by Jon F. Merz
“It’s a fantastic ship,” said Thatcher. “Although I must admit I’m torn.”
“How so?”
“Well, as we rode over on the launcher, the ship looked, forgive me, a bit weathered and worn. But once aboard, it sparkles as if it was commissioned only yesterday.”
“A few weeks previously, actually,” said Schwarzwalder. “And our exterior appearance is to make us look like less of a threat than we are. You’ve heard of commerce raiders before?”
Thatcher shrugged. “I was in prison. We didn’t get much in the way of news.”
Schwarzwalder smiled. “Indeed. We approach and board ships who mistake us for being a merchant marine ship - most of my fellow raiders are former refrigeration vessels. Once aboard, we take what is of value before scuttling it. For those ships that we cannot take, we sink through other means. The Führer has dictated that we sink as much of allied shipping as we can in order to deprive our enemies of needed goods.”
“Sounds like a dangerous job.”
“Indeed it is,” said the captain. “If we were to be discovered engaged in our activities, we would almost certainly be sunk by responding forces. And they would be well within their right to do so.” He leaned back in the chair. “You’ve been very forthright with declaring that you were a criminal. Do you mind me asking why you were imprisoned?”
Thatcher smiled. “I apparently deprived far too many woman of their jewels and stocks to be tolerated any longer.”
For a moment, Schwarzwalder said nothing and then a big grin broke out across his face. “You were a thief?”
“I prefer the term ‘liberator of antiquities, liquidities, and proclivities’ myself,” said Thatcher. “But that works too.”
Schwarzwalder nodded. “And for that they sent you away to prison. Interesting.”
Thatcher shrugged. “I apparently annoyed a great many women once they discovered my true vocation.”
“And you’re American as well.” Schwarzwalder leaned forward. “We are not at war with Americans.”
“And yet you hold me as a prisoner,” said Thatcher.
“Yes, but not as one of war; but rather as a suspect in the murder of Captain Adamson.” He leaned back. “Were you surprised this morning to hear of his death?”
Thatcher nodded. “I owed him my life for fishing me out of the English Channel. If he hadn’t seen me, I would certainly have drowned.” Thatcher sighed. “I had no reason to see him killed.”
“How did you come to be in the Channel once more?”
Thatcher frowned. “I stole a plane. And I got shot down when a bunch of German bombers came across my path and their fighter escorts riddled my plane with bullets. I barely managed to get out of the plane.” He shuddered. “And the water was frightfully cold.”
Schwarzwalder said nothing but merely looked into his eyes. He stayed that way for a moment, almost as if daring Thatcher to look away. But he didn’t and finally the captain broke contact. “I suppose escaping from prison isn’t for everyone. Your story is quite remarkable.”
“I wish it had been anything but,” said Thatcher. “I could do with a good bit of downtime from anything exciting. When I found out the ship was headed to Lisbon, I was excited. It would be a chance for me to start life anew. I would have taken the time to re-establish myself.”
“Robbing the women of Lisbon?” Schwarzwalder smirked. “You might have ended up in prison sooner than you thought.”
“I was considering a new vocation,” said Thatcher. “You know, once I had the working capital necessary to fund it.”
“And what new job would you have taken on?”
“Wine maker,” said Thatcher.
“You know how to make wine?”
Thatcher shrugged again. “What’s to know? You grow grapes and then ferment them. I’m fairly industrious; I don’t think it would have been all that hard to make it work.”
“You are indeed industrious, I’ll give you that,” said Schwarzwalder. “After all, any man who can escape prison and steal a plane - let alone fly it - is a rather intriguing specimen if I do say so myself.”
“Why are you so interested in solving the murder of Adamson?” asked Thatcher. “I get the feeling he was more to you than just a simple acquaintance.”
“That’s true, he was.” Schwarzwalder stayed quiet for a moment. “Adamson was my wife’s cousin. Estranged from the family though ever since he moved to England some time ago.”
Thatcher leaned back. “I’m sorry for your loss then.”
“Thank you. I will have to convey this news to my wife, but it has been a long time since they even saw each other. I doubt it will be that troubling for her.”
“Why did Adamson move to England.”
Schwarzwalder looked at Thatcher. “Because he was a spy.”
Chapter 20
“Adamson was a ship captain,” said Thatcher. “What in the world are you talking about him being a spy?”
“Adamson was asked to become a spy for Hitler’s regime in Berlin,” said Schwarzwalder. “Him being a captain was just the cover story that they created for him. He grew up in England after having been born in Germany, so his English was flawless and he spoke German as well. His name worked. The Abwehr were thrilled with him.”
“So he wasn’t really a captain?”
“Oh, he was most assuredly a captain,” said Schwarzwalder. “He was part of the Reichsmarine, which was subsequently renamed the Kriegsmarine, and graduated with full honors. That’s how he met Admiral Canaris.”
“Canaris,” said Thatcher. “I don’t know the name.”
“He’s the head of German intelligence. A former naval captain himself. They had a long relationship going back years. When Canaris was tasked with taking over the Abwehr, he made a dramatic push to get more agents into the field. Adamson was one of his first and most prolific. He was assigned to work the routes between England and Lisbon and Spain, passing messages to other Abwehr agents back in England from the Abwehr stations in those neutral countries. He’s been doing it for years.”
