Entwhistle shook his head slowly. “What happened to it? To the people who worked on it? How come nobody ever spilled the beans?”
“It says here the project was so classified, all but the top scientists were routinely executed and replaced on a rigid schedule. The Bell itself was transplanted out of Silesia to a destination that has never been discovered. It is believed Dr. Bernhard Jaeger was a project director on the Bell, along with General Hans Friedrich Karl Franz Kammler, but they, along with their device, simply vanished, never to be seen again.”
“Sounds like mythology to me,” said Entwhistle, but his tone of respect belied his supposed skepticism.
“Well, somebody believes it. The most prevalent theory based on incomplete evidentiary shreds suggests that both the Bell and Jaeger were transported by U-boat to a base outside of the Reich.”
“Station One Eleven, of course.”
“It is a possibility.”
“I need to have a look at all that claptrap.”
Sinclair grinned, handed him the folder. “It’s all in there. After you’re through, just be sure to put it through the heat-shredder.”
“I wouldn’t dare forget,” said Entwhistle. He paused, as if ordering his thoughts, then: “So what do you think? If the Guild is interested in that base, do you think we’ll be having any competition from the rest of the world?”
Sinclair shook his head slowly. “Hard to figure that. You never know how efficient any clusterfuck bureaucracy is going to function.”
His Second smiled. “On target, there, mate.”
“If any of them took notice of the U-5001 news, it may take some time to work its way to the right desk. Or… it may never happen.”
“But we work from the assumption everyone is as sharp as we are.”
“Only way we stay in business.” Sinclair smiled. “But you can bet the farm if there’s anything of use to the Guild, they will want it and they will get it.”
Entwhistle nodded, picked up the datafile, began reading through it. Sinclair tapped his fingers silently on the console, wondering what kind of action they would be taking, and upon whom.
Twenty minutes later, Sinclair received an updated briefing. And as he was fond of saying… it wasn’t pretty.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Morning.
Coffee. Dream fragments still bubbling up to the surface of his thoughts. Dex was certain his deep sleep had been filled with images and ideas from Bruckner’s journal, but there was no remembering much of it.
Didn’t matter, though. He knew he had to concentrate on the business of the day. This was it. Last dive. Dex could just feel it.
After stowing all his gear, including the slab of inter-matter, in the F-150, he headed out down to the docks. As he drove the familiar streets just as the sun was coming up, he kept going over what he’d learned about the mystery U-boat, and what it could all mean.
The Nazis had used the five-thousand level numbering sequence — most likely to indicate a new model, a new class — and it had never made it into their registries probably because the war ended so soon after it had been launched.
So what was it?
Dex had a pretty good idea and that was why today’s dive had him more than a little freaked. So much so he hadn’t shared his thoughts with anybody yet.
The Germans classified their boats by “type” as well as number. They obviously scrambled to get out a special boat that was probably a new type as well. Dex knew they’d gotten a few jet fighters off the ground — until we B-17’d their jet fuel refineries. They even had mini-ICBMs — the V2 rockets. They might have been planning some kind of really nasty sub, maybe like a boomer.
Dex had seen film of V-1 rockets being launched off the decks of the Type XXIs. Their engineers were years ahead of us. If we hadn’t pounded their factories when we did, they could have made things a lot worse on us, that’s for damned sure.
When he reached the Sea Dog, he was glad to see Don Jordan already on deck waiting for him. Andy Mellow and Kevin Cheever were there too.
“Hey,” said Dex. “Still waiting on Doc and Tommy?”
Don nodded, then pointed up at the sky. “Looks like we might get some rain. Some chop too. How long you figure you guys’ll be down there?”
“Just two of us to start — me and Tommy on the first dive. I want to check a few things and maybe cop an ID tag in the torpedo room. We’ll know almost right away whether or not we can get to it.”
“That it? Nothing else?”
Dex sat down on the bench by the suit lockers, shrugged. “Well, I think I’d like to get a look inside that hangar deck.”
“Okay, but we gotta keep an eye on the weather,” Don said.
“Gotcha.” Dex peeled off his jacket and sweatshirt, feeling the cold, early morning air brace him. When he was halfway into his drysuit, he saw Tommy pull into the parking lot. He jumped out of his vehicle with a duffel in one hand.
“All we need is Doc and we’ll be ready to go.”
Andy moved next to Dex, sat down. “How long before the Coast Guard does us in?”
Dex shrugged. “Hard to tell how much publicity Mike’s wife wants on the whole thing, plus you never know when you’re dealing with bureaucracy and the media. We could be national news… or not even show up on the radar.”
“Crazy,” said Kevin. “But sadly true.”
“So look, let’s get out there and see what we find, okay?” Dex checked his regulator. “If the story breaks, like I said before, we most likely won’t have a chance to get down there like this ever again. I don’t want to be anywhere near this thing when all the treasure-hunters start showing up.”
“It could be that bad, huh?” Andy said.
Dex nodded. “Trust me.”
The sound of a horn blowing in the parking lot caught their attention as Larry Schissel pulled to a halt with a screech of tires on gravel.
“Gang’s all here,” said Don.
They all continued to get ready to depart as Doc jogged up the dock and gangwayed aboard. “Sorry I’m late, guys.”
“No big deal,” said Dex. “Take your time getting suited up. You can go down on the last rotation.”
Doc grinned. “Fine with me.”
Don Jordan headed for the bridge. “I’ll flip on the base unit and get us outta here ASAP.”
Dex nodded, waited few ticks till Don clicked on the bridge’s Divelink.
“Okay, sound check,” said Don. “You copy?”
“I got ya, captain. Ready to shove off?”
“Any time you are. Loose those ties.”
Dex heard the big Detroit engines kick in as he unmoored the Dog. The boat eased out away from its slip, moved into the harbor and headed for the Bay. Row after row of silent vessels flanked their departure like a deployment of sentries lining the path from their fortress. Dex moved back to the bench, next to Tommy. His many years of Navy training started to kick in and he went with it.
Feeling his anxiety warp his thoughts, he knew there was no place for that kind of crap underwater. No matter how pressured he might feel, he had to slip into a state of calm resolution. Don’t let anything cloud his judgment, his ability to survive in or around that wreck.