The Golden U-Boat

by Richard P. Henrick

  “Our hardheaded colleague decided to check out of that clinic early. It seems he took it upon himself to go after the men who killed his cousin and friend.”

  Karl winced in disgust.

  “I find it hard to believe that someone would actually commit homicide for a bunch of rusty drums.”

  “That bunch of rusty drums, as you call them, is worth its weight in gold,” returned the photographer.

  “I still don’t understand why Knut just didn’t wait for the police to find the murderers,” continued Karl.

  This time it was Arne who broke in.

  “You don’t know Knut very well, Karl. We were both brought up in Telemark, where a fellow learns to take care of himself. Why, my father would never think of calling the police if there was a prowler outside. He would merely get out his shotgun and eliminate the problem himself. Knut’s upbringing was no different.

  The big fellow’s not about to just kick back and wait for the authorities to get some results. No way.”

  The waiter arrived with their food. Each of them had picked the daily special, which was steamed cod, boiled potatoes and peas. They were hungry after their long flight, and ate with a minimum of conversation. The food was delicious, and as they ate, a tall blond with a bandage wrapped around his head entered the cafe. He proceeded straight toward the circular table that was positioned beside the cafe’s picture window.

  “Hello, friends,” greeted this individual casually.

  “Knut!” cried Arne, who almost fell over his chair as he stood up to hug his old friend.

  Jon and Jakob also stood. Each one in turn embraced the giant, whose vice-like grasp had certainly not weakened any.

  “Knut, you remember Karl Skollevoll, don’t you?” inquired the photographer.

  “Of course I do. Although I almost didn’t recognize her without the helicopter.”

  Karl smiled and pulled over a vacant chair. Knut seated himself in between the pilot and Arne. Their alert waiter had also spotted this newcomer, and as he came over to the table, Knut ordered the special and some bug juice. Only when the waiter turned back for the kitchen did Jon begin his questions.

  “When did you get up here, Knut?”

  “About ten minutes ago,” replied NUEX’s chief engineer.

  “I would have been here waiting for you, but my Uncle Karl’s car had a flat outside of Narvik and I had to stop and change it.”

  “That’s quite a drive,” observed Karl.

  Knut shook his head.

  “You don’t know the half of it, Karl. In the last couple of days I’ve driven almost the length of this country. And I can’t even tell you when I slept last.”

  “Well, NUEX is all together again,” offered Jon.

  “And now we can take care of you. How’s that head wound?”

  Knut pointed to the bandage that encircled his skull and just covered his upper forehead.

  “You mean this little scratch? It’s nothing. I’ve had hangovers that have given me worse headaches.”

  “A concussion is nothing to take lightly,” warned Karl.

  “Company regulations won’t even allow you to fly for an entire two weeks after a serious head wound.”

  “Who’s flying?” retorted Knut, who smiled as his food was served.

  His colleagues watched as he proceeded to shovel this chow down. He stopped only to take a drink of juice and belch loudly.

  “This is pretty good stuff for being only a couple of thousand klicks away from the North Pole,” said Knut after cleaning up the last remaining pea.

  “Now, what’s for dessert?”

  Jon was bursting with curiosity and he sat forward to voice himself in a whisper.

  “To hell with dessert. What in the world are we all doing up here?”

  “Why I thought that’s obvious,” answered Knut.

  “We’re here to collar those bastards responsible for blowing away my cousin Lars and his friend Thor.

  And while we’re at it, there’s the little matter of those thirty-three cannisters of heavy water that they stole from us.”

  “But why Tromso?” asked Jakob.

  “Why not?” snapped Knut.

  “After all, you do want to be around when the trawler holding those bastards and our treasure arrives, don’t you?”

  “Knut, are you saying that the ones responsible for killing Lars and Thor, and almost you as well, are on their way to Tromso?” asked Jon.

  Knut nodded and pointed out the window to the snow-covered wharf beyond.

