The Legend of the Black Monk

by Nigel Cubbage

  * * *

  The jagged, inhospitable cliffs of the Horns of Lucifer towered above the small boat and its occupants rocking up and down on the waves. As Drew slowed the boat, Rupert held the satnav, checking their position. He pointed to a buoy, some forty metres from the rocks.

  ‘That’s it, I reckon. X marks the spot, or the buoy.’

  ‘Lucifer’s Bell, to give it its correct name,’ said the Admiral, his eyes narrowing to slits in the sea breeze as he contemplated it. ‘Well, young Drew, let’s see what you’re made of. We need some good old fashioned navigational skills. The exact position of the wreck of the German U-boat is precisely one thousand metres due west of the buoy, at a depth of ten fathoms.’

  ‘I thought you said the map reference was the exact position?’ said Laura.

  ‘I did. But Kapitan Kraus repositioned this buoy in 1948 so he could hide the exact position of the gold from anybody else.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Drew.

  ‘Did you not read the flags on the side of the window? 1,000 due west, they said. Helps to read the whole answer!’

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. Drew pretended not to notice.

  ‘So, take us to a point one thousand metres due west please, mister Campbell.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Admiral sir!’ said Drew, saluting. He rounded the buoy and, with one eye on the compass and his instruments, steered them slowly out to sea. Among the others, the tension and excitement were tangible. After a couple of minutes, Drew slowed the boat to a stop.

  ‘Rupe! Sling the anchor over the side, will you? This is it, I reckon.’

  Laura and Rebecca peered over the side and down into the water, almost expecting to see something. ‘What happens now?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Hey!’ said Rebecca, smiling in surprise at the Admiral as he emerged from the back of the boat clad in a wetsuit and carrying an air tank.

  Laura looked on in astonishment. ‘But Admiral, aren’t you …’ She stopped what she was about to say.

  ‘Too old, my dear, were you about to say? Oh now you have wounded an old man’s pride! I am only in my eighties … And I was going to show off to you in front of your boyfriend.’

  Rebecca laughed. There was a twinkle in the Admiral’s eye as he smiled at Laura.

  ‘I am quite safe, Laura. Before I rose in the ranks, I did this many times.’

  ‘You are looking at one of the Royal Navy’s most decorated divers,’ smiled Von Krankl.

  Drew emerged from the cabin and went forward to help the Admiral ‘And one of the fittest octogenarians you are ever likely to meet.’

  ‘Here, sir, let me help you with the gear – done a wee bit of it myself in the Hebrides.’

  ‘You are coming down with me, young man,’ said Admiral Dewhurst-Hobb. ‘Always best to have two in the water and I need you to do all the work! There’s another set of gear in the back there. I checked the tanks myself.’

  In a few minutes, Drew and the Admiral were ready to go. They sat on the side of the boat and pulled on their masks. The old man held out two lines, one his own and the other strapped to Drew.

  ‘Rebecca and Rupert, take hold of a line each and for Heaven’s sake, don’t let go until we are back up. If either of you feels three sharp pulls, all of you get hold of that line and pull it up fast. It means we’re in trouble. If you feel two pulls, that means we’ve found something to pull up for which you will need the winch.’ He pointed to a cable winch in the stern.

  ‘Ha, this is like the old days! Geronimo!’ With a sudden boyish grin, he fell backwards over the side. Drew followed. For a few seconds, the black heads of the divers bobbed around in the waves before they gave one another the thumbs up and submerged.

  Rebecca sat down, clutching Drew’s line in both hands, smiling at the Admiral’s ebullience and shaking her head. ‘Well, I guess we just wait.’

  * * *

  It never failed to surprise Drew how gloomy and dark it was under the surface of the sea, not bright and colourful as he had seen in films of the Caribbean or the Great Barrier Reef. Willie McHarg, the wise old boatman from back home in Mallaig, had once explained it was due to the algae in the waters around Britain and how it was not surprising so many wrecks had lain undiscovered for hundreds of years. The Admiral had supplied flashlights which further served as a useful way of keeping tabs on one another’s position. They descended slowly, Drew keeping a check on their depth via a gauge in his wrist. Eight fathoms, not much further now.

