Two men appeared seemingly from nowhere on the rough ground about thirty meters in from the back of the inlet. Ahmed took out a small pair of binoculars from his belt, stared for a moment, and then put them away again. “I think that’s an entrance into the pen,” he said. “But it’s going to be tricky for three of us to take it by storm. The same problem applies: that once they know we’re outside, they can make it virtually impregnable.”
Jack looked at the inlet. “How much air did you have left in your tank?”
“Not yet sucking, but can’t be more than a few minutes’ worth.”
“I have an idea. We think the U-boat got into that pen, right? There must be a channel underwater large enough to take it. If I can swim through there, I might be able to achieve an element of surprise.”
Ahmed thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s do it.” He scrambled back and returned a minute later with his diving rig and Jack’s mask and fins. “I’ve got two fragmentation grenades left. You can have one, we’ll have the other. As soon as we hear yours go off, we’ll toss ours down that entranceway.”
Jack quickly put on the gear, checked his Beretta and made his way down the rocky slope toward the inlet. A man with a Kalashnikov suddenly appeared a few yards in front of him; he had barely had time to register his surprise when three jets of blood spurted out of his back and he fell. Jack glanced over his shoulder and saw Ahmed’s Glock with its silencer poking out from behind a rock, a wisp of smoke curling up from the muzzle.
When he reached the water’s edge, he slipped in, then pulled on his mask and fins and dropped down, putting his regulator in his mouth and swimming quickly in the direction of the inlet. As he had suspected, the inlet was deep, eighteen meters according to his dive watch, and wide enough for a U-boat to make its way in. He swam toward the dark patch that he knew must mark the entrance into the pen, swiftly finning under the rocky overhang and hoping that none of the men had spotted his bubbles. Ahead lay blackness, and no certainty that he would be able to get through; he doubted he had enough air to make it in and out again if the way was blocked. But he had no choice now, and he kept going, running his hand against one rock-cut wall for guidance in the dark.
His breathing began to tighten as the tank emptied, but he tried to keep cool, to keep his swimming measured. A few seconds more and he saw a smudge of green light, and then it became clearer, the shapes around him more defined. He realized that the huge bulk that had appeared to his right was the stern end of a submarine, its rudder and screw now clearly visible. He had no time to be astonished at the sight; his air was almost gone. He saw an iridescent patch above him and rose into it, taking out his mouthpiece as he broke surface and trying to keep as quiet as possible.
He was on the edge of a rock-cut platform forming one side of a dock that had been designed to take two submarines. There was artificial light from bulbs strung up on the far side of the chamber, and he could hear the hum of a portable generator. Glancing at the submarine, he could now clearly see that it was a U-boat, rusted but intact, with its forward gun still in place. On the conning tower he could see its designation painted in black letters: U-409. Ahmed had been right. The U-boat had been sitting there for over seventy years, since the end of the war, with a cargo inside that could be as lethal to the world today as it might have been back then, had it reached its intended destination.
He crawled up onto the dock, slipped off his fins and mask, and began to unstrap his rig. Suddenly there was a shout from the platform ahead, and he froze. The crack of a rifle reverberated in the chamber, and a bullet slammed into the rock just behind him. He quickly pulled out his Beretta, found his target, and fired five rounds, dropping the man. Then he got to his feet and ran forward behind a concrete revetment. He could see where four more men had been coming down the rock-cut stairway that must mark the entrance, about fifteen meters away; they were now all crouched down. He pulled out the grenade, pulled the pin and threw it in their direction, falling prone with his hands pressed hard against his ears.
He felt the detonation more than he heard it, a shock wave that coursed through his body. He remained where he was, hoping and praying for the second grenade from Ahmed, and seconds later it detonated, sending a shower of rock fragments in his direction from the entranceway. He got up again just as Ahmed and Costas appeared at the top of the stairs, advancing down in a flurry of gunfire as they finished off any of the pirates who were still alive.
While Ahmed replaced the magazine in his Glock and began to skirt round the dock, Costas walked cautiously along a gantry toward the deck of the U-boat. Jack ran toward him, passing a slew of carnage where the grenades had exploded, and joined him beside the conning tower. Costas beckoned him forward. “The Boss wasn’t among them,” he whispered. “Nor was Landor. The Boss had a lot of interest in what he thought might be inside the U-boat, so I think he’ll be in there.”
Jack nodded, then followed Costas up the ladder and into the conning tower, holstering his pistol as he made his way down the rungs. At the bottom, Costas brought his finger to his lips and put on a headlamp that Ahmed had given him, and together they crept round the control room, heading toward the forward torpedo tubes. Costas took out something else that Ahmed had brought, a small Geiger counter, and activated it, sweeping it over the deck. As they approached the tubes, the pinging became more frequent. One of the tubes was open, and they could see that it was stacked full of lead cubes labeled U-235. Jack felt his stomach go cold. “How safe is it?” he whispered.
“A bit heightened, but nothing for us to worry about as long as we don’t linger. Someone has recently opened that tube up, as you can see. My guess is we’ve got company forward.”
They turned and headed back toward the conning tower. Further forward, Jack saw a smudge of light and heard noises. They crept past the periscope and the wardroom, watching intently. Suddenly a shot rang out, then another. Jack ducked into the captain’s cabin. To his horror, he saw a skeleton slumped over the table, the mildewed remains of a Kriegsmarine uniform shrouding it and a Luger pistol in one hand. What had happened here was anyone’s guess, but the captain had not died peacefully; a large section of his skull was missing. Another shot rang out, and Jack followed Costas further down the corridor. Costas caught Jack’s attention and pointed at his Beretta. “It’s jammed,” he whispered. “And it’s the Boss ahead, I can smell him. He seems to be out of his head and talking to himself, but he’s still got his Kalashnikov. I need a weapon.”
Jack remembered the Luger he had seen in the captain’s cabin. It had looked in reasonable condition, and there was a chance it might still be functional. He peered along the passageway, and then slowly got up and made his way back, stepping through the cabin doorway. He went over to the skeleton and prised the finger bones from the pistol, peeling the mummified skin off the grip. He had no thought of repugnance for what he was doing, only of survival. He quickly inspected the Luger. It had been well oiled and had a layer of discoloration on the metal parts, but there was no obvious rust. He pressed the catch on the grip and pulled out the magazine, seeing that it still held rounds. He had no time to eject them and check the number, but the two he could see at the top, along with the one in the chamber, would at least give him a fighting chance. He pulled the toggle; at first there was resistance, but then it opened entirely and he ejected the round that had been in the chamber. He worked the toggle several times to loosen the action, pressed the round into the magazine, pushed the magazine back in and cocked the pistol with the toggle, letting it snap forward.