Alone in the hall, Thatcher paused. At first he had thought Klein, if that's who he really was, was going to be the defiant, silent type. But a bloody gamesman. Unusual, but good. They had agendas, deals to make. In a matter of days this one would be offering everything for a price. And then the words came to Thatcher's mind. Manhattan Project.
He wondered what the devil it meant.
Chapter 6
The day's run had been without incident. U-801 ran quietly at ninety feet, her black hull easing closer to the coast of Long Island. Braun had divided his time between the navigation table, monitoring a plot of the boat's course, and below in his quarters preparing his gear. He was eager to get the drop over with before anything changed, any message or scrap of information that could take away the legitimacy of the ship's standing orders. If Germany surrendered, the Kriegsmarine would recall the fleet. And Braun would lose control of his destiny.
Shortly after dark, U-801 began her final approach. She rose to periscope depth where the captain confirmed that conditions were adequate. Scanning the surface, he addressed Braun, "The seas are light, Wehrmacht, but a low moon in the east will give some illumination."
He moved to the chart table to join Braun, who was dressed for his mission — khaki pants, heavy shirt, wool sweater, and workman's boots. The ensemble was worn, but clean and serviceable, the labels all authentically American.
"We will soon be in place," the captain said, pointing to a drop zone circled on the chart, just off the eastern end of Long Island. "You are ready?"
"Yes. How long will it take for your men to deploy the raft?"
"We will be on the surface no more than three minutes."
Not much of an answer, Braun thought, but it conveyed the idea. He would climb up the sail, then back down onto deck while a raft and oars were stuffed up through the forward hatch. With any luck the thing would land upright in the water. From there, Braun was on his own. U-801 would seal her hatches and submerge, leaving him to negotiate the final, most dangerous miles.
With the drop imminent, the control room of U-801 took on a surreal air. Red lights basked gauges, instruments, and faces in a bloody hue. The crew fell silent, and the scents of the submarine seemed to magnify. Oil from machinery, brine from the bilge, and the sweat of fifty sailors. All mixed regularly in the damp, stale atmosphere, but now it was traced with something else, something Braun recognized from the rat holes of Stalingrad — fear. The tang of the unexpected.
The crew stood at their stations, grasping wheels and levers, but all eyes were locked on the captain. On his command, U-801 started to rise. Just short of the surface, the boat leveled and the skipper turned once more to the periscope, scouting for any last sign of trouble. Apparently satisfied, he gave the final order.
"Bring her up!"
Compressed air hissed into the ballast tanks, voiding water and providing enough buoyancy to bring 900 tons of warship back to the crew's natural surroundings.
"Captain!" The shout came from the aft passageway. An ordinary seaman from the radio room stood waving a paper.
"Not now!" the captain ordered.
"Captain, please!"
The crewmen stared down the sailor, but the skipper eyed the man with interest. Braun knew what he was thinking. No one would interrupt at such a moment without good reason. The captain nodded and the sailor scurried to hand over the message. The boat's deck pitched forward slightly, and a gentle rocking motion told everyone that U-801 had surfaced.
Braun watched intently as the captain's face cracked into a weak smile. He looked up, his eyes darting between crewmen before making the announcement. "Gentlemen, our war has ended."
There was no cheer, no refrain of joy as would certainly have been the case on an American or British boat, but the relief was palpable. Some bowed their heads, perhaps in thanks to whatever god had delivered them this far, while others grinned at their buddies, open hope that a better life might soon lay ahead.
"Germany has conceded unconditionally," the captain continued, "and we are to return immediately to Kiel — to surrender our boat." Unease stirred as the crew swallowed the bitter order. The captain said, "I think, perhaps, it would be appropriate to take a moment to remember our fallen brothers-in-arms."
He dropped his chin to his chest, and the crew followed suit. Braun went along with the motion. After a very short minute, the skipper ended the exercise. "And may God have mercy on their immortal souls."
"Captain," the helmsman broke in, "shall we rig to dive?"
The captain looked disdainfully at Braun. "Ah, I almost forgot. My friend, any previous orders are now certainly overridden by this bittersweet news. Do you not agree?"
Braun met the skipper s gaze coolly. "I do not. We have come this far. I must still undertake my mission."
The captain seemed amused. He strolled toward Braun, who held his ground, and the two exchanged a hard stare. The tenuous authority of Braun's orders, his only control, was now lost.
"Captain," the executive officer insisted, "we are exposed! Request permission to dive."
"Yes! Yes! The war is over, but there might be a destroyer captain about who has not gotten the news." He smirked and gestured to the ladder. "Still, we must not take lightly the sacrifices of our other services. Standby to man the deck!" he ordered. "U-801 will complete her last mission. Prepare the raft at the forward deck hatch." The captain turned to Braun. "The coastline is three miles off," he grinned and pointed to starboard, "that way."
The pressure door above opened and residual seawater splashed down the ladder. Braun moved for his gear, but the captain stepped in the way.
"No, my friend. We have brought you here at great risk. Your things will stay with us — a reward, of sorts, for our efforts."
The two men glared at one another. A half dozen crew members took their skipper's lead and eyed Braun menacingly. The duffel, wrapped in oilskin, contained everything he needed — documents and uniforms to run his cover as a soldier, a Lugar 9mm, and 10,000 U. S. dollars. For a brief moment he wondered how they knew. But then Braun understood. He should have anticipated it. At the beginning of the voyage, when he had tried to hide the money in the nooks and crannies of his stateroom, he'd found three bottles of liquor and an indecent book. Nothing could be hidden here without the crew's knowledge. It was their territory, every inch, and they would have been intensely curious about anything Braun had brought aboard. It was the money they wanted, a rare chance at spoils for the vanquished.
"All right, keep the money. But I must have the rest." Braun reached for his bundle, but the captain kicked it away. He knew about the gun as well.
"Go now, Wehrmacht! Before I lose my benevolence!"
A stocky sailor, built like a squat stone pillar, brandished a heavy wrench. Braun considered his options. He could easily take the captain, and perhaps a few others, but the odds were extreme. There was no way to get his gear topside without unacceptable risk. Even then it would be pointless without the raft, to be delivered on deck through a separate, forward hatch. Braun put a hand to the ladder. His pale blue eyes focused on the captain, yet fell obscure, a fog covering what lay behind.
"Until we meet again, Captain." With that, he climbed to the sail.
Above, the salt air hit with its customary raggedness, an altogether different realm from the smooth darkness of twenty fathoms. Braun searched across the black sea. He could just make out lights along the coast. It looked farther than three miles, but judging at night was difficult. Forward, the deck of U-801 stretched out before him. He could just see the outline of the forward cargo hatch. It would open at any moment to disgorge his salvation, the raft and oars that would carry him the last miles to America.