The Antarctic Forgery

by Kevin Tumlinson

  It was unnerving to be moving so fast in the dark. He felt the tickle of claustrophobia, the sensation of being closed in and buried. He focused on keeping his legs moving and feeling his way along the wall, noticing every bump and divot in the alternating stone-cement-steel of the corridor.

  He looked back frequently to see the glow of the flashlights now in the hall behind, and eventually his hand slid off of the wall and met with open air.

  He quickly turned and used the wall again to guide him as he moved. When he felt he was far enough along, he turned the lantern back on, opened it up to full brightness, and made a sprint by the dim light. Up ahead, he could just make out a glint of steel that would be the bulkhead door.

  “We have him!” a woman’s voice shouted from behind.

  Denzel didn't waste a second looking back and instead poured on as much speed as he could manage. His pursuers were shouting for him to drop to the ground, but they gave him very little time to comply as they opened fire.

  Denzel heard a shot ring off of the wall near him and kept moving.

  He came to the bulkhead door and froze.

  There was a large, round wheel in the middle of the door like one would find on a submarine. Denzel tucked the Luger into his belt and placed the lantern on the floor, then quickly worked the wheel. It squealed and protested but turned.

  More shots rang out, and Denzel found himself ducking involuntarily.

  The door cracked open, and Denzel pivoted, drawing the Luger and firing wildly at the oncoming flashlights. Two circles of light tilted away from him then, leaving only the dim lantern light to illuminate his way.

  Gail’s people recovered quickly, however, and returned fire, forcing Denzel to duck into the bay and quickly push the door shut.

  Too late, as the door shut with a final-sounding metal thud, he realized that he'd left the lantern on the floor outside.

  He cursed, and quickly fumbled for the radio again, thumbing the battery cover off and hitting the button. The familiar green LED lit the door in front of him.

  He quickly turned the wheel, and the bolts clicked into place. He then looked around, frantically casting the LED light on the floor and walls immediately surrounding him. He spotted what he needed and pulled down an ancient-looking fire ax from a metal bracket mounted on the wall. The ax handle was still sturdy and durable, and he threaded it into the spokes of the wheel, wedging it tight against the door frame so that no one from the outside would be able to give it a turn.

  He slumped back then, huffing and panting, and watching the wheel. The LED shut off, and he hit it again, just in time to see and hear someone's attempt to spin the wheel open from the outside. There was a frustrated pounding on the door and a muffled shouting. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he knew the tone.

  Denzel was safe. At least for the moment.

  There were three other doors into this place, and he decided his first task was to make sure they were secure. After that, he'd have to work on finding the radio and seeing what miracles he could manage.

  Hopefully he could get something working and call for backup and rescue.

  Otherwise, he'd just sealed the door to his own tomb.

  Chapter 17

  Kotler wasn’t sure what to do.

  This particular tomb scenario had some challenges that were on a different level from anything his old professor might have introduced. Kotler had faced his share of life or death threats over the years, including being captured and tortured by terrorists, would-be despots, and a sadistic madman (or madwoman) or two. So at least, so far, he'd avoided that sort of thing. He still couldn't see a way out of his current predicament.

  Maybe it was time to call for help.

  The radio room of the Abigail was impressive. Clearly, Edward McCarthy and Richard Van Burren had upgraded the equipment, installing modern radio gear. They had also taken the trouble to "rebrand" the U-boat, painting over the swastika on the boat's hull with the name of McCarthy's granddaughter. Kotler guessed that McCarthy—a tried and true American soldier who had somehow become embroiled in a deal with the devil—couldn't stomach the idea of flying under the Nazi's flag, even as an escape plan. Naming the sub for Gail was his way of balancing and maybe softening that proposition.

  Gail McCarthy.

  The current source of all of Kotler's troubles. He couldn't avoid the irony, nor the obvious metaphor, considering he was currently trapped in a submarine bearing her name. Gail had snared him long ago and had held him captive ever since. And yet, even with a new name, this was still a Nazis sub. Gail, for all her charm and beauty and impressive intelligence, was still the bad guy. No amount of rebranding would change that.

  The rebranding of this U-boat, however, made Kotler wonder what other modifications might have been carried out by Van Burren and McCarthy. Kolter had seen signs of updating, here and there, with some modern equipment wedged into place alongside the antique technology of the Nazis. The contemporary tech looked incongruous and welcoming all at once. There was even a small coffee maker in the galley, which was an anachronism Kotler could very much appreciate, particularly if he could find some coffee hidden in here somewhere.

  Could there be something else here that might give him an advantage? A way out of all of this?

  For now, he settled on getting the radio gear running. He'd call for help and pray someone heard him.

  It took a bit of time. He found the controls for the radio, which seemed at least to be from the modern era, though circa the 1980s or ‘90s. When he hit the power button, however, nothing happened.

  Dead in the water, Kotler thought, hoping he didn’t join it soon.

