He fought with his conscience about what to do with his find, eventually making a decision not to go to the authorities on the island or the police. Journalists were totally out of the question and he certainly wouldn’t be able to talk to any of his friends. “Except one” he said out loud, and then laughed.
Edward Levenson-Jones, of course, LJ would know what to do. He wasn’t far from Bonne Nuit, but he still opened up the throttle. The fibreglass hull slapped the waves as the boat speeded towards the bay. Nathan’s thoughts strayed back to the time he and LJ had first met, when both men were attending the same university. They had immediately hit it off, both having similar backgrounds and interests, as well as the same taste in women. LJ had been approached early on by MI5 and had, without hesitation, chosen to join them, fast tracking right to the top as Director of Operations. During both of their careers they found themselves working together on half a dozen secret missions where Royal Navy assistance was required.
On more than one occasion, the two friends very nearly lost their lives while doing their duty for Queen and country. His daydream was broken as the hull of the sport fisherman slapped down hard onto another wave. “Yes,” he said aloud, LJ was definitely the right person to tell. After all he was an expert at keeping secrets and had and interest, as well as unlimited access to all sorts of military and maritime historical information.
He eased back on the throttle as he entered Bonne Nuit harbour and saw Charlie Trelawney one of the old fishermen stood up on the sea wall looking down at him.
“Morning Nathan,” he called. “You were out early today. Where you been?”
“Grosnez Point, Charlie.” Cunningham lied easily, but in the circumstances he had no other choice if he were to keep his secret.
“What’s it like round there this morning?”
“Absolutely perfect diving conditions.”
“No such thing as perfect. You should be more careful, diving alone around this island, it isn’t safe.” Trelawney yawned, gave Nathan a friendly yet dismissive wave, and then started to walk back along the sea wall to his hut.
“You take care now Nathan.” He said loudly over his shoulder.
Cunningham moved slowly into the harbour and over to his mooring buoy. Leaving the engine idling he took the gaff hook and pulled the bright orange buoy on board before tethering a rope to it. Dropping it back into the water he then went back into the wheelhouse and engaged the automatic anchor winch.
He was out of breath when he reached the house. He’d seen Annabelle working in the Café, so he knew that he was alone. As he went through the living room he glanced up at the ship’s clock on the wall, which showed eleven o’clock. In the kitchen he poured himself a strong black coffee from the fancy machine that his daughter had bought him the previous Christmas and took it through to his study. Unzipping the holdall he took out the aluminium briefcase and put it on the desk. With the cordless phone in one hand and the cup of coffee precariously balanced in the other, he scrolled through the phone’s memory until he found the number that he was looking for. Pushing the appropriate button, he waited to be connected.
* * * In London it was another busy working day for Edward Levenson-Jones who was just getting up to go to his weekly Partners’ meeting. This was always held in the atrium room on the top floor of Ferran & Cardini’s prestigious Docklands building. The phone on his desk started to ring, glancing down at it, he saw that it was an internal call from Guy Roberts.
“Yes, I know I’m late, but you can tell them, that I’m on my way up.”
“There’s an outside call for you sir, the gentleman insists that he is an old friend of yours and must talk to you immediately. Shall I tell him that you’re in a meeting?”
“What’s his name?”
“Commander Nathan Cunningham, sir.”
“Nathan Cunningham, no Roberts, put him through at once. Oh, and call the Partners, tell them that I’ll be ten minutes late for the meeting, they’ll understand.”
“Nat, you old sea dog, how’s life treating you down there in Jersey?”
“LJ, things couldn’t be better, how about you? Still working your nuts off seven days a week in the city I suppose?”
Levenson-Jones sat down behind his desk. “Good to hear your voice, old son. Are you in town?”
“No, I’m in Jersey, but I’ve got a bit of a dilemma, that I thought you might be able to help me with. You see, I went for a dive this morning, and found myself a large Second World War German U-boat.”