  “If they were able to make any time at all on the way up from Trondheim, the vessel carrying those bloodthirsty maniacs and our heavy water is due in here within the hour.”

  “Why that’s incredible!” exclaimed the photographer.

  “Do the authorities know about this, Knut?” asked Karl.

  “The authorities! That’s a joke if I ever heard it,” spat the engineer disgustedly.

  “Those clowns are probably still tripping over themselves while they comb the shoreline back at Lake Tinnsjo looking for evidence. And the only way we’re going to get back what’s rightfully ours, and bring those murdering crooks to justice along the way, is to apprehend them ourselves.

  “Now I personally saw our heavy water being loaded into the hold of a trawler by the name of the Elsie K back in Trondheim. The bastards who stole it from us also boarded this ship. I have it from a most reliable source that the Elsie K is bound for this very harbor, and is due to arrive here sometime this afternoon.

  “If we go to the cops now, they’re only going to screw the whole thing up. I tracked the bastards down on my own, and with your help we can collar them with the least bit of risk.”

  “Don’t forget that you’re dealing with murderers here, Knut,” reminded the helicopter pilot.

  “This isn’t some television show with a guaranteed happy ending. Most likely these guys that you’re after are armed and dangerous. They’ve already killed once.

  What’s going to stop them from doing it again?”

  Knut raised one of his massive fists up in front of his jaw.

  “Those sons of bitches are going to have to get around this first.”

  Jon cleared his throat.

  “I’ve got to admit that I agree with Karl. This is a criminal matter now, and we should let the police handle it. After all, that’s what we pay them for. What do you think, Arne?”

  The Telemark native thoughtfully scratched his bearded chin and replied.

  “Hell, since we’ve come this far already, why don’t we at least first see what it’s all about before calling in the cops. I’ve seen them blow more than one bust, and this collar’s much too important for us to trust to strangers.”

  “I agree,” said Jakob.

  “Now if we were down in Oslo, I’d say that it would be different. But this is Tromso. The authorities up here have a whole different attitude about things. Don’t forget that I grew up in these parts. Strangers from the south are looked upon with suspicion up here, and that’s just who you’ll be when you go marching into the local constabulary with this fantastic story. They’ll never believe it. And even if they did, it would take them all day to call in the necessary backup.”

  “Looks like that’s three against two,” observed Knut calmly.

  “Are you with us Jon, or not?”

  “Damn, somebody’s going to have to be around to keep you guys out of trouble, and I guess that somebody is me,” said the photographer.

  “But I see no reason why Karl should be dragged in on this.”

  “Hold on, partner!” interjected the pilot.

  “The way I see it, we all get our paychecks signed by the same person, and that makes me a part of this outfit too. And you’re forgetting that I also have my black belt in akido.”

  “Then I guess it’s settled,” said Knut.

  “I think our first job should be to completely scope out the dock area. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out what pier that tra
wler will be docking at. Then all we have to do is be waiting for them when they tie up, and surprise those bastards at the first opportunity.”

  There was an alien tightness in Jon Huslid’s gut as he scanned the faces of his teammates, his line of sight finally coming to a halt on the picture window.

  Outside the snows were continuing to fall with a vengeance, and he could see a moored fishing boat, its deck completely covered in a white shroud.

  It was then he heard the ominous lyrics of Jim Morrison’s The End filtering down from the cafe’s stereo speakers, and the photographer knew that this dangerous game had a long way to go yet until its conclusion.

  As the day continued to wear on, Mikhail Kuznetsov found it more and more difficult to stay awake. Even with his sound rest of the previous night, his eyelids were heavy as he sat beside the window looking out to the wharf below.

  Since the trawler was due in any moment now, falling asleep now could be disastrous. Since he couldn’t spare the time to go down and get some coffee, he decided to wash his face with cold water, and for a while, this indeed revived him. Yet all so gradually his lids once more began to fall. This time he actually drifted off into the briefest of catnaps.

