by Tom Lowe
Agent Bridges said, “How about the part, Mr. O’Brien, where you said what the old woman told you? Could that be true? And if it is, how’s it tied to that sunken sub?”
“We found U-235 canisters in the sub. Why would her story be doubtful?”
Agent Bridges said, “Makes no sense for her husband’s story to be covered up.”
Dave Collins sipped his coffee. “Sure it does,” he said. “You guys had cross-dressing J. Edgar in charge of the bureau. He was instrumental in the prosecution and execution of the eight Germans, the ones who turned themselves into the FBI three years earlier in ‘42. Found guilty of espionage by a military tribunal, the same precedent used in 2002 to try detainees held at Guantanamo. May 1945 was an intense time. Roosevelt dies in the eleventh hour. Truman takes the reins. And now we know what Truman probably heard from our spies, the OSS, in 1945, that Nazi Germany had the potential to make an atomic bomb. It looks as if Hitler was handing the baton to the Japanese as Germany was out of the race.”
Lauren said, “All the media are calling Sean’s find ‘Hilter’s last U-boat.’”
“I didn’t really find it. I hooked it on my anchor. Nick Cronus found it.”
“Where is Nick?” asked Dave. “He might be able to add something.”
“I’ll try his cell again.”
Thompson said, “Where’s Canfield? Still at Chapman’s fish place?”
“Nick’s MIA,” O’Brien said. “How’d you know Jason was at Chapman’s?”
Dave said, “I mentioned it to Paul when he called earlier. Told him that everyone, including Nick, should be back about this time.”
O’Brien’s cell rang. It was Nick. “Sean!”
“Where are you?”
“The Tiki Bar. Kim’s got the news on the TV. Some homeless dudes found Jason’s girlfriend, Nicole. She’s dead! Found her body in a fuckin’ garbage can.”
“Jesus,” O’Brien whispered. “I’ll call Jason.”
“Sean … maybe he heard everything I said on your boat about divin’ back on the U-boat and then storing that nuclear shit in Dave’s locker.”
“We’re on Gibraltar. Get over here now.” O’Brien called Jason’s cell. No answer. Two rings, a popping noise and silence.
O’Brien set his cell down on Dave’s bar. “Nicole Bradley was found murdered. Jason’s cell has been disabled. If he’s still alive, he won’t be for long.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Yuri Volkow watched as Andrei Keltzin finished tying Jason to the metal chair. They had popped the locks on a boarded up, abandoned warehouse in another area of town. It was an old brick building of grays and browns. The for-sale sign in front was long faded. Late afternoon light, diffused by dirt on the window, illuminated the desolate room. It had been a citrus packing warehouse in the eighties. The room was scarred with broken wooden crates that read: Indian River Fruit.
Sweat ran down Jason’s face. He licked his dry lips. “I don’t know anything.”
“On the TV you said you could find the U-boat. What are the GPS numbers?”
“I don’t know. Sean hid them from Nick and me.”
“This Sean sounds like a noble captain, or a very greedy one. That cargo is worth millions to people with the money and a cause to use the uranium. How can we find it?”
“I don’t know! I swear!”
“Andrei, do you have your hammer?”
Keltzin reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a small hammer. “Here, do you want me to administer it?”
***
NICK PAID HIS DRINK BILL at the Tiki Bar and thanked bartender Kim Davis for giving him black coffee in a Styrofoam cup. He turned to walk down the dock to Dave’s boat when Susan Schulman’s face came on the TV screen above the bar.
Schulman stood in front of the local police station. “As Channel Nine reported minutes ago, twenty-year-old Nicole Bradley, a Channel Nine intern, was found dead in a dumpster behind an abandoned warehouse off Ninth Street. Police say Bradley’s boyfriend, nineteen-year-old Jason Canfield, is believed to have been abducted. His truck was found at Chapman’s Fish House. Police aren’t saying whether Bradley’s death and Canfield’s disappearance could be related to the finding of Hitler’s lost submarine and its alleged cargo of enriched uranium. More on this story as it breaks … I’m Susan Schulman.”