“Well that’s splendid, Nat. But there must be quite a few sunken wrecks around the Channel Islands from the last war. Nothing unusual about that old son.”
“No you don’t understand LJ. This one is fifty-five feet down and under the island, tied up in a cavern that’s like an enormous subterranean harbour. It’s got a bloody great big red leaping devil painted on the side of the conning tower, and LJ, it’s definitely a type VIIC.” Nathan could once again feel a tingling sensation run up and down his spine, and the bristles on the back of his neck stand on end.
Levenson-Jones own excitement had made him break out into a cold sweat. “Nat, I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve been under any pressure or strain recently. But how on earth has this thing not been found before?”
“LJ, there are hundreds of wrecks throughout the English Channel and especially around these islands, with more being discovered every year. But this one; was never meant to be discovered. It’s hidden deep within the very granite of Jersey, and the water in the area where I was diving is, to say the least, lethal. No one ever dives in this particular area because of the rocks and the extreme tidal movements. We had the most horrendous storm last night, and this morning it was like a millpond. So I dropped anchor, and went in, couldn’t resist it. Of course, under normal conditions you wouldn’t be able to get close enough without being smashed to a million pieces on the rocks.”
“So how did you find this underground harbour then?”
“Oh, it was purely by accident really. You see I’d taken a sounding of the area some weeks ago. As you know, I got the bug for marine archaeology a few years back, and when I checked again this morning. Well, what I saw was a wide, deep furrow in the seabed that had somehow been concealed before. You know me, inquisitive to the last. When I got down there, I noticed two things; firstly that there was a strong current flowing back out to sea and secondly that the water was much colder than usual. All I had to do was swim against the flow, towards the shore, and eventually came to the rock face that had taken the full brunt of the storm during the night. There had been a lot of movement, and some incredible rockslides, but my torch beam picked out a small gap near the base of the rocks. This was where the water was coming through and where I entered the tunnel that eventually led me to the cavern. LJ, it’s incredible, really incredible!”
“Is she still afloat? What condition is she in?”
“Only just. The control room is completely flooded, right up to the conning tower hatchway. But, I’d say that’s the only area that is, due entirely to the fact that the forward and aft watertight doors had been sealed. And she’s taken quite a beating. But the strangest thing is? On the outside there is considerable damage, but the inside tells a very different story, with everything calm, and from what I could see, in its place.”
“What about the crew, any skeletal remains, old son?”
“There were only two skeletons that I came across. One poor soul who had been impaled where he stood on the conning tower deck by a piece of twisted support rail. It had gone right through his back and out of the front of his chest. The other was in the control room, I’m pretty sure that this was the Commander. I found a watertight silver briefcase laying at his side.”
“Did it have the Kriegsmarine insignia etched on it up in the top right corner?”
“Yes it did, but it also had this red leaping devil across the centre of the lid.”
“The insignia tells us that it’s a standard issue case.
But that leaping red devil that’s the bit that intrigues me. Very odd that, Nat. Were there any numbers on the conning tower or briefcase?”
“No, none on either that I could see.”
“Um, that really is odd. If there are no numbers then what have we got here?”
In Jersey, Cunningham was already thumbing through the diary. “LJ, wait a minute, I’m just having a look back through the pages. Yes here we are at the very front of the U-boat diary there’s a reference number. It would appear that our sub, was commissioned U-683. How on earth did I miss that before, anyway it’s the only numerical reference to it.”
“Okay, so we now know her identification number or we think we do. Nat, do you mind holding for just one moment while I tap into the central archive database, this will tell us about our submarine and what she got up to back then.”
Cunningham waited patiently while LJ tapped away at his keyboard. “This is already becoming more and more curious, my old friend.” LJ said.
“What is?”