  Then he saw it. Spooky, eerie, covered in a coat of weed and barnacles but the shape was unmistakeably the conning tower of a submarine, with long-barrelled guns at the back.

  And there on the side in large bold letters, ‘U-821’. The Admiral turned his head towards Drew and made the thumbs-up signal. Drew gazed in wonder. The submarine had lain here at the bottom of the sea, undisturbed since the Second World War, over sixty years ago.

  And now, here they were.

  He followed as the Admiral swam down to the conning tower. They grabbed hold of the rail and played their torches over the rest of the vessel. The Admiral beckoned to him to follow. A few yards beyond the tower was a gaping, jagged hole in the side of the hull, presumably where the torpedo had hit and sent it to the bottom so many years before.

  They peered into the gloom. Various forms of marine life had adapted the sunken submarine for their own purposes. Drew watched a fish swim by close to his mask. It seemed to find his presence there quite normal.

  He checked his gauges for air pressure and saw the Admiral doing the same. At a gesture from his companion, Drew followed him back along to the conning tower. The Admiral pulled himself over the side of the rail and shone his torch down. He rubbed away some accumulated sand, weed and grime, causing a dense cloud of muck to rise up. After a few more moments, he began to pull at something and Drew saw he had hold of what looked like a rectangular chest. Drew leaned over and they dragged it clear and out onto the flat section of the hull. It was extremely heavy. The Admiral was gesturing very animatedly and Drew noticed a big smile on his face. This was it!

  The old man rubbed the grime from the top of the crate and Drew recognised the crooked swastika. The chest was oblong and about three feet by two. Drew wondered how one man had managed to get it down here alone, since it was so heavy. The Admiral had untied his own line and was feeding it through metal handles at either end of the crate. He fastened it securely through a hook and clamp. He gave two sharp pulls on the line and backed away.

  Slowly, it started to rise towards the surface.

  * * *

  On board the boat, Rupert started the winch and it began to wind in the line.

  They leaned over the side in great expectancy and excitement, Rebecca and Laura alert for the first signs of something breaking the dark surface.

  ‘This is so exciting!’ said Laura, her face shining. She squeezed her friend’s shoulders.

  ‘One to tell them about at school, hey?’

  ‘As long as we live to tell the tale,’ murmured Rebecca, darkly.

  ‘Here we go!’ shouted Laura, as the crate appeared just below the surface of the water.

  ‘Easy does it, Rupert,’ said Von Krankl, leaning forward. ‘Whatever it is, it’s been down there a long time and won’t take kindly to being bashed about.’ The winch swung the crate out of the water and Rupert manoeuvred it over the deck of the boat using the pulley. He set it down on the deck as gently as he could.

  ‘Is it the Nazi gold?’ cried Laura excitedly, rushing forward.

  ‘We should wait until the others are back up,’ said Von Krankl. ‘The Admiral must open this.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Laura, unable to hide a note of disappointment.

  They did not have long to wait. In a short while, the Admiral and Drew surfaced and were helped back on board. When they removed their facemasks, there was no disguising their excitement. The Admiral clasped Von Krankl by the shoulders, oblivious that he was dripping all over him. ‘
We found it, Werner, we found it! Your old boat is down there, undisturbed since Kraus put this back there. I knew he hadn’t taken it for himself.

  Rupert! You will find a crowbar in the hold. Can you fetch it, please?’

  ‘And did you see …’ Von Krankl’s voice wavered and he sat down, suddenly ashen faced.

  ‘No, nothing,’ said the Admiral quickly. ‘But we didn’t look, didn’t disturb.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Drew. The Admiral turned to him.

  ‘The U-boat is also a tomb, lad. Werner’s old comrades are down there … some of those young boys never got out, you see …’

  The shocking realisation that accompanied his words struck everyone into silence.

  Rupert let the crowbar he had brought out of the cabin drop to the floor with a clatter. Laura let go of the crate and wiped her hands on her clothes, stepping back, a look of distress on her face.

  ‘I … this suddenly feels like we’re walking on somebody’s grave.’

  ‘What are you going do with the gold, Admiral?’ asked Rebecca. The old man gave her a studied look and shook his head.