Kim looked away from the television. “Oh my God! Nick, it’s because of that German sub you guys found. Dear God … .”
Nick tried to hold the Styrofoam cup in his trembling hand. He sat the cup on the bar, looked at his shaking hands. “To hell with Nazi ghosts. They hurt Jason, they die twice.”
***
NICK TOLD O’BRIEN AND the others on Dave’s boat what he’d heard from the television newscast. “We gotta find Jason. Anything happen to him … I hold myself responsible. Dave’s locker is Davy Jones locker.”
“Nick,” said Dave, “they probably picked Jason up because of the soundbites taken out of context. Why they killed Nicole, I don’t know. Must have thought she knew more than she did, or could identify them if she was used as a pawn to get Jason. But you should have kept your voice down when you and Sean were talking about the canisters and where we stored them. Unfortunately, both Jason and the canisters are in jeopardy.”
Paul Thompson stepped back inside from the cockpit where he’d gone to use his cell. Dave asked, “Paul, who does your team think is behind this?”
“Most likely a sleeper cell right here in Florida. The imam ostensibly working for Syria or Iran, connected to al-Qaeda. But one of our profilers told me it also might be any of the international mafia affiliations. Russians, maybe even the Germans since we’re talking German U-boat and material they may believe they own. If it’s Russian mob, they’re here to steal and sell it. It’s worth millions.”
Lauren said, “Or they might use it. I assume NSA is all ears on possible bid wars coming in from out of the country.”
“Out of the country and in the country,” Paul said. “All known channels are being monitored by the minute. Nothing yet.”
O’Brien looked out a curtain on Gibraltar’s port side, sun shining, a light rain now running off the palm frond roof on a fish cleaning station. He half expected to see Jason’s grinning face as he hustled down the dock. “Nick, you said they found Jason’s truck, engine running, at Chapman’s. A witness saw a blue van speed out of the lot.”
“Yeah.”
“That wasn’t Jason’s only stop. He was going to three other places, all of which had larger parking lots, less chance to be seen if you were going to kidnap someone.”
Dave crossed his legs. “Sean, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you knew where Jason was going because I told you.” O’Brien turned to Thompson. “Then you told him, and now Jason is missing.”
“And what’s your point?” Paul asked, crossing his arms.
“If Jason was being followed, the kidnappers had better opportunities and places to snatch him. Chapman’s is a crowded, small parking lot. The last place he was going before coming back, but you knew that.”
“Dave, I don’t appreciate your friend suggesting that I may have had something to do with the kid’s disappearance.”
“The name’s O’Brien. And, right now, I don’t trust anyone. Especially the CIA, where lying is an art form. Sixty-seven years ago a kid about Jason’s age, Billy Lawson, trusted the wrong people and was murdered.”
“Sean,” Lauren said, standing. “There’s no conspiracy here. Maybe Jason was going to meet Nicole.”
O’Brien started for the door. “Sean, hold on a second,” Dave said. “Look, I know how tense this is right now. We have to—”
“We have to find Jason. And we have to do it now.” O’Brien headed out, noticing the rain had stopped.
“Where are you going?” Lauren asked
“The next place these freaks will be, Dave’s locker. You’re right, Nick. Now it looks a hell of a lot like Davy Jones locker.”
Thompson stood. “No! You can’t go alone!”
O’Brien was already gone.
***
YURI VOLKOW LOOKED at the ball ping hammer and said, “Very effective little tool.”
“What are you gonna do?” Jason’s voice cracked.
“This hammer is small,” Volkow said. “However, it can do large damage. Because the steel head is small, I can tap certain vertebra on your spinal column with just enough force to cause severe pain. And, you will never heal properly. Your bones will be fused. You will never be able to bend over to tie your shoes. Your ability to make love with a woman will be greatly diminished.”
“Please … .”
“Get him out of the chair, Andrei. Rip the shirt off his back.”
“Wait!” Jason shouted. “You don’t need the numbers.”