“Well according to the information that I’ve got in front of me - U683 was officially reported missing twice. The details are sketchy to say the least, and to make things even more confusing; there are two official Kriegsmarine reports. One, which states that she went down in the North Atlantic on the 20th February 1945 just Southwest of Ireland. The other that she was sunk in the English Channel near to Lands End on the 12th March 1945. Her last known position though was recorded at co-ordinates, 49.52N, 05.52W. It looks like she was depth charged by the British Frigate HMS Loch Ruthwen, and the sloop Wild Goose. Ah, but look here, the frigate captain entered in his ship’s log that the attack that they had made was more than likely against another wreck. Here it is, yes, U-247 was charted sunk in almost the same position previously. There looks to have been much speculation about this one, Nat. And I’d say that it was highly unlikely in light of what you have just told me, as to whether U-683 actually ever did go down with all hands lost. As the forty-nine crewmembers were never recovered.”
“Sounds like they were trying to create a deception, if you ask me. Is that it?”
“Just about, she was laid down on 23rd December 1942, at Howaldtswerke, Hamburg and commissioned, on 30th May 1944. Look up the details of the Korvetenkapitan’s in the diary, will you, what’s his name?”
Nathan turned to the U-boat Commander’s details, “It states in the diary that the Korvetenkapitan’s was Otto Sternberg. Why?”
“Um, it looks as if we have a mystery on our hands, and becoming more and more intriguing by the minute. The only recorded commander of U-683 was Kapitanleutnant or Lieutenant Commander Gunter Keller. This information also clearly states that this sub only ever took part in one patrol, other than a training exercise just after she was commissioned. Which means that Sternberg and possibly the crew were specially selected for that last mission, which leaves only one question. What the hell were the Nazis up to on Jersey on May 8th 1945, VE day?”
“I really don’t know. Except that there are two letters. One makes reference to the cargo that they were carrying and addressed to Otto Sternberg. It was opened but still in its envelope.”
“Really, who were they from?”
“Grossadmiral Karl Donitz, and Heinrich Himmler, and the cargo was something called the Spear of Destiny.”
Levenson-Jones stood up quickly and took a hard pull on his cigar. “Nathan old son, I think you’d better hop on a plane this afternoon and come and see me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Um, well look here. Don’t bother with the scheduled stuff, get yourself and that aluminium case up to the St. Helier Aero-club, and charter a helicopter and pilot. Book it to Ferran & Cardini and tell the company to phone this number for immediate payment. As long as the weather is good, you should arrive in London mid afternoon. I’ll have a car waiting for you at the heli-pad to bring you directly to my office here in Docklands, Oh, and Nat, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, not anyone.”
“Understood, so it’s just like old times, then. It’ll be good to see you after all these years, and perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you that dinner I owe you this evening?”
“I’ll be looking forward to it old son,” said LJ, and replaced the receiver. Checking his watch, LJ saw that he was thirty-five minutes late for the Partners’ meeting.
Nathan put the receiver back on its cradle and immediately picked it up again. Yes, there was a helicopter available for charter that afternoon. He made the booking in the name of Ferran & Cardini International; the young lady at the other end of the phone placed him on hold while she called London to confirm the payment. This done he sat back in his chair, thinking about the mystery that he’d uncovered. There was plenty of time to pack an overnight bag and to freshen himself up with a shower and shave.
But first he had to go down to the café and see Annabelle. Unlike earlier, Bonne Nuit was now bristling with activity as he walked down the hill to the café. The harbour had an old world charm and timeless beauty as was common throughout the Channel Islands, the main reason why Nathan had fallen instantly in love with the place.
* * * Nestled at the base of the cliff and slightly back from the small sandy beach. Annabelle’s café sits comfortably, and well above the high tide mark, on a part natural, part manmade granite pier. The outline of which, from the other side of the harbour, resembles that of an old-fashioned paddled steamboat. The steps up to the front balcony area had a hand painted sign hanging silently from the railing, informing people to mind the steps. Inside it was a hive of activity, with the aroma of freshly baked bread and scones together with the sound of whistling kettles.
