by Jon F. Merz
Thatcher tasted the peppermint and smiled. “I could see how it would. It tastes like Christmas.”
“Indeed,” said Schwarzwalder. He clapped his hands. “In any event, I did not ask you here to debate the merits of my schnapps.”
“All right.”
“I spoke with Cyra shortly after I spoke with you this afternoon.” Schwarzwalder sighed. “I must admit that my conversation with her was not nearly as enjoyable as yours. She was reluctant to speak with me and did not give up much in the way of information.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Thatcher. “I don’t know why she would be so recalcitrant.”
“Nor I,” said Schwarzwalder. “I was quite accommodating to her, but I must admit that her unwillingness to speak with me has me wondering if she is indeed the murderer. And if so, then I must take steps to transfer her to the proper authorities.”
Thatcher frowned. “The SS.”
Schwarzwalder sighed. “I have no wish to do so, but the murder of a German Abwehr agent demands that the culprit be found and turned over for prosecution, as you can well imagine.”
Thatcher smirked. “No offense, Captain Schwarzwalder, but we both know the SS will not prosecute Cyra if she is indeed the killer. They will torture her first and then shoot her.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Schwarzwalder. “And I have no desire to see any Gestapo aboard my vessel, but this puts me in a very delicate situation. As captain, I am required to report anything untoward to the High Command. My executive officer is equally required to do so, that is how we are a checks-and-balance system. And I know that my XO will report all of the things we found aboard the Archimedes. Including the deceased body of Adamson. Once word gets back that he was Abwehr, they will demand an investigation. And I will be forced to put my thoughts in writing and transmit them. They will find about you and they will find out about Miss Dumiere. At that point, I will be most likely advised to put into port and await a team from the Gestapo who will assume command of the investigation. Any authority I have will be superseded at that point rendering me rather impotent, I’m afraid. Therefore it is in my best interests to solve this crime myself and wrap it up with a…Christmas bow, shall we say?”
“All right,” said Thatcher.
“All of which would be immensely easier for me to accomplish, if I could simply get your companion to speak with me. But she shows no signs of wanting to cooperate and I worry that the longer this goes on for, the less room to maneuver I will have. Do you understand?”
Thatcher nodded. “I do. But I still am not quite sure what you want me to do.”
“I want you to talk to Cyra. I want you to find out what she knows and report back to me. Let me know if you think that she may, in fact, be the one who killed Adamson.”
“And if she is?”
Schwarzwalder sighed but set a steady gaze on Thatcher. “Well, you tell me: would you rather cover up for her and risk the wrath of the Gestapo? Or would you see a criminal be held to account for their crimes?”
“You’re asking a hard question,” said Thatcher. “And it’s one that I’m not really confidently able to answer at the moment.”
“We are in war,” said Schwarzwalder. “I’m afraid that there are almost never any easy questions. We either figure out a way to get Cyra to talk and give up any information that she may have. Or else I will be forced to turn her over to the Gestapo at the next port we can put in at.”
“That would be unfortunate,” said Thatcher.
Schwarzwalder nodded. “Indeed it would. Because knowing the Gestapo as I do, they would also take you.”
Chapter 22
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Schwarzwalder called out for the guard to enter and he did. He leaned over and whispered something in the Captain’s ear. Schwarzwalder grunted and dismissed the guard. Then the Captain looked back at Thatcher.
“The ship that will take the rest of the passengers is off our port side. It’s time to begin the transfer procedure so we can be free to get on with our mission.”
“How long will it take to transfer them?”
Schwarzwalder shrugged. “An hour, no more. There are not that many left from the Archimedes, so barring any unforeseen circumstances, it should move along rather quickly. I am in a hurry to resume our course south toward the Cape of Good Hope anyway. With the Führer demanding a certain amount of tonnage sunk, we are well underway now that the Archimedes has been sunk, but that does not mean we can afford to relax.”
“A question,” said Thatcher.
