Kalm gave Stefan a blank look. “I’m not aware that any Dutch shipbuilder has offices in Tallinn. You must be mistaken.”
“Are you sure? We have three Dutch engineers on board and they….”
“Ignorance is not one of my vices,” interrupted the admiral haughtily.
“But these Dutch engineers, they….” Stefan caught himself. There it was again. A vague sense of unease, as if his subconscious had something important all worked out, but could only hint at the answer. He caught sight of the attaché shaking his head back and forth, and then noticed that Kalm’s face had deepened another shade of red.
“Thank you, sir,” Stefan said, giving the admiral a crisp salute, pivoting around on his heels, and then he marched out of his room.
“I have to get back to my ship,” Stefan said as he hurried down the hallway.
“I was hoping to talk with you and your captain,” Mokriski said. He glanced over his shoulder. “News from home is very bad.”
Stefan gave the man a brief glance. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he said shortly.
“Why are you here?” Mokriski said with a little heat. “We weren’t notified that you were coming. It was a complete surprise. Why aren’t you?…”
“Defending the homeland?” Stefan finished for him. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the glances from the Estonian naval staff, office workers and secretaries, hurrying by on either side of them, the bright linoleum floor gleamed like a road to Oz in either direction. Morkriski skidded to a stop a moment later, doubled back to Stefan, not afraid to stand close though he was half Stefan’s bulk.
“Why, yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” Morkriski said, glaring up at the Eagle’s executive officer.
Stefan gave a thin smile of apology, resisted an impulse to pat the smaller man on the top of his head. “That is an excellent question. In fact, one I asked myself on numerous occasions. But for the answer, you need to ask our dear, departed captain. I’m surprised, though, you didn’t know we were on our way. He said he radioed headquarters about our coming…”
Morkriski shrugged. “They never contacted us.”
Another faint eddy of unease touched his spine. Stefan shook his head after a moment. At the moment, it didn’t matter if the captain had lied about it, or if it was simply a mistake at headquarters in Poland. Sieinski was done on the Eagle. That was a certainty. Stefan turned and began hurrying down the hallway again. The desire to get back to the ship was growing stronger with each passing moment. On impulse, Stefan shouted over his shoulder. “I may need your help later on.”
Morkriski ran to catch up. “With what?”
Stefan gave a humorless laugh. “Probably nothing… the war has me spooked.” He paused in the middle of the marble-clad entryway of the Estonian naval headquarters building, slapped the attaché on either shoulder. “But maybe it is something. My grandmother was a gypsy, you know.” And then pushed through the doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“What a loonybird.” Morkriski breathed the words, watching Stefan leave. Must be those damn boats. Enough to make anyone batty. Cooped up like that. He thought about returning to the embassy. But that was another nuthouse, the inhabitants almost as crazed as submariners. Morkriski glanced at his nails and decided. At the moment, he needed his roses almost as much as they needed him. As he followed a red-haired Estonian woman out the door, admiring the movement of her skirt across her ample behind, he began to laugh. “A gypsy grandmother? That Stefan Petrofski was a kook and a jokester. No one with gypsy parents or grandparents could ever rise to officer in the Polish Navy.” But then, as Morkriski raised his arm to hail a cab, another thought occurred to him. “What if he hadn’t been joking?”
Back in his office, Admiral Kalm was standing next to his window. Despite his age, his eyes were still sharp as a teenager’s. He spied Stefan’s bulky figure appear on the sidewalk, watched him glance automatically to the sky, a sailors habit, and then begin jogging back toward the harbor, as resolute as a locomotive.
“That one will be a problem,” he said to the man standing at his side.
Ritter, hands clasped behind his back, watched Stefan disappear. He had already showered and shaved, and stood dressed in his Kriegsmarine uniform, courtesy of the naval staff at the German embassy.
It was almost done.
“Perhaps,” he said, acknowledging this superior officer. “But I think it is too late for him to matter. It is all set, is it not?”
“As you requested, Captain,” Kalm replied smoothly. This man was only a captain, but he had Dönitz’s ear, it was said. Best to treat him gently. “The invitation is being delivered as we speak. But what if they decline?”
“Refuse free food and drink?” Ritter began to laugh. “You don’t know Polish sailors. Trust me, if we did not send the trucks, they would arrive an hour early on foot. In any case, we have them hooked. The Eagle is all but mine.”
Kalm couldn’t contain a chuckle. The young, arrogant German bastard. “No, it is almost mine,” Kalm corrected. “Or, to be more precise, under the protection of the Estonian government. There are a few rules we must follow. Arrangements made. Confirmations sent. You understand, of course.”
Ritter understood precisely. The appropriate amount of money needed to be deposited into Kalm’s Swiss bank account. When he received news of the completed transaction, the submarine would be taken to a remote location, and then turned over to a German crew, who were already waiting on a German freighter, anchored in the harbor. “As you will, Admiral.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Eagle was tied up to a deserted pier in Tallinn’s inner harbor. A few Estonian sailors carrying rifles guarded approaches to the vessel, but their weapons remained slung over their shoulders, and the affable crew of the Eagle had already made friends with them, trading cigarettes for girlie magazines, sweets and, no doubt, a bottle of vodka or two.
Nearby, a worn German freighter rode silently at anchor. At first, its presence had caused no little consternation, the gun crews swinging their barrels to track its shape as the Eagle motored by. But when no threat materialized, the sailors on deck began jeering like soccer fans at the scattered figures who appeared on the freighter’s deck to watch the passing submarine. Strangely, though, the Germans did not reply in kind. They simply stood at the rail, silently staring. “That’s odd,” Squeaky said, raising a hand to give them a universally recognized gesture. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist,” he apologized in response to Stefan’s glance.
As the Eagle came abreast of the ship, the German flag was pulled down from the mast. “Why are they doing that?” Squeaky said.
“Afraid they’ll piss us off,” one of the gunners answered, bringing smiles to the faces of the bridge crew.
Stefan jogged past the Estonian sailors without drawing a challenge and hustled up the gangplank. He ignored Squeaky’s hail from the bridge, ran over to the aft access hatch and dropped into the engine compartment. He grabbed the first sailor he met. “Those Dutch engineers. Where are they?”
“Gone,” said the young seaman.
“They left an hour ago,” Chief K said, stepping out from behind one of the diesels, grinning enthusiastically. “Goddamn those boys were efficient. I’d like to thank them myself. That new pump arrived pronto, also a spare. Plus some extra gaskets, a couple of new springs for the valves.”
“What do you mean?” Stefan.