Catherine sat next to him, silent, reloading her Mauser.
Neumann opened the throttle, and Hampton Sands disappeared behind them.
56
Arthur Braithwaite's gaze settled on the plotting table while he waited for the file on U-509. Not that Braithwaite had much need for it-he thought he knew everything there was to know about the submarine's commanding officer and could probably recite every patrol the boat had ever made. He just wanted a couple of things confirmed before he telephoned MI5.
U-509's movements had been puzzling him for weeks. The boat seemed to be on an aimless patrol of the North Sea, sailing nowhere in particular, going for long periods of time without contacting BdU. When it did check in it reported a position off the British coastline near Spurn Head. It had also been spotted in aerial photographs at a U-boat pen in southern Norway. No surface sightings, no attacks on Allied warships or merchantmen.
Braithwaite thought, You're just lurking around out there up to nothing at all. Well, I don't believe it, Kapitanleutnant Hoffman.
He looked up at the dour face of Donitz and murmured, "Why would you let a perfectly good boat and crew go to waste like that?"
The aide returned with the file a moment later. "Here we are, sir."
Braithwaite didn't take the file; instead, he began to recite the contents.
"Captain's name is Max Hoffman, if I remember correctly."
"Right, sir."
"Knight's Cross in 1942. Oak Leaves a year later."
"Pinned on by the Fuhrer himself."
"Now, here's the important part. I believe he served on Canaris's staff at the Abwehr for a brief period before the war."
The aide thumbed through the file. "Yes, here it is, sir. Hoffman was assigned to Abwehr headquarters in Berlin from 'thirty-eight to 'thirty-nine. When war broke out he was given command of U-509."
Braithwaite was staring at the map table again. "Patrick, if you had an important German spy who needed a lift out of Britain, wouldn't you prefer to have an old friend do the driving?"
"Indeed, sir."
"Ring Vicary at MI-Five. I think we'd better have a chat."
57
Alfred Vicary was standing before an eight-foot-high map of the British Isles, chain smoking, drinking wretched tea, and thinking, Now I know how Adolf Hitler must feel. Based on the telephone call from Commander Lowe at the Y Service station in Scarborough, it was now safe to assume the spies were trying to slip out of England aboard a U-boat. But Vicary had one very simple yet very serious problem. He had only a vague idea of when and an even vaguer idea of where.
He assumed the spies had to meet the submarine before dawn; it would be too dangerous for a U-boat to remain on the surface near the coast after first light. It was possible the U-boat might put a landing party ashore in a rubber dinghy-that's how the Abwehr inserted many of its spies into Britain-but Vicary doubted they would attempt to do so in heavy seas. Stealing a boat was not as easy as it sounded. The Royal Navy had seized almost everything that could float. Fishing in the North Sea had dwindled because coastal waters were heavily mined. A pair of spies on the run would have a difficult time finding a seaworthy craft on short notice in a storm in the blackout.
He thought, Perhaps the spies already have a boat.
The more vexing question was where. From what point along the coastline would they put to sea? Vicary stared at the map. The Y Service could not pinpoint the exact location of the transmitter. Vicary, for argument's sake, would choose the precise center of the large area they had given him. He traced his finger along the map until he came to the Norfolk coast.
Yes, it made perfect sense. Vicary knew his railway timetables. A spy could hide in one of the villages along the coast and still be in London in three hours' time because of the direct train service from Hunstanton.
Vicary assumed they had a good vehicle and plenty of petrol. They had already traveled a substantial distance from London and, because of the heavy police presence on the railways, he was virtually certain they had not done it by train.
So how far from the Norfolk coast could they possibly travel before getting into a boat and heading out to sea?
The U-boat would probably come no closer to shore than about five miles. It would take the spies at least an hour to sail five miles out to sea. If the U-boat submerged at first light, the spies would have to set sail no later than about six a.m. to be on the safe side. The radio message was sent at ten p.m. That left them eight hours of potential driving time. How far could they travel? Given the weather, the blackout, and the poor road conditions, one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles.
Vicary looked at the map, dejected. That still left a huge swath of the British coast, stretching from the Thames Estuary in the south to the River Humber in the north. It would be nearly impossible to cover it all. The coastline was dotted with small ports, fishing villages, and quays. Vicary had asked the local police forces to cover the coast with as many men as they could. RAF Coastal Command had agreed to fly search missions at first light, even though Vicary feared that was too late. Royal Navy corvettes were watching for small craft, even though it would be nearly impossible to spot them on a rainy moonless night at sea. Without another lead-a second intercepted radio signal or a sighting-there was little hope of catching them.
The telephone rang.
"Vicary."
"This is Commander Arthur Braithwaite at the Submarine Tracking Room. I saw your alert when I arrived on duty, and I think I may be of some rather serious help."
"The Submarine Tracking Room says U-509 has been moving in and out of the waters off the Lincolnshire coast for a couple of weeks now," Vicary said. Boothby had come downstairs and joined Vicary's vigil in front of the map. "If we pour our men and resources into Lincolnshire, we stand a good chance of stopping them."
"It's still a lot of coastline to cover."
Vicary was looking at the map again.
"What's the largest town up there?"
"Grimsby, I'd say."
"How appropriate-Grimsby. How long do you think it would take me to get up there?"
"Transport section could arrange a lift for you, but it would take hours."
Vicary grimaced. Transport maintained a few fast cars for cases just like this. There were expert drivers on standby who specialized in high-speed chases; a couple of them had even competed in professional races before the war. Vicary thought the drivers, while brilliant, were too reckless. He remembered the night he pulled the spy off the beach in Cornwall; remembered barreling through the blacked-out Cornish night in the back of a souped-up Rover, praying he would live long enough to make the arrest.
Vicary said, "How about an airplane?"
"I'm sure I could arrange a lift for you from the RAF. There's a small Fighter Command base outside Grimsby. They could have you up there in an hour or so, and you could use the base as your command post. But have you taken a look out the window lately? It's a god-awful night for flying."
"I realize that, but I'm certain I could do a better job coordinating the search if I was on the ground there." Vicary turned from the map and looked at Boothby. "And there's something else that's occurred to me. If we're able to stop them before they send Berlin a message, perhaps I can send it for them."
"Devise some explanation for their decision to flee London that bolsters the belief in Kettledrum?"
"Exactly."
"Good thinking, Alfred."
"I'd like to take a couple of men with me: Roach, Dalton if he's up to it."