“Yes?”
“Why, if Adamson was a spy for the Abwehr, would you go about raiding his vessel? And if so, why would you then scuttle it?”
Schwarzwalder smiled. “We had hoped to help Adamson further secure his status by attacking his ship. Our orders were to attack the Archimedes and establish contact with Adamson. After doing so, I would have a conversation with him and then later transfer them all back to a neutral country. Adamson would return home eventually but with his status immune from suspicion.”
“Berlin thought that would help him?”
Schwarzwalder shrugged. “The thing about spies is they are always under suspicion. I was told that Adamson was no different and that despite his best efforts, he felt as though there had been added scrutiny upon him lately.”
Thatcher frowned. “If that is true then it opens up a larger list of potential killers, does it not?”
“I don’t know,” said Schwarzwalder. “Frankly, I see but one possibility. And that is the woman I want you to have a conversation with.” He stood and walked to the door. “When you are ready to do so, ask the guard to accompany you to her cabin. I’ll give you the next few hours, but beyond that, I must report in with Berlin about the Archimedes. I would delay if possible, but such things are not tolerated. I’m sure you understand.”
Thatcher stood. “Very well.”
“I will see to the other passengers. Good luck.” He knocked on the door and it opened again. The guard stood waiting for Thatcher to exit and then guided him back to his cabin before locking him back inside.
Thatcher walked back and forth across his cabin, stopping to look out of the porthole. The light from the Loki illuminated the sea around them and Thatcher could see the approaching ship jockeying for position alongside. Thatcher turned away from the porthole. His main concern now was trying to convey to Cyra the necessity of answering his questions honestly.
Was she even the killer? If she’d been sent by London to kill Adamson for being a Nazi spy, then why the hell hadn’t Hewitt told him about it? Was he the backup in case Cyra failed? Did they expect that Adamson would have been taken captive? Would he have been aboard Raider X when Thatcher sabotaged it? If so, what guarantee would they have that Adamson would or would not be killed?
None.
It didn’t make sense, thought Thatcher. None at all. Thatcher intended to scuttle Raider X as soon as possible but not without having some means of making sure he didn’t go down with the damned ship. But if he was supposed to scuttle it with Adamson aboard, he would have had no way of knowing that he was saving a spy.
Thatcher shook his head. No, there was too much in this that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. And he hoped that Cyra could at least shed some light on a few things. Perhaps the most important was whether she killed Adamson or not. If she had, then Thatcher could at least work from there. If he could figure out her motivation then that would help.At least he hoped so.
His head hurt from the niggling questions that the conversation with Schwarzwalder had produced. He found it intriguing that the German High Command had actually sent him on a mission to rendezvous with the Archimedes solely for the purposes of helping Adamson look better in the eyes of anyone in Britain who might suspect him of espionage. That seemed like a bit of a stretch to Thatcher. He could understand wanting to help reinforce a cover story, but at the cost of sinking the man’s ship? Thatcher wasn’t so sure he bought that excuse.
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He wondered instead if the Archimedes had been carrying something else. Perhaps something that the Germans knew about and wanted sent to the bottom of the ocean instead of reaching its destination.
Or maybe Schwarzwalder had needed to convey some sort of top secret message to Adamson, hence the need for a rendezvous that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Once they had taken the Archimedes, it was reasonable that Schwarzwalder would want to speak with the rival captain. Doing so wouldn’t have elicited any suspicion on the part of the other crew members of the Archimedes. Schwarzwalder could communicate the message and then Adamson and crew would have been dropped off at a neutral port or ship free to continue his mission. Whatever that was.
That at least seemed more likely to Thatcher than Schwarzwalder’s initial explanation. But even that wasn’t as ironclad as Thatcher’s brain wanted it to be. He still felt like he was missing out on several key components of the story. That lack of which poked at his head until it started to hurt and he found himself wishing he could have more of the schnapps that Schwarzwalder kept.The temptation to consume it all would have been too great for Thatcher to get much accomplished afterward, however. No, he needed his head clear right now because it was the only way he was going to have any hope of figuring this all out.