  He awoke with a start several seconds later, and not really knowing how long he had been out, scanned the wharf with renewed intensity. His pulse calmed down only after seeing the same collection of snow-covered vessels that had been down there all day.

  Inwardly chastising himself for losing control, Mikhail yanked open the window, causing a frigid blast of Arctic air to stream inside. There’d be no sleeping on the job now, he said to himself as he slipped into his woolen overcoat and sat down to continue his vigil.

  The fresh air revitalized him completely. Wide awake now, he peered down to the gray waters of the harbor, paying particular attention to the channel that led beneath the massive suspension bridge, for this was the outlet to the open sea.

  Almost like a fog, the snow-laden clouds hung low, partially veiling the upper span of the bridge itself. But the visibility was still good enough for him to spot the familiar orange hull of a battered trawler headed down the channel. As this vessel passed beneath the bridge, Mikhail’s pulse again quickened, and he stood, fighting the impulse to cry out in joy. Only when the ship turned for the docks was he one hundred percent positive that this was the Elsie K. As he grabbed for his hat, gloves and muffler, he took one last look at the wharf to determine exactly which pier the trawler would be docking at. The Elsie K appeared to be headed toward the marina’s central pier, where a petrol station and a small store was situated for the boaters’ convenience. This portion of the pier was also accessible by automobile, and there was a parking lot beside it filled with several vehicles.

  It was as Mikhail carefully examined this lot that his practiced eye picked out a group of individuals gathered behind a large van. One of these figures was a tall, well-built blond man, with a bandage peeking out from under his hat. Seeing him caused Mikhail to gasp and angrily curse.

  “Oh, for the sake of Lenin, not again!”

  But Mikhail knew deep inside that he was only fooling himself if he expected to be the only one here to meet the Elsie K. Hadn’t the Norwegian diver been there at the pier at Trondheim also? And hadn’t the Viking beaten him to the freight agent, who was only too willing to tell Mikhail where the trawler had been bound?

  The young Norwegian had every right to be here.

  After all, he had the deaths of his comrades to revenge.

  But this act would be inconsequential when compared to the type of vindication that Mikhail had in mind. Before the Norwegian and his group of cohorts moved in prematurely and spoiled the trap, Mikhail had to act quickly. Or everything would be ruined!

  Knut Haugen cautiously peeked around the back end of the Volkswagen van that they were using for cover, and watched as a deckhand jumped off the orange-hulled trawler to secure the mooring lines.

  “That’s the vessel alright,” observed Knut to his group of coworkers huddled behind the van itself.

  An angry sharpness flavored his tone when two blond men dressed in black oilskins climbed onto the ship’s deck from a hatchway.

  “And there’s the bastards who killed Lars and Thor!”

  The other members of NUEX were quick to peek out at these individuals themselves.

  “They don’t look that tough,” remarked Arne.

  “And since there’s only the two of ‘em, we shouldn’t have any trouble at all apprehending them.”

  “What’s the game plan?” asked Jakob.

  Knut watched as the two men he had trailed all the way from Lake Tinnsjo climbed off the trawler and disappeared inside the small dockside convenience store.

  “This seems like it will be our best opportunity to get them alone,” said Knut.

  “All we have to do is wait for them outside that store, and when they come outside again, grab them.”

  “What if they’re carrying guns?” quizzed the ever cautious Karl Skollevoll.

  “Me and Arne will grab each one of them from behind,” returned Knut.

  “Then once we have their arms pinned back in a firm hammer lock, all you guys have to do is frisk them real good like they do on TV. and remove any weapons that you might find.”

  “Then what?” questioned Jon Huslid.

  Knut looked up to meet the photographer’s glance.

  “I guess then it will be time to call in the cops. But only after we’re certain that the heavy water is all there. So if there are no more questions, let’s do it.”

  Just as the group was about to leave the cover of the van, a deep, bass voice spoke out in broken Norwegian from behind them.

