Stefan shook himself violently, like a bear awakening from a deep sleep, and in that instant he decided—Sieinski had to go—and woe to anyone who got in his way. He tore off his oilskins, and then the captain’s coat. He bundled it into his fist, stared down at it for a moment, and then flung it into the wind.
The two lookouts watched the coat drop into the sea and then disappear beneath the foam. They glanced nervously at Stefan, and then at each other.
“Don’t worry, boys,” Stefan said grinning wildly. He stuck his face over the edge of the conning tower, let the breeze tear at his hair and beard, blow away his fatigue. “Damn thing was made by Germans.”
The lookouts grinned at each other, and then laughed, the sound joining the cry of seagull’s wheeling high above.
The Eagle would be repaired. That was Stefan’s first priority. And when she sailed again, Captain Sieinski would not be on board. Stefan would make certain of that. As for the Eagle and her crew, Stefan would make sure everyone did his duty. That was his job. What happened to Sieinski was someone else’s burden, not his.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What do they want, Pablo?” Stefan asked. His old captain, Westling, had taught him English, Swedish and passable German. Russian would have been another choice, as well, but Westling had a deep, visceral hatred for Lenin and his “communist butchers,” as he called them. Since he couldn’t do anything about them, he refused or ignored all things Russian, from Russian vodka to Russian literature. “I’d rather teach you Frog,” Westling had retorted when Stefan queried him about it. It was the ultimate insult for Westling detested the French above all others.
The fat man swaddled in a heavy overcoat standing legs far apart in the stern of the Estonian motorboat cruising alongside the Eagle raised the megaphone to his mouth and repeated his instructions.
Eryk Pertek listened carefully. “They want to know our business.”
Stefan handed him the megaphone. “Tell them we are in port for repairs, medical treatment for our captain and to drop off foreign civilians.”
Pertek, the only Estonian speaker among the officers besides the captain, bellowed a response. There was a wave from the fat man. He ducked back into the cabin, returned a moment later, and began yelling.
“What is it now?” Stefan asked, impatient to get on with in it now that he had decided what to do.
Eryk gave a puzzled shrug. He waved across to the fat man, who responded with a wave of his own, and then disappeared into the cabin. The bow of the motorboat climbed up into the air as it accelerated away from the Eagle. “They want us to hold here, wait for a pilot to take us into the harbor and for further instructions from the harbor authorities.”
Stefan frowned. Careful enough. Not surprising, given the onset of war. Stefan reached for the speaker tube. “All stop,” he ordered. So, they would wait. It was a pleasant enough morning. There was a light breeze from offshore, bringing with it the smells of pine and burning coal to mix with the aroma of the sea and the ever-present stink of diesel. A little over a nautical mile ahead was the harbor entrance, and the city of Tallinn beyond, climbing the hill, modern brick buildings giving way to imposing medieval stone structures. The sun was a faint orb high above, partially obscured by a thin layer of clouds.
Thirty minutes later, the motorboat appeared again, darting quickly through the harbor entrance, and then accelerating to full speed. At the same time, one of the lookouts spotted another vessel approaching slowly from their stern. Stefan easily picked it out with his Zeiss binoculars. “What have we here?” he muttered to himself. It was an Estonian Navy cruiser. “Careful, aren’t they,” he muttered.
“Why are we stopped?” Sieinski’s head appeared through the hole in the bridge deck. He labored up the last few steps of the ladder, climbed unsteadily to his feet, and then made his way over to the edge of the conning tower. “We should be docked by now.”
“How are you feeling, sir?”
“Better,” Sieinski said. “Yes, much better. Why are we stopped?” Sieinski gripped the edge of the conning tower as much to keep his hands from trembling as to keep his balance. This close to port, to relief, was almost too much to bear. He fought back an impulse to scream out orders to get underway.
“Estonians are being careful,” Stefan said. “They want us to use a pilot to enter the harbor. It also gave them time to round up some company and possibly some additional surprises.”
“What do you mean?”
Stefan gestured at the cruiser lurking behind them. The Estonian motorboat continued to head directly at the Eagle. As she came closer, her speed dropped and she settled into the water. Whoever was in charge waited until the last possible moment to swing the wheel, turning away from the Eagle’s flank, ending the possibility of a collision, and revealing half-dozen armed sailors waiting on the deck behind the cabin.
“Surprise,” Stefan said uneasily. In response, the barrel of the deck gun began to drop toward the boat. “I don’t like this…,” he said. “I think it is time to….” He reached for the speaker tube, but Sieinski grabbed his arm.
“Do I need to remind you who is captain?” he said fiercely. And then to the gun crews, “Stand down. Barrels in the air.”
No weapons moved. Gazes flicked back and forth between the captain and Stefan. “Do it,” Sieinski bellowed. Still the hesitated. Finally, Stefan nodded, and then they obeyed.
The captain began dancing with anger. “I should have you hauled up on charges,” he shrieked, his eyes lit by a strange glow. “This is not over….”
Stefan was surprised at how calm he felt. He stared dispassionately at the madman before him. “Off course it isn’t,” he said evenly. “Prepare for lines,” Stefan said.
Sailors at the bow and stern of the motorboat flicked lines into the air. Like lizard tongues, Stefan thought. His crew pulled the motorboat close and then made the lines fast.
An older white-bearded man in black pants and coat, an English cap, scrambled over the motorboat’s gunwales and onto the deck of the Eagle, followed by the six armed sailors. He made his way to the bridge with two of the sailors, while the rest fanned out on the narrow wood covered deck of the Eagle.
“I tell my wife I will retire soon,” grumbled the old man in fluent Polish, as he flung his leg over the lip of the conning tower and dropped spryly onto the bridge deck. “I am getting too old to be climbing around like a monkey. I am Adolf,” he said with a giggle. “The harbor pilot, not the,uh, you know who….”
Sieinski reached forward, grasped the pilot’s hand and shook it. “Welcome aboard the Eagle,” he said hurriedly, already fully recovered from his previous outburst. “I’m Captain Sieinski. We’re here for repairs. I don’t understand all of this.”
Adolf eyed Sieinski’s forehead. “It is none of my business, of course. But what is your problem?”
“Hydraulic pump,” Stefan said.
“Easy enough to fix,” Adolf said with a shrug. “Now to business. You’ve been given permission to enter port. That is why I am here. If you run aground, it will be my fault, you see, not yours. As for these others”—he flicked his hands dismissively toward the armed sailors on the deck— “and that”—he gestured toward the cruiser approaching from behind—“they are here for my,uh, protection.”
Stefan covered the smile on his face with his hand.