Adamson was a spy; now he was dead. Schwarzwalder captained a brand new commerce raider and had been ordered to rendezvous with the Archimedes for some unknown reason; and Cyra was the variable in all of this: she was either a hapless bystander or the killer which meant she was either working for the Brits or the Germans.
Thatcher stopped. What if she was a German operative? He hadn’t much considered the possibility before, but why not? She was clearly well-traveled and educated and spoke numerous languages. She would have been a compelling candidate for espionage. Plus, she was beautiful. Thatcher frowned as the thought percolated in his head. If Cyra was an agent of the Germans, then what reason would she have for killing Adamson?
Unless Adamson wasn’t working for the Germans after all.
Had he been turned? Had the Brits gotten to him? Was he working for SIS or SOE now? That would explain why Schwarzwalder had been sent to rendezvous with the Archimedes. Perhaps to take custody of Adamson and bring him back to Berlin for questioning. The Gestapo would probably like nothing better than to get their hands on a traitor like that.
But if that was true then why was Cyra sent to kill him? Had two branches of the German military not communicated with each other? Schwarzwalder, after all, was a regular German sailor. Adamson had been with the Abwehr. Perhaps those in charge of the Abwehr had wanted to take care of the traitor on their own and dispatched an assassin to do the job for them rather than risk Adamson getting wind and fleeing. If he had been working for the British they would have secreted him away if they thought he was in danger.
This way though, the Germans had a fail-safe method for accomplishing the same thing: killing Adamson.
Thatcher’s brow creased as he tried to figure out if that made more sense or not. The world of espionage, such as he been thrown into it, certainly seemed like a lot of weird mirrors that didn’t reflect back the actual truth. It was like being in some funhouse that was really anything but.
There was one way to find out if he was on the right track or not, and that was to talk to Cyra.
He walked over to his cabin door and knocked on it. It opened up immediately and Thatcher looked at the same guard who had been with him all along. “Please take me to Cyra’s cabin.”
“This way,” said the guard.
Chapter 23
Thatcher noted there was a guard outside of Cyra’s door as well.
“Captain’s orders to let this one see the woman,” said Thatcher’s guard in German. Thatcher was relieved that his understanding of the language was making a speedy comeback. It had been years since he’d had the chance to speak it with any degree of regularity. But just being aboard Riader X was giving him ample opportunity to hear it and restart that portion of his brain that stored his previous knowledge.
Cyra’s guard nodded and then asked if Thatcher’s guard had eaten yet. Thatcher’s guard grunted that he’d been standing outside the cabin since earlier in the day.
Cyra’s guard looked Thatcher over and then knocked on Cyra’s cabin before opening the door. As soon as Thatcher stepped inside, the two guards continued conversing outside.
The cabin was dimly-lit and Thatcher stood there for a moment trying to figure out why. “Cyra? It’s Harrison.”
“Harrison? Is that you?”
There was a curtain over the porthole although drawing it back wouldn’t have let in much light since it was already nightfall. But even still, the interior of the cabin made Thatcher want to do so, so he crossed toward it and as he did, he saw Cyra laying in the cabin’s bunk with the blankets drawn up around her face.
He stopped. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not…feeling very well,” said Cyra.
Thatcher sat down on the bunk mattress and peered closer. “Can I turn on a light to look at you? I can barely see a thing in here.”
“Yes. Go ahead.”
Thatcher rose and found the light switch. The cabin instantly became brighter and much cheerier than it had been otherwise. This cabin was much the same as Thatcher’s and he wondered if they housed any of the sailors or not. There was nothing within either his or Cyra’s that spoke to personalization. No family photos, nothing of personality, just two bare bones cabins. Perhaps they were used expressly for the purpose of housing any prisoners that Raider X took in the course of its missions?