  “Comrades, before you go and do something that you might later regret, may I have a brief word with you?”

  Surprised by this interruption, the Norwegians turned and set their eyes on the man responsible for these words. He proved to be a tall, white-haired old man, dressed in a brown woolen overcoat and a matching fedora. There was a certain intensity in his dull blue eyes that was accented by the jagged scar that lined the entire left side of his wrinkled face.

  “I know that this will come as a shock to you,” added the stranger.

  “But I too have been waiting for this trawler to arrive from Trondheim. You see, I have a personal interest in not only the cargo this vessel is carrying in its hold, but the two men who are accompanying it also” “Look Mister, I don’t know who the hell you are, and couldn’t really give a damn about your interests” replied Knut: “So if you’ll just leave us alone, we’ve got business to get on with here.”

  “Please, comrade,” implored the old man.

  “You must hear me out before interceding at this moment, or my entire lifetime’s work will be wasted!”

  This plea was delivered with such honesty and straightforwardness that Karl dared to voice herself.

  “Come on, Knut. Listen to what he has to say.”

  Knut peeked around the van to the dockside store.

  “But this is the perfect opportunity to nab those two,” he said impatiently.

  “Those two scum mean absolutely nothing!” spat the stranger.

  “I know that you have personal reasons for wanting to apprehend them, and if you’ll just hear me out, I guarantee you that you can have them in the end.”

  His tone softened as he added.

  “Look, it appears as if they’ve only stopped in Tromso for fuel and supplies. My hotel room is close by. We can talk in comfort there. From my window you’ll have an unobstructed view of this wharf. If it turns out that you have no interest in the story that I’m about to share with you, then so be it. You can leave at any time and return here to get on with your little escapade.”

  “Come on, Knut. Let’s hear what he has to say,” urged Karl.

  The muscular engineer looked up to get the opinions of his teammates. It proved to be Jon Huslid who was the first to speak.

  “I agree with Karl. It
would be different if we were under a time constraint. But so far, they’ve made no effort to unload the cannisters. It’s obvious that the two men that we’re after will stick close to this cargo, and since we’ll be close by and in a good position to monitor any changes that might take place down here, I say let’s give our friend here a chance to properly express himself. What do you think, Jakob?”

  The Lapp shrugged his shoulders.

  “I’m certainly in no hurry to rush into this thing. Let’s hear what he’s got to say and go from there.”

  Arne Lundstrom concurred.

  “I’m kind of curious to know what the hell he’s doing here. And if he does turn out to be a fruitcake, there will always be another opportunity to nab those two.”

  It was with great reluctance that Knut backed down.

  “Mister, this better be good.”

  Mikhail Kuznetsov grinned.

  “Lad, the story that I’m about to share with you is way beyond good.

  It’s amazing! So if you’ll just follow me, we’ll get on with it.”

  The trip up to the Russian’s room took less than five minutes to complete. While Mikhail hastily packed the fireplace, Knut went straight to the window.

  The trawler was clearly in sight down below. A long black hose extended from the dockside fuel pump to the ship’s engine room. Several deckhands could be seen milling around topside, shovelling snow and chipping off the heavy accumulation of ice that coated the deck.

  “Well, are you satisfied that they’re only using Tromso as a stopover?” asked Mikhail, putting a match to the kindling and walking over to the window himself.

  “It sure looks that way,” said Knut with a grunt.

  “But I’d still feel a lot better if we had those two in custody right now.”

  “Patience, lad,” advised the old-timer as he sat down heavily on the chair that was positioned at the window’s side.

  “Their time is rapidly coming. That I can assure you.”

  Mikhail turned his head to check on his other guests and saw that the woman was seated on his bed. The other three had seated themselves on the small sofa that was placed next to the fireplace. Beside them, the dry kindling readily took, the flames crackling and hissing. With the blond giant still standing in front of the window, the old man cleared his throat and continued.