‘I know what you are thinking,’ said Lorenz. ‘I would be just the same if I had been captured. But you can’t escape.’ Ziegler peeped out of the radio shack. ‘This is my cabin,’ said Lorenz. He pulled a green curtain aside, revealing a bed and small cabinet. ‘Please, sit.’ He offered Sutherland a chair, tugged the curtain along the rail to its original position, and sat on the mattress. There was so little space that the curtain was touching the back of Sutherland’s head. The British commander removed his cap and placed it on the cabinet. Lorenz opened a drawer, took out a bottle of rum, and poured the dark liquid into a small glass. He swirled the contents, inhaled, and then, after taking a sip, he continued in a breezy, conversational tone, ‘So, what happened to your boat?’ Sutherland pressed his lips together. The pattern of crossed lines on his forehead had faded but his right eye remained discolored and swollen. ‘There is an English expression — what is it now? — “There but for the grace of God go I.” Is that right? I am sorry you lost your boat.’
‘You have no authority to interrogate me.’ Sutherland’s delivery was crisp and bureaucratic, a statement of fact.
The two men stared at each other.
‘You think I’m interrogating you?’ Lorenz smiled. ‘You must have a very short memory, Commander Sutherland. The Schutzstaffel interrogated you. What happened to your boat? I’m curious.’ He held out the glass of rum. Sutherland’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. ‘Go on,’ said Lorenz. ‘Take it. Nobody’s watching.’ Sutherland’s resolve broke. He snatched the glass and emptied it down his throat. When he had finished he was slightly flushed and breathless. ‘Another?’ Lorenz filled the glass a second time, and Sutherland drank more slowly. ‘Well? What happened to your boat?’ Sutherland placed the glass next to his cap and folded his arms. Lorenz sighed. ‘How often do opportunities like this arise? How often do we get a chance to speak with our opposites? What harm will it do — a little civilized conversation?’ Lorenz poured more rum into the glass. ‘Where are you from? London? I know London very well. Kensington, Mayfair, Hyde Park… Buckingham Palace. I used to enjoy the changing of the guards.’ Lorenz picked up the glass and took a few sips. ‘Have you had a good war? I am close to fifty thousand tons.’
‘You must be very proud,’ Sutherland responded with haughty contempt.
‘Destruction is your purpose — as much as it is mine.’
‘It was your Führer who invaded Poland.’
‘Come now, since when were we anything but the servants of our political masters?’ Lorenz snatched Sutherland’s cap, placed it on his own head, and repeated, ‘There but for the grace of God…’ The British commander held out his hand, silently requesting the return of his property. Lorenz obliged and said, ‘What’s wrong with Grimstad?’ He pointed toward the torpedo room. ‘Did he have a seizure? The Schutzstaffel will be very unhappy if the old man doesn’t survive the journey. He must be very important. My crew thinks he’s a physicist. Are they right?’ Lorenz showed Sutherland the small flat stone that Grimstad had been holding. ‘What’s this? Have you any idea? It has some sort of symbol scratched on it. See? Do you know what it means?’ Sutherland remained stubbornly silent.
After a further ten minutes of unproductive questioning Lorenz said, ‘Well, I can see that you are finding my company dull. Perhaps we should try again later. We could go up to the bridge for a cigarette. Would you like that?’ The British commander stood, put on his cap, and adjusted its position while observing his pale reflection in a polished wooden panel. Although Lorenz had brought the interview to a close, he was left with the uncomfortable impression that it was not he who had dismissed Sutherland, but Sutherland who had dismissed him.
In the control room the men were at their posts, pretending that they were unaware of the illicit conference that had just taken place. Graf stepped closer to Lorenz, but before he could speak, Lorenz said, ‘I gave him some rum, that’s all. Besides, who’s going to report it?’
‘What did you find out, Kaleun?’ asked Graf.
‘Nothing,’ Lorenz replied.
Lorenz, Falk, and Graf were sitting in the officers’ mess waiting for breakfast to be served.
‘Iceland,’ said Lorenz. ‘The SS sent a group of German scholars there, didn’t they? Before the British invaded?’
‘Yes,’ said Graf. ‘They went there to study the people. I can remember reading about it in a magazine. And they were interested in the museums — they took photographs of some of the exhibits.’
‘What exhibits?’ Falk asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Graf responded. ‘Old things — archaeological remains — I’ve forgotten now.’
‘Why?’
‘They wanted to acquire them. They wanted to put them in our museums — I suppose.’ Graf tightened the knot of his neck scarf. ‘Where’s breakfast? I’m extremely hungry.’
‘A few years ago I had to attend a Party function,’ said Lorenz. ‘There was this SS man there. His name was Schweizer—’ Raised voices could be heard coming from the crew quarters. Lorenz looked toward the forward compartment hatchway, and a moment later men came stumbling through the opening. Kruger was among them. ‘Herr Kaleun, the British officer is armed: he drew a gun and I…’ Kruger almost fell as the bosun and one of his mates pushed past him.
‘Shit,’ said Lorenz. The officers stood abruptly — Graf and Falk struggling to get out from behind the table.
‘Do you still have your pistol?’ Lorenz asked Falk.
‘No,’ he replied.
‘Well, get it.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Where do you think?’
Lorenz reached into his jacket and pulled out his Mauser. He had been so preoccupied since collecting the two prisoners that he had neglected to put it back in the gun locker. Gesturing for the crewmen to hurry, he waited until they were all behind him before advancing up the narrow gangway between the bunks. The hanging meats and cheeses obscured his view, but he was still able to see the British commander standing in front of the tube doors. Lorenz wondered why Sutherland was standing in such an exposed position: he didn’t appear to be aiming straight ahead, he had his gun pressed against his chest with the barrel pointing off to the side.
‘Commander Sutherland,’ Lorenz spoke calmly in English, ‘put down your weapon. We are many in number and you will be overpowered. Put down your weapon, now. My orders are to transport you and Herr Professor Grimstad to France — safely — and that is what I intend to do.’
Two shots fired. Lorenz dove onto one of the lower bunks and aimed his Mauser into the torpedo room. He saw Sutherland sway for a moment and then fall. When Lorenz glanced down he discovered that Falk had crawled up the gangway on his stomach. He was also clutching a pistol.
‘Kaleun? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m all right.’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘I think he just shot himself.’
‘And the other one? Is he armed, too?’
‘I haven’t seen him yet.’ Lorenz called out, ‘Professor Grimstad? Professor Grimstad?’
Smoke drifted through the air, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with the aroma of the foodstuffs.
‘Shall I put a bullet in him, just to make sure?’ asked Falk.
‘We were supposed to be ensuring their safe passage to Brest. I can’t help feeling that your suggestion is contrary to the spirit of our orders.’
‘What if he’s trying to lure us closer?’