  ‘The multi-million Reichsmark question. We always said we would throw it to the bottom of the sea but …’

  ‘Open it,’ said Von Krankl very quietly. Nobody moved. Von Krankl picked up the crowbar and handed it to Drew.

  ‘Open it, come on.’

  Hesitating for just a moment, Drew took hold of the crowbar and put it against the crate.

  ‘Drew, whatever’s the matter?’ Laura had caught sight of a sudden look of horror on his face.

  ‘Whatever you want to do with it,’ he began, ‘I don’t think these guys are going to agree.’

  He pointed at two boats speeding towards them. At the bow of the first, his cassock billowing in the breeze, was the familiar figure of Daedalus.

  ‘Pull up the anchor and let’s get going!’ shouted Rupert but Drew shook his head.

  ‘We haven’t got time,’ he grimaced. In seconds, the boats were alongside them and Daedalus swept aboard. Behind him, three men had guns trained on them. As the second boat pulled alongside, Drew saw Billy Brough at the wheel of the Mary Jane. He nudged Rebecca and scowled. ‘Look!’

  Daedalus came over to the crate, snatching the crowbar out of Drew’s hand. He smiled thinly. ‘Admiral Dewhurst-Hobb! Thank you for returning this stolen Reich property to its rightful owners.’ He favoured them with a contemptuous sneer. ‘Did you really think a bunch of old men and children could outwit German patriots?’

  ‘Patriots? You and your like have never been fit to be called Germans,’ said Von Krankl icily.

  ‘Ha! The wheelchair cripple! A miraculous recovery, I see!’ Daedalus snarled at Von Krankl. ‘You are a feeble traitor, Herr Von Krankl.’ He looked down at the crate. ‘This can now complete the journey it started with my father sixty years ago.’

  ‘And to where might that be?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘South America,’ answered the Admiral. ‘Where they all scuttled off to hide after the war.’

  ‘Not all, Herr Admiral. Many countries were happy to offer refuge. Indeed some found a welcome here within your own shores.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ shouted Drew.

  ‘Unfortunately he isn’t,’ said the Admiral, his eyes fixed on Daedalus. ‘But just how are you planning on getting to South America?’

  Daedalus smiled arrogantly. He waved the crowbar theatrically. ‘Why not? Let me show you … marvel at this!’ He turned and clicked his fingers at one of his men in the boat alongside, who spoke into a radio. Daedalus moved to the side of the boat and made a dramatic flourish out to sea. For several moments nothing happened. They were just starting to look at one another when there was a low rumble and seconds afterwards, a short distance away the surface of the sea was broken by a mighty explosion of foam and spray as the bows of a black hull emerged from underwater. It was a submarine.

  There was shocked disbelief.

  ‘World War Two, type VIIc … German U-boat,’ said the Admiral as the submarine surfaced and the sea gradually subsided.

  ‘What is it you British say? After all this time you still ‘know your stuff ’ Admiral. I am impressed.’ Daedalus favoured him with a look of condescension.

  ‘Know your enemy as yourself,’ said the Admiral, coldly.

  Realisation dawned on Rupert. ‘This is what I saw last night in the bay. No wonder I didn’t know what it was. You’d hardly expect to see a submarine in our little cove.’

  ‘It’s scary,’ shivered Laura.

  ‘So those empty boats we came across the other night must have been signalling this sub,’ said Drew.

  Daedalus was evidently very pleased with the reaction.

  ‘Tomorrow we will rendezvous here under the gaze of Lucifer’. He gestured benignly at the rocks a short way off – ‘away from prying eyes, you understand, and sail on the morning tide. We will simply vanish … with the gold you have so obligingly returned. Severus!’ His voice suddenly turned to a snap. ‘Put the gold on board and take it to the monastery. I am expecting the sub crew later. They can take it back with them. Then come aboard and take this boat in. Brutus! If any of these old men or feeble children try anything … shoot them.’

  Two men came aboard, pausing deferentially as Daedalus swept past, before lifting the crate and taking it onto the Mary Jane.

  * * *

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ whispered Drew hoarsely to Rebecca, as the boats headed back towards the shore.