  There had to be a battery somewhere, he reasoned. If Van Burren and McCarthy had intended to use this sub for a quick getaway, they would want it ready and waiting. It was likely there was a way to get these systems powered up in a hurry.

  Kotler crawled under the radio station, passing the flashlight over the grungy bundles of cables and fasteners. Eventually, he spotted a set of black and red wires running to the power button and traced these back into the console and along the base of the wall. It looked like whoever had upgraded the system had used some existing lines in the sub, repurposing conduits and pass-throughs that had been added when the U-boat was built.

  That made sense. Installing and upgrading after the fact would be exponentially more difficult if you had to make new holes. This was a tube made of steel, after all. It would take an acetylene torch or something similar to make a new path, costing time and even resources that could both be in short supply.

  Kotler traced the wires, following them as best he could through the tight confines of the operation panels of the sub. Occasionally, he would lose them, and then pick up their trail again on the other side of a bulkhead or a piece of equipment. It was dirty, grubby work, and his knees, back, and neck were protesting all of his life choices as he crawled around on the steel floor.

  Eventually, he came to a metal box, bolted to the wall and locked shut with two tension clips on one end. It resembled a large, metal ammo box, modified for this purpose. It didn't look any more modern than the surrounding equipment but stenciled on the side was a description of the former contents of the box, written in English. A good sign that it was added on after the fact unless Hitler had a penchant for US military memorabilia.

  Kotler popped the clips and pried the box open. Inside, rather than ammunition, he found a very modern looking deep cycle marine battery, festooned with cables and wires that ran into the box through a rubber grommet. It had all the earmarks of an improvised job, though very professionally done.

  This was an encouraging find, but it didn't resolve anything. Now Kotler knew where the batteries were but charging them would be another job of work.

  He stood and turned, looking with dread at the imposing bulk of the U-boat’s engines. He sighed. Maybe it was inevitable that he’d end up having to mess with these things, but he still had no clue where to start.


  In effect, the sub's engines were just massive generators. They ran on diesel, and they generated electricity that was stored in a series of batteries, which would in turn power the equipment and machinery of the vessel. Though the engines could run the sub itself, propelling it the same way any boat would move on the surface of the water, when submerged and running in "silent mode" the sub switched to electric motors, avoiding enemy sonar detection and stealthily attacking Allied ships from below, practically undetectable.

  Judging by what Kotler was finding, the original batteries had been removed years ago, as part of the upgrades made to the sub. It was likely they had succumbed to the ravages of time, eaten away by their own acids. Or maybe Van Burren and company just didn't want to risk their escape plans on antique Nazi batteries of dubious quality, opting instead to upgrade to something more contemporary and reliable.

  The batteries currently seated in a large metal box on the U-Boat’s floor would also have been here for years, however. Judging by the look of things, they had potentially been sitting here for a decade. It was possible they were no longer viable—time takes its toll on all things, and batteries that sit unused have a tendency to expire.

  He'd have to deal with that if it became an issue. For now, those batteries represented hope, and he would cling to it.

  Now, about these ancient diesel engines …

  All Kotler had to figure out was how to use the generator side of things, to charge the batteries so he could get the radio working. The bonus would be that he’d have power for lights, which would help in immeasurable ways—not the least of which was the psychological benefit.

  He began studying the engines, to start piecing things together. His background in science was mostly theoretical, and he was by no means an engineer. But he was handy enough and had enough experience with hands-on mechanics and electronics that he might be able to work this out, eventually.

  It took a great deal of time, under the light of the flashlight, to start seeing how things worked. This was easily the most complex piece of machinery and mechanics that Kotler had ever attempted to decipher, but he was beginning to get a feel for it.

  What he wasn’t getting a feel for, however, was how to get anything running.

  There were wheels and levers, valves and gauges, and many unidentifiable protrusions and objects—and none of it made any sense to him. Kotler found himself getting frustrated and hopelessly confused, and eventually straightened, feeling the muscles in his back and shoulders and neck protest.

  This was getting him nowhere. He had no idea where to start with this thing, and from the looks of it, he'd need a master class in engine mechanics just to catch up to beginner level. Where was YouTube when he needed it? Surely someone had a whole channel dedicated to starting and operating Nazi subs.

  He stepped back, passing the flashlight over the engine and trying to calm himself. His meditation guru wouldn’t exactly have been proud—what else was new—but Kotler did manage to use some of the deep breathing and relaxation exercises he’d been taught to get himself back to calm. Frustrated, but calm.

  In situations like this, where things seemed hopelessly complex and mysterious, and frustration and impatience were on the rise, Kotler often fell back on a practice he’d learned from his father:

  “Step back. Stop looking at the problem and start looking at everything around the problem. You have everything you need, right in front of you.”

  Kotler smiled. He didn't often think of his parents. Their deaths still bit into him, even after all these years. Everything he'd accomplished in his life had been in equal parts a way to honor them and a way to avoid feeling the pain of losing them. Kotler's obsession with discovering the why of humanity, and what it means to be human, had begun almost at the moment he'd learned they were gone.