“What do you mean?”
“The canisters aren’t on the bottom of the ocean anymore.”
“Where are they?”
“Here! Sean and Nick brought them up. They put them in a warehouse.”
“What warehouse?”
“It’s called Ponce Storage in Dunlawton.”
“Which room?”
“Number’s U-236. Same number that’s on the sub.”
Yuri turned his head like a cat looking at a goldfish in a bowl. He smiled, teeth barely visible, a web of saliva in the corner of his small mouth. “Excellent. You are proving to be valuable. My father wasn’t much older than you when they killed him.”
“Who killed him?”
“Your people, Americans.”
Jason stammered. “Look, there’s a lot more of that uranium.”
“Where?”
“Sean O’Brien knows. He met this woman and her grandmother. The grandmother told him in 1945 her husband, a guy about my age, saw the Germans bury a bunch of canisters like the ones we found.”
“Where?
“On the beach. Near here. Sean thinks he knows the location.”
Yuri walked around Jason’s chair. “Is O’Brien’s number on your cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Is O’Brien a good friend of yours?”
“Yes … he’s there for me. And he knows my mom real well.”
“Let us see if he will be there for you now. We will discover if he thinks your life is worth more than that of the German cargo buried in a hole in 1945.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
O’Brien thought about Maggie Canfield, the look on her face the morning she stepped on his boat after a twenty-year absence and, again, last night in the parking lot when he was walking Max. Then he pictured Jason, pushing images of torture from his mind. He drove his Jeep more than eighty-miles-per-hour in a forty-five zone. Nick tightened his seat belt. “This is a hellava way to make me never drink again. You don’t have to kill me!”
“I should,” O’Brien said.
“Yeah, man, you should. I really screwed up, runnin’ my mouth. Jason overhearing what I—”
“Let’s move on, Nick. We can’t change it. We can try to salvage what we have left, beginning with Jason’s life and maybe a couple million more.”
O’Brien’s cell rang. It was Maggie Canfield. “Sean, dear God! Where's Jason? I just saw the news. Nicole's dead! Jason's missing! Sean, please tell me Jason's alive! ”
“Maggie, listen to me. Jason's been kidnapped—”
“Kidnapped! Who? Who took my son?”
“I'm not certain. But I am certain of this—I will find him. Trust me.”
“Bring him back to me, please Sean. He's all I have.” Her voice cracked, deep sobs coming through the phone.
“I have to go, Maggie. I'll find Jason, I promise you.” He disconnected and felt his pulse hammer in his temples, his lips dry, stomach churning.
“Sean, man I'm so damn sorry,” Nick said, running a hand through his dark hair. “Look, I'll fight these bastards with you—”
O'Brien's cell rang again. He recognized the number. It was one of two on Jason’s cell phone the day they found the sub. It was someone whom Jason had called from Jupiter. The man said, “Sean O’Brien.”
“Who’s this?”
“You and I met. Eric Hunter, remember me?”
“How’d you get this number?”
“Jason gave it to me. I thought I might send you two some business.”
“I’m a little busy right now.”
“Look, Mr. O’Brien, I’m the kind of guy that gets to the chase real fast. I saw the news. Jason’s in deep trouble. I want to help you find him.”
“I have no idea where he is. You’re better off working with the police.”
“We both know Jason has little time left. Depending on what the kidnappers want, his life is protected only by the time it takes them to get the info out of him.”
“No thanks. I never liked riding with a posse.”
“Jason was kidnapped by two men.”
“How do you know that?”
“Across the street from Chapman’s is a church. A homeless man was on a bus stop bench. He was waiting for the church to open its soup kitchen. I sat down on the bench next to him and asked him if he saw anything. Said he saw two men toss a guy in a van and peel off.”
“Why didn’t he tell the police?”
“Because they didn’t bother to ask him.”
“How do we know this homeless guy is telling the truth?”
“Chapman’s lot is covered by a security camera, north end. When the detectives go through the hard drive, they’ll see what the homeless man saw. But, by then, it might be too late for Jason. Whether you like it or not, you need my help.”