  ‘One of us has to get away,’ said Rebecca. She eyed Daedalus’ men at the wheel, talking in low voices. Occasionally Brutus would look briefly at them, before turning back to his companion who was steering.

  ‘Why have they all got Latin names?’ whispered Laura.

  ‘And speak with German accents,’ muttered Drew.

  ‘Komrades, not brothers,’ said Rebecca, an edge in her voice. She eyed the back of the boat, where a tarpaulin was draped partially over the seat at the side. There was just about enough space for somebody to hide underneath. ‘When we get to shore, you are going to have to make some sort of diversion.’

  ‘But I should be the one – ‘

  ‘Just do it, Drew!’ she hissed. ‘There’s no time for a debate.’

  Their boat veered away as Severus steered them towards the boathouse, while the other boats continued on to Druid’s Rock. As the engine throttled back and they entered the boathouse, the Admiral and Rupert stood up in front of Rebecca while Drew made a show of leaping noisily onto the landing stage.

  ‘Halt!’ Brutus shouted angrily, leaping after him and waving his gun.

  ‘It’s okay, pal, just helping out!’ Drew waved the rope and started to tie up.

  Rebecca seized the opportunity and slid under the tarpaulin, which was quickly replaced by the Admiral.

  Still shouting at Drew, Brutus waved the others off the boat and shoved them roughly out of the boathouse, whence he and Severus led them off towards the cliff path to the monastery. Under the tarpaulin, Rebecca allowed herself to breathe again. She lay perfectly still, listening keenly, praying her escape would remain undiscovered and that she would not hear anybody coming back.

  Chapter 32

  More Tea, Vicar?

  Trembling and breathing quicker than usual, Rebecca peered tremulously out through the door and across the beach. All seemed quiet. She quickly left the boathouse and scurried up into the sand dunes, running as fast as she could until, tired by churning through the soft sand, her legs told her she could simply go no further. She was not quite certain what her next move should be but knew she could not spend too long making up her mind.

  Daedalus and his cronies now had the gold. What was worse, they also had Laura, Drew, Rupert, the Admiral and Von Krankl. If the Komrades were to be stopped from making their getaway, it was down to her. She had until dawn.

  Rebecca found a sheltered hideaway in the dunes from where she could observe most of the path along the cliff to
the monastery. She flopped down to catch her breath. Every so often the others would come into view in the distance like a column of ants as they trudged after Brutus and Severus, before disappearing.

  From her vantage point, she waited patiently, allowing them sufficient time to reach the monastery. Nobody had returned to search for her, so she began to relax. A gull called loudly as it circled overhead. Rebecca let her gaze wander along the magnificent stretch of coastline, with its towering cliffs, jagged rocks and coves and its sandy beaches onto which the powerful Atlantic waves pounded and roared. She was struck, not for the first time, by the curious contradiction of the beauty of her surroundings and the secrets and dangers they concealed. But there was no time to hang around.

  Rebecca got to her feet and was just about to move when she heard a boat’s engine. Squatting down on her haunches, she watched as a fishing boat appeared round the point from the direction of Druid’s Rock. One look was enough for her to recognise the Mary Jane. No doubt heading back to port as if nothing had happened, she scowled.

  She was in need of an ally though, with the others gone. She decided she would tell the entire story to Gaston, confident he could be trusted and could help. She set off at a run up the path towards the farm but stopped as an awful thought struck her. Did Gaston know that his father, the Admiral, was not dead after all? If not, she certainly did not feel it was her place to be the one to tell him.

  She passed through a crenulated gateway in the wall around the outer edge of the farm below a flight of steps. An old cannon stood in a recess in the wall, pointing out across the bay. She drummed on it absently, her mind wrestling with what was the best thing to do, when a voice hailed her.

  ‘Hello, young lady! How are your investigations?’ The cheerful vicar, with his customary beaming smile. ‘I always take a stroll by the sea for my daily exercise. I do so love these beaches!’

  Rebecca pondered for a moment. ‘Reverend Hendricks, how … timely. Er, I wonder, could I speak to you about something … well, quite frankly, something you probably aren’t going to believe?’