine room. It was an improvised cabin that smelled like motor oil, with shelves stacked with parts and toolboxes. The sailor apologized, saying the dorm room for the agents was full and that was the best he could offer. Riley and Jack tried to seem disappointed, but having a private space away from the eyes and ears of thirty-five spies was a blessing. Later, the same soldier came back and gave them a couple of mattresses and blankets and told them about meal times, the bathroom, and restricted areas, which turned out to be almost the entire ship.

  “Well then,” Jack said when they were alone. “Here we are. That wasn’t too difficult.”

  Riley motioned for him to lower his voice.

  “You mean they’re still listening?” Jack whispered.

  “I would be.”

  “But if they didn’t believe us, don’t you think we’d be in the brig again?”

  Riley snorted as he dropped on the mattress. “Maybe they want to find out if we’re plotting something.”

  “Maybe you’re paranoid.”

  “Maybe,” he said, stretching out with his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. “But right now I’m dead tired, and if you don’t mind turning off the light . . .”

  “You’re going to sleep?”

  “Since sex is out, I can’t think of anything better to do.”

  “I’m serious, Alex. Shouldn’t we figure out a way to—”

  “Shut your mouth and let me sleep? I think we should. We can’t do anything now, Jack. Helmut’s with the captain,” he whispered, “and if he’s good he should be able to get some information. Meanwhile, you and I have to rest and do our best not to call any attention to ourselves until it’s time to act.”

  Jack seemed to think it over before giving up, flicking the switch, and dropping onto the mattress himself. “Do you think he’ll be able to keep up the charade?” He took off his jacket to use as a pillow.

  “Up till now he’s done quite well,” Riley said with a yawn. “Great actor.”

  “Hard to believe he’s the same guy who was afraid of his shadow two weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, of course . . .” he mumbled thickly.

  “Elsa’s changed too,” Jack went on. “She’s shown courage I didn’t think she had, and despite everything I told you, I . . . I think I care about her. I don’t know if anything happened between you two, but it doesn’t matter. On the way from Tangier to Larache, we had long conversations and anyway”—he coughed—“I think I’ll ask her to marry me and stay aboard our ship, where we met.” He paused. “Would you do me the honor, Alex, of officiating at our ceremony?”

  Riley was silent.

  “And yeah, I already know you think I’m an idiot, that I’m rushing into it, that she’ll tell me to go to hell. But I’ve gotta try, and I know nothing would make me happier than being with her.”

  No response.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  Silence.

  “Alex?” he asked the darkness.

  There was another long silence, this time interrupted by a loud snore.

  Five hours later, voices in the hallway woke them both up. As they tried to find the nearest bathroom, an officer came up to them and gestured to invite them to the dining hall, where most of the crew was already having breakfast.

  The two sailors exchanged a quick, uncomfortable look when they entered the cafeteria and found themselves in front of a multitude of men dressed in fatigues, a handful in civilian clothes taking up the far corner. Those must be the other agents, Riley immediately thought. The room went silent as everyone turned to look at them. He felt like a chicken at a coyote convention.

  The dining room was long and rectangular with two rows of tables and benches. It had wood-paneled bulkheads with photographs of successful Kriegsmarine captains and leaders of the Third Reich, such as Wilhelm Canaris, Karl Dönitz, and, of course, Hitler, who seemed to watch them suspiciously over his ridiculous mustache.

  They tried to look confident, silently walking up to the self-service bar and filling their plates with eggs, bacon, and sausage before finding the first pair of empty seats. They started to eat, focusing on their plates, hoping no one came to talk to them.

  But that was too much to ask.

  Less than a minute later, one of the men in civilian clothes came up with his tray and sat with them. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully in a perfect Midwestern accent.

  He looked about twenty-one, with a friendly face and a frank smile that made him look immediately trustworthy. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, Levi’s, and tall boots. All he needed for the rodeo was a cowboy hat. No one would’ve ever guessed he was a German spy.

  “You’re the ones that arrived last night, right?” he asked, offering his hand. “My name’s Blunt, Frank Blunt. Welcome aboard.”

  “Alex Riley,” he said, shaking hands.

  “Joaquín Alcántara,” Jack added, doing the same.

  “That doesn’t sound very American,” Blunt said.

  “It’s a long story,” Jack said, exaggerating his New York accent.

  “I see . . . I heard you don’t even speak German. How’s that possible?”

  Riley and Jack looked baffled.