***
DAVE COLLINS DROVE with operative Paul Thompson on the passenger side of the car and FBI agents Lauren Miles and Ron Bridges in the backseat. Dave said, “We’re not far from the storage units. Sean may be there by now. I’d suggest calling the local authorities. Have the bells and whistles sounding. That may ward off any hostiles approaching the target area.”
Lauren said, “We don’t know if the hostiles have found out the location of the HEU. They certainly don’t know we’re headed there.”
“I agree,” Thompson said. “Our first objective is to secure the HEU and remove it. The second is to capture the hostiles. If we can manage to do both at the same time, great. I have back-up coming. The armored truck is on the way from Orlando. Jet is on stand-by. I hope your pal, O’Brien, doesn’t screw this up.”
“Sean won’t screw it up,” Dave said. “Trust me. He’s one of the best.”
“I don’t like his rebel style.”
Lauren said, “It’s not a style with Sean, it’s a talent—”
“All we have to worry about is O’Brien’s Greek friend doing something dumb.”
***
O’BRIEN LOOKED IN HIS rearview mirror and saw the driver trying to stay far enough behind but making the last three turns he had made. “Nick, we have a tail.”
“What?”
“Don’t look back! Two guys. Black Lexus. Following us since we hit A1A.”
“Can you lose them?”
“Maybe.” O’Brien cut the wheel and drove though a convenience store parking lot. He pulled out onto Atlantic Boulevard, hooked a quick left on Silver Beach and a fast right on Beach Street. He gunned the Jeep, and as he was cresting a slight incline, he could see the Lexus turn onto Beach. “These guys are good.”
“How good?”
“Good enough that I’m going to have to do something to shake them.”
“Oh shit,” Nick tightened his seatbelt.
“Yeah.” O’Brien made a sharp left, stopping at a long line of cars.
“Holly mother!” Nick shouted. The sound of multiple sirens seemed to converge from all four corners.
“Looks like a bad wreck,” O’Brien said.
The intersection was blocked by a dozen police cars and emergency vehicles. O’Brien looked in the rearview mirror. “The
y’re three cars back. Damn!”
“What do we do?”
“Whatever we have to do.”
O’Brien cut through traffic, driving over a sidewalk, into a cemetery. Nick said, “You got some kind of dead thing happening, you know? We swim through a graveyard on the bottom of the ocean and now you’re driving on top of dead people.”
“I’ll try not to wake them,” said O’Brien, adjusting his dark sunglasses.
***
O’BRIEN PULLED INTO the Ponce Storage Center lot, his eyes scanning for movement. There was a Toyota in the lot. “Wish I had a gun, like you,” Nick said.
“Stay hidden in the Jeep. I’ll go in there.”
“You’re gonna need me to help you carry the magic dust to the Jeep.”
“Okay, but stay outside the door.”
They moved toward the unit. Nick said, “I hope nobody’s in there.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Mohammed Sharif sat in a chair next to a small table and read his incoming e-mails. He looked up at Abdul-Hakim who stood by a window, peering through a small opening in the drapes at the traffic. In Arabic, Sharif said, “Raashad writes that our sources in Germany indicate the submarine was carrying the largest of Hitler’s U-235 cargo. An old man there told the German news that he was supposed to have been on the voyage of this vessel. He became ill a few days before and was left behind. From his home in Nurnberg, he told a reporter that the submarine carried 700 kilos of U-235. He says the materials CNN reported recovered are only part of the cargo. The man said, in Kiel, he was assigned to the radio room. The last contact he had with his friend, Jacob Friedrich, the sub’s radio operator, was that most of the U-235 was left on a beach in Florida, south of St. Augustine. Raashad said that Allah smiles on us, Allah akbar.”
“Allah akbar,” said Hakim. His cell rang. The caller said, “We lost them.”
“How?”
“The traffic came to a stop at an accident. Police everywhere. That O’Brien, drove like a man possessed, around police—”
