“That farm boy, Jerzy, where’s he gone off to?”
“Oh, the one with pimples. Heard him complaining about nausea. Made a mess all over the floor. I saw him head forward.”
“Looked like shit,” commented Bott, nodding.
“And I saw him fuck’n with the diesels,” Bergen added. “I warned him to check with you. But he said he knew what he was doing.”
Chief K’s face paled. “Oh shit,” he said, shifting his pipe to the other side of his mouth, the loose folds on his face tightening. “Show me where he was fiddling.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stefan lowered the binoculars, tried to blink his eyes back into focus. He’d forgotten the last time he had had any real sleep. Three days ago? Years earlier, when he was fishing with Westling, it was not uncommon to go three, four, sometimes five days with only a snatch of sleep. But Stefan was no longer a young man, and he could tell he was approaching his limits. Push too much longer, and he would begin to make serious mistakes. Not good, especially given the condition of the captain.
The captain.
That was a problem above all others. One that could no longer be ignored. Stefan fingered the object in the pocket of his coat. He still wasn’t sure what to do about it, though it did answer many questions. Józef Sieinski, captain of Eagle, graduate of the best schools in Poland, France and England; handsome; rich, and intelligent, was addicted to opiates.
Stefan had grabbed the coat from the stack of clothes on his bunk. It would be warm. That was all that mattered. His closet-sized quarters had been vacant, Kate off interviewing crew no doubt. He shrugged into the coat as he headed for the control room, annoyed at its tightness across his well-muscled shoulders, but too preoccupied with surfacing to worry much about it. He had been first up the aluminum ladder, popping the hatch and then ducking his head like a turtle in a shell as he was inundated with seawater. He was moving even before the deluge was over, scrambling up onto the bridge deck still streaming with water, and peering over the edge of the conning tower as the prow of the Eagle creamed the surface, and then scanning the horizon even though the hydrophone operator had not detected any nearby vessels. He was immediately followed by two lookouts, Squeaky, and then the gun crews. It had all taken just seconds. A good crew, Stefan thought with satisfaction.
There was a brief pause as they switched from electric to diesel power. The engines cleared their throats, spraying seawater from the exhausts like spray from a whale’s blowhole, and then roared to life. Stefan ordered flank speed, specified the course, and then began to relax as the Eagle’s bow knifed through the choppy seas toward Tallinn.
Squeaky had been the one to notice it. “Nice coat,” he had remarked. “But might piss off the captain if he saw you wearing it.”
Stefan glanced down at the sleeves, realizing now they ended inches from his wrists. He’d grabbed the wrong coat. Simple as that. Easy enough to know how the mix-up had happened. One of the crew had taken the captain’s coat and left it in Stefan’s compartment along with a stack of his clothes, mistakenly assuming it was his. Stefan pulled up the collar. It was a nice coat. The captain had been right. More importantly, it was warm. And Stefan wasn’t about to send someone off to find a replacement right at that moment. This would do for now. Besides, the captain wouldn’t need it. He had left strict orders to not be bothered until they reach Tallinn. “Yes, it is a nice coat,” Stefan had agreed, in no mood to talk.
Squeaky knew when to leave well enough alone.
Only later, when Stefan thrust his hands into the pockets and discovered what they contained, did he realize how wrong he was about the captain. He pulled out the ornate snuff box and pried open the cover. Instead of snuff it contained a white powder. He already knew enough, but he dabbed the powder with his pinky finger and then tasted it just to be sure. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered under his breath.. Of course it made sense. The smell of opium in Sieinski’s suite. The sweats and shakes since leaving port. Obvious, now that it was more than the aftereffects of cracked skull or the flu to blame for all that.
“What the hell?” Squeaky hissed.
“Quiet,” Stefan whispered, thrusting the container back into the pocket.
“Was that?…”
Stefan whirled on Squeaky. “Tell no one about this,” he whispered into his ear. “No one, understand?”
Squeaky nodded. He was silent for minutes afterward. And then, out of the darkness, Stefan heard him whisper. “But Stef, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Stefan replied after a long pause.
That was the question that tormented him throughout the remainder of the night. What was he going to do about it? When it was time for the new watch, Stefan had remained, barely noticing when Squeaky threw the slicker around his shoulders and patted him on the back before departing below decks.
He still didn’t know what he was going to do.
Stefan brought he binoculars back to his burning eyes. Nearly dawn. The rugged Estonian coastline off to his right was beginning to emerge from the darkness, growing more distinct with each passing moment.
Throughout the night, the sea had remained quiet, as the Eagle raced toward Tallinn, away from danger, away from where she could do the most good. They had avoided a couple of ships along the way, the faint lights of each spotted early enough to give them wide berth, too far away even to identify their types. Stefan hated to pass them by, but he had his orders. The Eagle did not pause. And now, up ahead, was the entrance to the Bay of Riga. It wouldn’t be much longer before they were docked in Tallinn.
Under normal circumstances, there wouldn’t have been any question about procedures. Stefan would have put on his dress uniform, combed his beard, and then marched to fleet headquarters and made his accusations directly to the admiral in charge. Both Sieinski and Stefan would have been relieved of their responsibilities, a court of inquiry would have been convened. Stefan had no doubt of the outcome. Sieinski would have quietly retired, his pedigree no match for the risk his peculiar appetite posed to one of Poland’s most prestigious naval weapons.
But this was different.
They were about to enter port of country that was neutral at best. Stefan dared not risk a radio transmission for instructions. And that, of course, assumed that Polish naval Headquarters was still standing, and not rubble destroyed by German dive bombers. The Polish embassy in Tallinn wouldn’t be any help. What did career diplomats know of such things? By chance, there might be a naval attaché or some other military advisor stationed there, but Stefan doubted he would be of high enough rank to provide any help.
That left him to decide.
Of course, Stefan wanted command of the Eagle more than anything. There was no denying that both desire and frustration had been his closest companions since learning of Sieinski’s appointment. And here was the perfect chance to satisfy both of them.
But that was the problem. He would inherit the job by circumstance, not merit. And for how long? If Poland survived, would someone else, someone with the right family connections, be put in Stefan’s place? Would Sieinski’s failure, in the strange ways of leadership, also taint Stefan?
These were questions that for the moment had no answer. Though Stefan knew the answer to the latter two was probably, yes.
And yet, though torn by the actions that awaited him, part of him could not help but rejoice. Here was the means by which he would become captain of the Eagle for however long that fate and the Polish Naval Command allowed him. It would be better to earn command, but he knew that under normal circumstances that would forever be denied him.