Voices could be heard coming from the small kitchen at the rear of the wooden building. Along the seaward side, small intimate tables for two lined the timber walls, and a long bar cleverly made from old ship’s timbers, ran down the other. There were high stools at the bar, and bottles on glass shelves against the wall behind it. An attractive, forty something woman with auburn coloured hair, served a small group of weekend divers with their lunch orders, and drinks. Kate Jackson was Annabelle’s manager, and lived just a short drive from the café. She had sharp eyes, and could hear a pin drop in St. Helier.
She looked over and smiled, “Hello Nathan, you looking for Annabelle?”
“Yes, is she around, or have I picked a bad time?”
“She’s just popped over to Gorey to pick up the fish for tonight. Probably be back any minute. Can I get you something, while you’re waiting?”
“Why not, I’ll have a cup of tea, Kate, I’ll be outside at the front.”
He sat on the terrace, drinking the tea, his mind full of tumultuous ideas and worries, and was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice his daughter come up the steep steps towards him.
“Pops, you’re back.”
Nathan looked up and found his daughter standing beside him, a shallow crate of assorted fresh fish on a bed of ice in her hands. She leaned against the balcony, an absolute picture of loveliness in a linen skirt and white cotton blouse. She frowned. “Come on, out with it. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter, I’ve got to fly up to London this afternoon, that’s all.” He told her.
“Why? For how long?”
“Just overnight, and I’ll be back tomorrow, late afternoon, promise.”
Her frown deepened and she went and gave the box of fish to Kate, before returning to sit opposite Nathan. “I know you far to well. You’d not be going back to London for nothing. So, come on. What’s going on?”
“Before I tell you Annabelle, you have to swear on your mother’s memory, that you’ll not breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you to anyone. Not anyone.”
Annabelle’s expression changed from being concerned for her father’s welfare to one of utter bewilderment.
“Well it must be pretty bloody serious for you to bring up mummy’s memory. Of course I swear, but you’re worrying me Pops. Now please
tell me what’s going on?”
“This morning when I was diving, I came across the most extraordinary thing. A tunnel entrance about fifty feet down. And do you know what I found at the other end of it? A wreck inside an enormous subterranean cavern.”
“You silly man, silly, silly, man.” She was angry, and Nathan knew it. “It’s not enough that you were diving on your own, you then are reckless enough to enter an unknown tunnel with absolutely no idea of where it ends up. And, at your age. It’s not only completely irresponsible, it’s absolute bloody madness. I suppose I should thank the heavens above that you’re here at all. So, where is this tunnel?”
Although not a diver herself, Annabelle Cunningham did know most of the sites around the island. He paused, not only because he knew that she would be furious when he told her that he had dived just off the Devil’s Hole point, and it wasn’t because he didn’t trust his daughter. He just wanted to keep the exact location of the submarine a secret for the time being, at least until he’d seen Edward LevensonJones.
“I can’t tell you that at this time, Annabelle. But what I can tell you, is that I’ve found a German U-boat from the Second World War.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “My God, are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure, I swam right up to it. Annabelle, it’s absolutely enormous, in fact it’s incredible to think how it actually got in there in the first place. Anyway, I had a look around the outside before mustering the strength to climb the conning tower, and going down into the main control room that was completely flooded.” A shiver ran right through Nathan’s body. “I felt really odd, or perhaps even awkward, you know? It was as if I was desecrating a grave, and shouldn’t be there at all. I found the skeletal remains of the commander laying in the silt at the foot of the conning tower access ladder. Imagine if you can, he was still gripping the submarine’s official briefcase. I brought it back with me and managed to open it on the boat. What I found inside gave me a pleasant surprise; there was the U-boat’s log, a number of routine documents and then two letters. It’s the letters that are so exciting; one of them was from Grossadmiral Karl Donitz and the other from Heinrich Himmler.”
Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 5
