“Fill me in.” Sinclair adjusted to changing traffic patterns but listened acutely.
“The pay phone was in a Stop’n’Go petrol station on the corner of Chestnut and Prince Streets.”
“And that is significant why?”
“You’re going to like this.” Entwhistle chuckled. “The pay phone is across the street from an establishment called Manny’s Tap Room.”
Sinclair shook his head. His exec’s habit of stretching out information as if playing a game was sometimes infuriating. “Why should I ‘like’ that? Get to the fucking point.”
“The ‘Manny’ referenced is listed on the original papers of incorporation as Manfred Fassbaden and the other name is Erich Bruckner.”
Sinclair knew he should be connecting the dots by now, but he was tired, pissed off, and having trouble keeping his thoughts focused. He’d just passed a sign announcing the proximity of Lancaster: seven miles. “Just tell me what you’re getting at.”
“Both men were officers in the U-boat service.” Entwhistle’s voice was low and deliberate.
“No such thing as coincidence.” Sinclair, who felt a sudden flash of vindication in heading toward Lancaster. “A good first step, but we need more than that.”
“I’m not finished yet. Fassbaden and Bruckner graduated the unterseeboot academy at Flensburg together. They served on different vessels until April, 1945, when they were both slated for a secret mission. No details beyond that, but it connects them rather well, wouldn’t you say?”
“No such thing as coincidence,” Sinclair repeated. “How can we use it?”
Entwhistle chuckled. “Try this: I have a Richard and Margaret Bruckner living on Foxshire Drive in Lancaster.”
“Any other Bruckners in this town?”
“None.”
“Put that address into the GPS. That’s where we’re going to wrap this thing up.”
Entwhistle began punching in the correct digits. “Do you foresee extreme methods?”
Sinclair eased out a breath. “Probably…”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Hold it…” said Dex. “You left an atomic bomb under the Greenland Shelf? And — you left it hot?”
“That is correct,” said Bruckner. “You see now why I wanted to speak to you?”
Dex grabbed the remains of his bourbon, poured it down his throat, but barely felt it. This whole story was getting way too strange now. “I don’t know how those things work — is it dangerous? After all this time?”
The captain shrugged, shook his head. “I have no idea. I was hoping you would.”
“Me?” Dex shook his head, still trying to wrap his thoughts around this latest piece of the story.
Tommy nudged him softly. “Any way we can find out?”
“We’re going to need to talk to the right people,” said Dex. “This is so out of our league…”
Jason moved to put a hand on his shoulder. “Opa, this is crazy, man. You’re not kidding us, are you?”
Bruckner looked at him with irritation. “I may be old, but I am not a… a nut. Of course it is true.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything? Till now?” His grandson looked embarrassed, panicked.
“It is something you never want to think about. And so I tried to forget. Besides, as long as the secret, along with everything else stayed buried…”
“What did it matter, right?” said Dex, finishing the thought.
“That is correct.” Bruckner closed his log book with a small dramatic flourish as if to emphasize the point, then put the old fragile book in the side pocket of his golf jacket.
“But now, we might have trouble. No way to know if the Navy or anybody else found your little surprise. Not yet anyway.”
“I… do not want anyone to get hurt because of something I did so long ago.”
Dex looked at Bruckner — he looked concerned, distressed, maybe, but a long way from incompetent.
“Man, after all this time, I have no way of knowing if it could still go off,” said Dex. “We need to talk to the right people.”
Jason looked at his grandfather. “Does Dad know any of this?”
Bruckner shook his head. “No. Nobody ever did — except Manny and Freddie Hausser. And they are both in the Great Beyond.”
“Did either of them ever share it with anyone?” Tommy asked the question in a half-whisper.
Bruckner shrugged. “I do not know. But I would think not.”
“Unbelievable,” said Jason. “This is just crazy.”
The old man regarded his grandson. “Why do you think I told you about the number of the U-boat? Because I knew what I had left inside it. My log could lead people to find those ruins, and what I left there. And over the years, I had seen stories, Jason. Like the Titanic. More and more people have been finding wrecks, and—”
“You were very smart to be cautious,” said Dex. Whenever he contacted Parker Whitehurst, he was going to have a hell of a punchline to his story.
“I have many times told my grandson — there had to be a reason God has let me live so long. I believe this is it.”
Augie, who’d been sitting in stunned silence through most of this, now stood and walked over to Bruckner, placed a thin hand on his shoulder. “I understand what you mean. I’ve had thoughts like that myself.”
“What’re we going to tell Dad?” Jason was looking at his grandfather with an expression equal parts admiration and anger.
“Ha!” Bruckner smiled. “Nothing! We tell him nothing for now. My son is not built for this kind of thing. You want to give him a heart attack?”
Dex grinned despite the revelations; he really liked the old captain. He was ready to make a suggestion on how to proceed when his Trac Fone started chirping. The sound so startled him, for an instant, he felt confused and wary… until he realized he’d been expecting this call. The impact of Bruckner’s story had deflected Dex’s anticipation, but he smiled when he saw the 202 area code on the ID screen.
“Would everyone excuse me for a minute,” he said. “I’m going to need to take this.”
“Of course, of course.” Bruckner, gesturing him toward the other room. “Jason, could you go downstairs and get everyone a refill?”
As the grandson complied, Dex moved quickly into the office area, sat behind a desk, and pushed the right button on the disposable phone.
“Hello, Dex McCauley here…”
“Chief, this is Admiral Whitehurst. Before we go any further, I should tell you some newscasts are telling people you’re a dead man.”
“That was, as Twain said, ‘exaggerated’.”
“Maybe.” Whitehurst paused. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”
Dex had been prepared for this. “Ask me something only Dex McCauley would know.”
The Admiral chuckled, then paused. “All right, sailor. Back when you were just getting started at Panama City, I was driving a car I liked a lot back then — what was it?”
“Austin Healy. Bug-eye Sprite. British Racing Green, sir.” Dex said without hesitation, then paused. “I… I don’t remember the year.”
“That’s okay. Very good. Now, one more thing. My secretary had a bad habit of sending your recruits out for ice cream — what flavor?”
“Butter pecan, sir.”
Admiral Whitehurst laughed in relief. “All right, all right. Now, McCauley, whatever you’ve got to tell me better be damned good.”
The two men spoke with a casual familiarity that bespoke twenty years of serving together. Skipping any small talk, Dex answered frankly. “I think you know me well enough, sir. I wouldn’t have contacted you without good reason.”