“Years.” Thatcher was relatively speechless by this revelation. Someone had killed Adamson for being a German spy? Was it possible? And did Hewitt know about this? There were far too many questions about Adamson to know what Hewitt had realized and what he had not. The biggest question still remained: who had killed him and why?
“You really don’t know about all of this, do you?” Schwarzwalder was looking at Thatcher earnestly and Thatcher tried to put a grin on his face but it came out more like a nod.
“I had no clue. But then again-“
“You’ve been in prison, yes, we were able to confirm that,” said Schwarzwalder. “A quick radio transmission back to Berlin was all it took to find that bit out. The rest of your story makes sense, although we couldn’t confirm the fact that you stole a plane. Not really surprising since I’m sure the Royal Air Force wouldn’t be keen on releasing such information.”
Thatcher grinned. “This is utterly bizarre. I was completely taken in by Adamson’s ruse. I feel like a damned fool.”
“Don’t be,” said Schwarzwalder. “He had everyone fooled. The fact that the English left him alone was a remarkable tribute to his station. Plus, the fact that he was somewhat older than one would expect from a field operative probably helped his cause. He didn’t do much of anything else except put to sea and pass messages when he returned.”
“I’m assuming the messages he passed weren’t time critical, given the length of a ship’s voyage.”
Schwarzwalder nodded. “Probably more bureaucratic than anything pressing. Those would be sent via radio. In any event, that’s why he was estranged from my family and why I never really knew him. I was at sea when he apparently made the decision to relocate to England and engage in espionage activities. It had been my hope for many years to come across him on the open waves and perhaps have a talk. Alas, such is not the case now.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” said
Thatcher. His head was still reeling and he felt like he’d missed a step on the way down the staircase and was falling. He’d never really known Adamson, but the fact that he’d managed to get Hewitt on the radio seemed a bit odd given that he was a German spy for Berlin.
“Thank you,” said Schwarzwalder. “Now the question becomes who actually killed him? I don’t think it was you, Thatcher. Especially given your rather visible reaction to the news I just told you.”
Inwardly Thatcher made a mental note that he would have to learn how to control his facial expressions. But the fact that Adamson had been a German spy was such a surprise that Thatcher simply couldn’t help himself. It was non-damaging in this case because it convinced Schwarzwalder that he had nothing to do with the death, but who knew if it would help or incriminate him in later years? Provided he survived this crazy first jaunt, he thought.
“So what happens now?”
“I continue my investigation,” said Schwarzwalder. “I am intrigued by your traveling companion, Cyra. Berlin had no information on her anywhere in their files, which I find very interesting. Perhaps it just means that she goes by another name now. Or perhaps it means something else. She seems capable enough, but I wonder if it was her or perhaps someone else aboard the ship she was helping.”
Thatcher frowned and Schwarzwalder caught it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not to be indelicate, but you should know that we spent a portion of the night together before Adamson was killed.”
Schwarzwalder’s eyebrows raised. “You say a portion?”
Thatcher sighed. “We had dinner, drank too much wine, and returned to my cabin. We made love and then I promptly fell asleep. Where she went while I was blacked out, I do not know. But she was not with me in the morning and it was then that Adamson’s body was discovered in his quarters when he failed to report for his usual shift.”
Schwarzwalder stroked his beard again, pondering. “So it’s possible she slipped out of your cabin, went to Adamson and killed him, before presumably returning to her own cabin.”
Thatcher nodded. “Entirely possible. I hate saying it, but I’d be a fool to rule out the possibility of her involvement.”
“I appreciate you sharing that information with me.”
“Will you interrogate her now?”
Schwarzwalder stood and smiled. “We are not the SS, thankfully. But I am well within my rights as the ship’s Captain to question her. If I find that she is not being honest, I can easily make arrangements to drop her off somewhere where she can be transported over to those jackals. And they will get what they need out of her. It may not be factual, but they will get something.”
“What if she’s innocent?”
“Then she has nothing to worry about while she is my custody. I appreciate honesty. But once I turn her over to the SS, her innocence becomes irrelevant. The SS only cares about producing results on paper. She could be the killer or she might not be: but once they get their claws on her, she becomes whatever fits their narrative and her arc within that particular story becomes regrettably a short one. Most likely they would torture her and then stand her up against a wall before putting a volley of bullets into whatever remains of her body.”
Thatcher frowned. “I would not wish that upon anyone.”
“Nor I,” said Schwarzwalder. “But such are the times we live in.” He shook Thatcher’s hand once more. “I appreciate all that you’ve shared with me. I will have dinner brought down immediately. I hope you find it palatable.”
Thatcher nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”
Schwarzwalder paused. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“About what?”
“The fact that we are not at war with America yet. I don’t consider you the enemy; you are merely a temporary guest aboard my ship.”
“Albeit confined,” said Thatcher.
“Schwarzwalder grinned. “For the moment perhaps. But that may change. I will let you know if it does. Eat and get some rest. I’m sure it’s a bit strange being taken prisoner and seeing the ship you were riding on blown apart.”