  “Don’t be surprised,” Blunt said. “News travels fast on a ship, and af
ter a month sailing it’s like a yard of gossipy old neighbors.”

  Riley was reluctant to say anything, since the smallest detail could ruin them, but he seemed to have no choice but to give a brief explanation of his supposed affiliation with the American Nazi Party and his recruitment by the SS.

  “And you, Frank? Were you born in the US?” Riley asked.

  “In Iowa,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “My dad had a little farm outside Des Moines, but he lost it in the crash of ’29. My mom’s German, so they decided to try their luck in Argentina. There’s a big German population there, and my dad could use his farming skills. Then,” he added with satisfaction, “when Adolf Hitler became Führer in ’34, my mom insisted on going back to Germany, and we settled once and for all in Munich.”

  “Let me guess,” Jack said. “That’s when you joined the Party.”

  “I’d hoped to ever since I read Mein Kampf,” Blunt said, smiling. “A week after we got to Germany, I joined Hitler Youth. But tell me, how’s Nazism doing in the US? Is the Party powerful? Do the Americans understand the greatness of the current zeitgeist and the indisputable supremacy of the Aryan race?”

  Riley sensed Jack was about to say something sarcastic, so he kicked him under the table.

  Jack smiled. “Of course. The Party gains members every day, and one day we’ll expel all the Jews and communists once and for all.”

  “And the blacks!” Blunt added.

  “Of course. The blacks too,” Riley said.

  Jack looked down at his plate.

  “And tell me, Mr. Alcántara, what’s your favorite chapter of Mein Kampf?”

  At that point people were looking at them, especially the other agents.

  “I like all of them,” Jack said.

  But Blunt, who had undoubtedly been trained by the SS or the Gestapo, smelled blood. “Of course, of course,” he said cordially. “But maybe part of it inspired you more than the rest . . . Maybe the mention of Franco’s great victory in the Spanish Civil War.”

  “Yes, that,” Jack said without thinking, turning back to his plate.

  “But now that I think about it,” Blunt said, “our Führer wrote Mein Kampf when he was in jail almost thirteen years before the start of the war in Spain, so it’d be impossible for him to mention Franco and his war between priests and rednecks.”

  Jack looked into Blunt’s icy eyes. He seemed pleased to have unmasked a traitor, maybe two. He stood up, and Riley instinctively touched his belt, wishing he had his Colt.

  A familiar voice called behind them. “Mr. Riley and Mr. Alcántara, I finally found you! I’ve been looking for an hour.”

  They turned and saw Kirchner in his colonel’s uniform. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Riley and Jack got up and followed him out. Blunt stood staring after them, biting his lip.

  53

  Following a narrow corridor full of busy sailors that served as the backbone of the Deimos, the three of them walked in the direction of the bow toward the cabin assigned to Kirchner. Riley was pleased to find out it had been Fromm’s.

  “How was last night?” he asked casually.

  Kirchner looked around. “Very good, Alex. The captain is a total gentleman.”

  “Happy to hear, Klaus, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” he said, “but we should wait to talk about it till we get to my cabin.”

  The ship was divided into sections by bulkheads. Every fifteen yards they had to pass through a door that could be sealed if necessary. As they advanced, they passed rooms full of instruments, gauges, valves, and a thousand mechanisms whose purpose was impossible to guess. Even the ceiling was covered in pipes of different thicknesses, marked every few yards with indecipherable colored labels.

  Riley wondered if opening all the valves would create a serious problem for the ship. He decided it’d be a waste of time either way. Before he got to one-tenth of them, someone would put a bullet in his head. Sabotaging the Deimos wouldn’t be an easy job.

  “This ship is enormous,” Jack murmured.

  “And we haven’t seen anything yet,” Kirchner said. “The captain said there’s even a fully equipped gym and a ballast room that can be used as a pool.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. He said it’s below us, in the lower hold. According to him,” he added, still walking, “it’s not just a corsair ship armed with torpedoes. Since they don’t carry cargo, there’s a lot of extra space for the crew to use, though the lower hold is almost exclusively for the storage of ammunition and supplies.”

  “And did he tell you,” Riley said, getting to something that had been on his mind since they’d boarded, “if there are a lot of ships like this?”

  Kirchner glanced at him. “The Phobos and the Deimos are unique. It seems the project to create a fleet of large corsair ships was abandoned in favor of building more U-boats.”

  “What happened? They thought better of it?” Jack asked.