  Kotler and his brother, Jeffrey, had been very young when their parents had died. Dan was slightly older than Jeffery and remembered their parents a little better, but even he hadn't had much time to learn from them. They were gone in a blink, and little Danny and Jeffery found themselves in a new world, with new guardians and new daily routines, before the loss had even sunken in.

  Kotler had very few pearls of wisdom from his father, but those he had, he cherished and observed as often as he could.

  And his father was right.

  It was so obvious that, for a moment, Kotler couldn’t believe it had taken this long to think of it. After spending so long searching to figure out the massive diesel engine, it seemed an oversimplification, but it made sense. Kotler went back to the battery box.

  Just as he had from the radio, Kotler studied the modern-day batteries and started tracing the cables that were attached to them. These ran from the battery storage box and into a wide, snaking wire loom—a flexible conduit mounted along the metal walls of the sub, through which wires and cables could be run and bundled together. The loom was split along one side, to provide access to cables from any point. This would allow someone to tap into a power line for any new equipment that might be installed, such as something that wasn’t anticipated by the original builders. Smart design, particularly for the era.

  It allowed Kotler to continue following the power cables that lead to the battery, and eventually discover their origin. Of course, following those lines sometimes meant squeezing through a tight space, crawling on a grease-covered floor, and disentangling himself from a web of hoses and wires. But as he emerged from the rat's nest of cables and the tight confines of a crawlspace between the massive banks of the diesel engine, he rose into a crouch and passed his flashlight over the space beyond … and grinned.

  Before him was a thoroughly modern electric generator, with a very welcome key-operated ignition, with the key already in place. Next to the generator were three large gas cans, also of the modern variety, built from orange plastic.

  It was evident that this was the only space where the generator could be placed without interfering with normal operation of the U-boat, blocking foot traffic between sections. As Kotler looked around and studied the space, he found that it would be much more accessible from the far end, where someone could squeeze in along the bulkhead. That would be his way out, rather than retreating through the spider-cave of cables he'd just entered through.

  He moved to the generator, studied it for a moment, and then pumped the primer button three times. He took note that there was a vent hose running from the generator’s exhaust and into a nearby port on the diesel engine. That was good news. It meant he wouldn’t asphyxiate while the generator was running.

  Taking a breath, Kotler reached out and turned the key. Almost instantly the generator’s engine turned over—a well-oiled and well-maintained machine, albeit one that hadn’t been touched in years.

  It took a few tries, but eventually the generator started and stayed running. Almost immediately there was light all around him, coming primarily from a string of orange-sheathed work lights hanging from the ceiling. Another add-on from McCarthy and Van Burren, and just as welcome as the generator.

  Kotler almost giggled with relief. He turned off his flashlight and rested his back against the large diesel engine for a moment, breathing steadily and feeling a tension that he hadn’t realized was there release from his neck and shoulders. It was incredible what the presence of light did for his mood. He felt as if he were light himself, as if he suddenly had a much broader range of options and, more importantly, a greater sense of hope.

  He stood up and wriggled out of the space, emerging back in the greater vault of the engine room. He stopped to secure the metal lid on the battery case, and then quickly made his way to the radio room

  The whole space had come alive since he’d been here last. Everywhere he looked he could see lights and displays and gauges, many of which were active and animated, displaying their data as if demanding that he pay them some long overdue attention. With more light in the room, he could now see how modern everything was. Relatively modern, at least.

  Th
e anachronism was strong here. He estimated that most of this technology had come from the ‘80s and ‘90s, and perhaps hadn't been touched in at least the past ten years. But it was decades more advanced than anything the Nazis had ever had.

  Kotler had already determined that this sub, with all of its modifications and upgrades, was most certainly an escape plan.

  It had Van Burren’s fingerprints all over it.

  Kotler couldn't be sure of the series of events that had led them here, but he surmised that Van Burren and company had come to this part of Antarctica because of something they found in one of Edison's journals.

  A couple of years earlier, Kotler and Denzel had been lured into investigating Van Burren’s smuggling operation, primarily thanks to an artifact that Gail McCarthy had brought to Kotler’s attention. The artifact had a mate—a mirror-image duplicate that was known to have once belonged to Thomas Edison.

  Following the trail spun from these two artifacts, Kotler, Gail, and Denzel had eventually uncovered what was thought to be Atlantis—though Kotler had recently come to the conclusion that this wasn’t entirely accurate. Regardless, the island was there, and it had the potential of being the “lost continent” that Plato so famously wrote about. And from there they had uncovered a vast treasure trove of artifacts and materials hidden under Edison’s former estate.

  Van Burren and McCarthy, at some point, had gained access to some of Edison's journals regarding Atlantis. It was possible, even likely, that they had discovered the location of this Nazi base, from those journals.

  Of course, Edison would not have referred to it as a Nazi base. Given that Edison died eight years before the beginning of World War II, and the Nazi party itself didn’t quite come into existence until at best a year after Edison’s death, if he knew anything at all about the party it would have been benign compared to what was to come later.