“It wasn’t my typical day,” said Thatcher. “But then again, I’ve sort of forgotten what normal was in recent years.”
“Then this is your new normal,” said Schwarzwalder. “I will strive to make it comfortable for you.” He ducked out of the cabin and Thatcher heard the door lock once more.
He kicked off his shoes and then lay back down on the bunk. It had been a struggle to keep the conversation going when his mind wanted to turn over all of the information he’d just learned about. Adamson a German spy! Who would have thought it possible? Certainly it wasn’t the impression Thatcher got when he’d met the man. But he could certainly see why this shipping route would be a valuable one. It gave the Germans a ready method of transporting passengers, material, equipment, and messages from a neutral staging country back to a prime theater of their operations. Thatcher knew the Abwehr was active in Britain, but this was a revelation any way you looked at it.
What were the chances that Hewitt knew about Adamson? That was the most pressing question that Thatcher had right at that moment. Hewitt hadn’t mentioned the man during Thatcher’s briefing, but perhaps he’d merely wanted to keep Thatcher fixated on the right stuff. There may not have been time enough to go into all of the details. Still, if he had suspected Adamson of being a German spy, one would think that the SOE man would have at least given Thatcher a heads-up about it.
Thatcher frowned. Then again, perhaps not.
Chapter 21
The guard brought Thatcher a meal of schnitzel, roasted potatoes and carrots. Thatcher ignored the carrots but ate the rest of the meal and found it of decent quality for a war ship. He would have much preferred being back aboard the Archimedes and settling in for a three course meal complete with wine, but at least he wasn’t dead. As he polished off the remnants of the food, he he decided to adopt that as his motto from here on out: at least he wasn’t dead.
One could do a lot with that, he mused. It was a pretty decent thing, after all. No matter how bad things got or how much of a failure one might have thought they were, at least they weren’t dead. He wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin that had come with his tray, took a drink from the glass of water, and then leaned back at the small desk where he’d set himself up to eat, feeling relatively content.
He had to figure out how he was going to sabotage this vessel. Especially when he was confined to quarters for the moment and had an armed guard outside of his cabin. There would be no way he’d ever have the freedom to roam the ship and find out its weak points.
He also needed to know how soon the Loki was planning to offload the other prisoners it had taken from the Archimedes. Thatcher certainly would not move to blow the ship up while there were still lots of innocents aboard. The sabotage would have to come later.
In a way, he figured it was a good thing. If he did get any measure of freedom, then he would use the time to build up his trust with Schwarzwalder, hoping the Captain didn’t figure him for much of a threat. Get in his good graces and then see if an opportunity arose that Thatcher could exploit to his own ends.
He wondered if Hewitt was back in London tracking the progress of Raider X. He figured probably not, although by now he would know that the Archimedes was sunk. Thatcher sighed. All of this would have been so much easier if they could have simply had a few destroyers lay in wait and shell Raider X as she came out of port. Either that or a few bombing sorties could have finished her off as well.
But no, Hewitt had to insist that his sacrificial lamb could do the job with less risk. Lucky him.
There was a knock on the door and Thatcher looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened and his guard stood there. “Herr Thatcher, Mein Kapitan asks you to come with me.”
Thatcher stood and wiped his mouth once more. “Shall I leave this here?”
“Ja.”
Thatcher nodded and followed the guard bac
k out into the passageway. They retraced their steps but instead of heading for the bridge, the guard diverted and went up another flight of stairs that led to a new corridor Thatcher had never seen. He did his best to memorize every step he took. The day was waning quickly and it would be dark soon, he figured. Already there were lights on in parts of the ship. Thatcher wondered if dinner had been served to the crew yet. Or if any of the passengers from the Archimedes had been fed.
Outside of a door, the guard knocked once and then stepped back. Thatcher heard the call to enter and the guard opened the door and then stepped back and away allowing Thatcher to proceed.
Schwarzwalder’s cabin reflected the man’s discipline. It was sparse and without much in the way of decor, but somehow, it seemed to fit. There were no pictures of family, although the shelf running over the bed was filled with books on an array of topics.
Schwarzwalder stood and shook Thatcher’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Thatcher smiled. “I am a guest on your ship. One does not refuse an invitation.”
The Captain smiled. “Indeed. In any event, please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
Thatcher looked around and saw a small chair so he sat in that. Schwarzwalder meanwhile brought out a small bottle and two small glasses. “Schnapps?”
Thatcher nodded. “A drink would be welcome.”
Schwarzwalder poured them each a measure and placed it in front of Thatcher before putting the bottle away. He hoisted his glass. “Prost.”
“Prost,” said Thatcher. He drank the schnapps and found it was peppermint, which happened to be his favorite. He felt the pleasant burn of the liquor as it sank down his throat. Then he put the glass back down and smiled. “Excellent.”
“I get it from a small distillery,” said Schwarzwalder. “They make only several hundred bottles each year. But I would not put to sea without a store of it in my possession. It makes the cold nights pass much easier, especially when one is away from friends and family.”