He sat back down and looked at Cyra. Her face seemed quite pale and he wondered if she was suffering from some sort of seasickness. But Cyra had already been aboard the Archimedes for days and shown no adverse effects. And it certainly wasn’t like the Loki was experiencing any sort of rough seas at the moment. The journey thus far had been relatively calm, fortunately.
“What seems to be the matter?”
Cyra took a breath and then sighed. “I don’t know. I feel very weak. Standing made me dizzy so I decided to lay down and rest. I guess I must have fallen asleep because I had no idea what time it was until you entered.”
“Any other symptoms? Just the fatigue?”
“The fatigue is the worst.”
“Have you eaten?”
She nodded. “I think they brought me something earlier. I nibbled at it and then had them take it away. It wasn’t very good. Nothing like our meal together on the Archimedes.”
Thatcher grinned. “I don’t know if we’ll be having any of those for a while.” He paused. “Listen to me, Cyra: I need to ask you something.”
“Right now? Can’t it wait?”
Thatcher paused. She clearly wasn’t feeling well and he felt a bit like a heel for pressing the issue on her. That said, Schwarzwalder had made it clear they had a time limit here before he would be forced to radio the situation in.
Cyra grabbed his hand suddenly and Thatcher nearly jumped when he felt how icy cold it was.
“Oh Harrison, I do so wish we’d made it to Lisbon. We would be in the city right now enjoying a sumptuous meal. And you might have even introduced me to some of your gin cocktails.”
Thatcher smiled. “I might have at that.” He grasped her hand. “You’re freezing. Can I get you another blanket?”
“I don’t feel cold,” said Cyra. “I don’t think it’s all that necessary, to be honest. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a little while. I just need to get some good rest. Let me sleep this off and in the morning, I’ll be all right.”
“When we were on board the Archimedes,” Thatcher started to say. But then he stopped.
Cyra looked up at him. “Darling, please let me sleep. I promise I’ll answer all your questions in the morning.”
Thatcher took a breath and let it out slowly. Finally, he nodded. “All right then. But do rest up and get better. We have some rather pressing issues to address once you’re
able to speak about them.”
“I promise,” said Cyra.
Thatcher rose from the bunk and then walked to the door before switching the light off. He glanced back at the bunk but all he saw was the gentle rise and fall of Cyra’s chest as she felt back to sleep.
Thatcher turned back to the door, knocked softly and it opened. He walked out into the corridor and looked at Cyra’s guard. “What did she have for supper?”
“Schnitzel,” said the guard.
Thatcher nodded. The same meal as he had eaten and Thatcher had felt no ill effects from it. If anything, it had actually been quite good. Still, some people had adverse reactions to meals that couldn’t quite be explained. He glanced at his own guard. “Is it too late to see the Captain?”
“Right now?”
Thatcher nodded. “Yes, it’s important.”
Thatcher’s guard sighed and then nodded for Thatcher to follow him. As he started to do so, he glanced at Cyra’s guard. “She’s not feeling well and is sleeping. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to check in on her from time-to-time.”
The guard nodded once and then resumed his position as Thatcher followed his man down the corridor.
They found the Captain still on the bridge and Thatcher waited for Schwarzwalder to give his okay before he stepped onto it. He nodded at Thatcher as he approached. “You’ve seen her?”
“Briefly,” said Thatcher as he looked out across the bow of the ship. It was plowing through the waves at a good speed. No doubt, Schwarzwalder wanted to make for the tip of Africa as quickly as possible to get into the Indian Ocean. “But she’s feeling ill at the moment and my attempts to question her were fruitless.”
Schwarzwalder frowned. “Did her meal not agree with her?”
“Perhaps,” said Thatcher. “But it’s more likely that the boarding earlier did more to upset her than the schnitzel. A good night’s rest ought to see that corrected one would expect. I’ll be sure to ask her questions in the morning. But I thought you should know that I did try to ask her now.”