  “Actually, no. Karl Dönitz, the Grossadmiral of the Kriegsmarine, had taken a liking to the project and diverted resources designated for submarines to build the ships. The idea was to convince Hitler it’d be better to make several ships like this than more submarines. I guess Hitler wasn’t convinced.”

  “I would’ve been convinced,” Jack said, running his hand along the steel bulkhead.

  “So, are you sure there isn’t another identical ship?” Riley said.

  “I don’t think he lied to me in that regard.”

  A few steps farther, Kirchner stopped in front of a wooden door. “Come in, please.”

  The cabin was more modest than Captain von Eichhain’s, but still spacious and luxurious.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” Kirchner asked. “I have a little liquor cabinet next to the desk.”

  “Not now, thanks,” Jack said, glancing at Riley.

  “Let’s not waste any more time, Helmut,” Riley said. “Tell us what you found out.”

  Kirchner sat on the bed and unbuttoned his jacket. “Last night the captain and I were up late drinking and talking about politics. I have to admit I was very surprised to find out he’s a highly intelligent man whose ideas are far from Nazi doctrine. He’s a navy man with the sea in his blood and a faithful soldier, no fanatic or Hitler worshipper.”

  “Is that what you call someone whose mission it is to blow up his ship and crew to destroy a city?”

  “That’s where I was going with this,” Kirchner said, taking off his glasses. “I don’t think von Eichhain knows the true nature of his mission.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked, sitting on a chair across from him. “He’s the fucking captain of the ship. He must know.”

  “Yeah, yeah . . . but believe me. He’s an old-school officer, son and grandson of Prussian soldiers. His type thinks combustion engines are dishonorable in the art of war. That’s what he said: ‘the art of war.’ If it were up to him,” Kirchner went on, “I’m sure he’d prefer to fight naval battles with sailboats. He thinks his mission is just to take spies to America, then go back to Germany.”

  “Are you telling me von Eichhain only knows about the agents?” Riley said. “His Nazi bosses are using him as some sort of . . . remote-control weapon?”

  “I don’t buy it,” Jack said.

  “I understand your doubts,” Kirchner said. “But believe me, there’s a lot that doesn’t add up. For example, why are the Nazis sacrificing the Deimos on a suicide mission for which a much less expensive ship would do?”

  Riley leaned against the bulkhead and rubbed his face. “Are you implying that maybe we’re wrong and there is no atomic bomb, and the Germans aren’t planning on attacking the US?”

  Kirchner shook his head hard. “No, Captain. The documents we found were only a small part of a complete report, but there’s no doubt that the Deimos’s mission is to attack your country with a devastating weapon that the leaders of the Reich believe will allow them to win the war. A
nd the Wunderwaffe can’t be anything other than a fission device, which is definitely on this ship.”

  “Okay, Helmut,” Jack said, closing his eyes and sighing. “Let’s suppose you’re right. The captain is an honorable man and doesn’t know the extent of Operation Apokalypse, and the German government, maybe Hitler himself, is tricking him. How does that change our situation?”

  “We could talk to him,” Kirchner suggested. “Explain what we know and try to convince him to abort the mission.”

  Riley shook his head this time. “Too risky. If you’re mistaken about this man’s loyalty to Hitler, we’ll all be dead with no way of stopping the ship. Sorry, Helmut. Unfortunately, we can’t trust the captain’s good heart.”

  “I’d follow the original plan,” Jack said. “Find the bomb and sabotage it and, if we can’t, sink this junker before it gets to the US.”

  “I agree with you, Jack, but unfortunately that’s easier said than done. First of all, we don’t know where the hell the bomb is,” Riley said.

  “Regarding that, I may have some information that will interest you,” Kirchner said, taking a piece of paper out of his jacket and laying it out on the table.

  “How’d you get that?” Riley asked, looking at the simple plan of the Deimos drawn in pencil. It would have too risky to carry a plan of the Phobos onboard, and the interior might have been laid out differently, anyway.

  “The captain drew it for me so I wouldn’t get lost. It was thanks to him that I found you in the dining room.”

  “We were very lucky,” Jack said. “If you’d come a minute later, I think we’d have been hanged right there.”

  “Definitely. I forgot to thank you—if you hadn’t arrived just then, our whole mission would’ve been over,” Riley said.

  “Forget about it. I want to show you something von Eichhain pointed out. He complained about a hold in the bow that neither he nor any crew member can enter. He was truly angry and, thinking I’m an SS colonel, couldn’t help but complain to me.”

  “Are you serious?” Riley asked. “There’s a part of the ship its own captain can’t enter? Hard to believe.”