Under the Moon Gate

by Marilyn Baron

  He had built an entire operation here, waiting for word of an invasion, for his people to smooth the way for the waiting submarines, and still the word never came. It had been years. Did they think that overseeing and maintaining such an intricate network—facilities, supplies, resources, operatives—had not been difficult or risky? Bermuda was a gem, ripe for the picking, and still no word to move the plan forward. He knew German subs were still out there, lurking off the island. He had seen them with his own eyes, boarded them on occasion, communicated with them regularly, and still no one had issued the order to proceed or dismantle the operation. His operatives were growing impatient. And so was he. The information he reported was becoming sketchier. In truth, he had learned some damaging information from his father-in-law that he didn’t bother to report to his superiors.

  He was losing his appetite for the game, especially once he’d heard the distasteful, nasty, actually revolting rumors about the Jews and their inhuman treatment in the concentration camps—the “KZs.”

  Bermuda was his home now. He had been here seven years. What if he were pulled back, his cover compromised? The way the war was going, where would he be pulled back to? It was apparent to him that Germany was going to lose the war. What would become of his operation? Of his wife? He had amassed a fortune, and to what end? Who else knew about it? Could his subordinates be trusted? What was he supposed to do with the gold and his properties if the operation was permanently torpedoed?

  The Third Reich was imploding with typical German precision—folding on every front. Desperate, William had even toyed with the idea of turning, becoming a double agent. Going to his father-in-law and revealing all, offering to help the British war effort and seeking his protection. But it was much too late in the game to play both sides of the fence. Either they would hang him or his own agents would seek retribution. And then what would become of Diana? Every move had to be made with her in mind. She was his world now, his lifeline.

  He heard rumors that Canaris had attempted to change sides but his peacemaking posturing was ridiculed in the Foreign Office. Everybody knew Hitler was already doomed.

  William had been receiving conflicting reports. He knew that between February 1942 and October 1943 German U-boats sank 17 ships off the Florida coast. He wondered if Germany was still in control of the sea. He had his doubts. He was isolated here, dangling precipitously. Not knowing the final outcome of the conflict was tearing him apart, preventing him from moving on with his life with Diana.

  The first sign of a chink in the German armor came little more than a month later.

  ****

  20th July 1944. I was shocked to learn of Colonel Claus Count von Stauffenberg’s putsch at Wolfsschanze, Hitler’s secret headquarters in East Prussia. The bomb killed four people, wounded more, but the target escaped. Hitler went on air the next day to assure the German people that all was well. He was unhurt and the plot against his life was foiled. Stauffenberg and his aides were immediately convicted of high treason and shot by a firing squad.

  23rd July 1944. Admiral Canaris has been arrested, three days after the attempt on Hitler’s life! I will never believe the admiral was involved in the conspiracy to kill Hitler, although it was no secret he didn’t hold Hitler in high regard.

  William recalled the last time he saw his friend. He had been surprised, shocked really, by the appearance of Canaris himself standing on the bridge during a recent submarine rendezvous in the waters outside Marigold House late in the war. He had personally come to Bermuda to warn his protégé so he wouldn’t be left out in the cold.

  “How did you manage to get out of Germany?” William wondered as he saw his mentor standing in the moonlight. “It’s much too dangerous for you to be here. You shouldn’t have taken the risk. Karl should never have let you come.”

  “He couldn’t have stopped me. I had no choice, Wilhelm. I had to get away. Germany, at least the Führer’s glorious vision of Germany, is crumbling around us. I’ve been in touch with the Americans and the British to negotiate for myself and an unnamed associate.”

  Canaris put his arm around Wilhelm’s shoulder.

  “I promised your father I would protect you, and I have tried to honor my pledge. You’ve been like a son to me. But it’s too late. They weren’t interested.”

  “I see,” William said, deeply touched. “Are you going back? You could escape now, go to South America, where you’d be welcomed.”

  “I’m a loyal soldier. Our leader is mad, but I won’t desert my country. I had to see you one more time. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry things didn’t work out but that I’m proud of you. I know your father would have been, too. He’s been in my thoughts a lot lately. You are so like him. Brave, fearless, and intelligent, with an open heart and always a willing hand out for a friend. There are some who would say we Germans are unfeeling. That’s the way the world will brand us. I just wanted to tell you there is much of his goodness in you.”

  William’s heart swelled. The two embraced.

  “Don’t come back,” Canaris warned. “There’s nothing left for you in Germany.”

  William had no intention of returning to his homeland.

  “You’ve lost a lot in your young life,” Canaris said. “Have you built some happiness here?”

  “I have,” he said, grateful for his mentor’s concern. “And I’ve been blessed with love again.”

  For a moment Canaris seemed poised to impart some additional information, but he reconsidered, and the opportunity passed as their talk returned to a discussion of the grim statistics of war.

  ****

  13th/14th February 1945. The American Air Force and Royal Air Force conducted firebombing raids on Dresden, killing thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of people, and destroying much of the city.

  Dresden. Although William hadn’t seen his hometown in years, he could still recall the beautiful medieval city on the Elbe River, the city of his heart. A major center for European art and culture, with its historic monuments reduced to rubble; its helpless, hopeless people reduced to dust and ashes. Germany was on the verge of surrender. With no major war production or industry in the city, Dresden was of questionable military value and clogged with refugees fleeing the Red Army. So why punish Dresden and annihilate civilians? It was outrageous! Barbaric! Senseless!

  When he was finally able to contact Karl, he was almost afraid to ask, and he had to have his friend repeat his words.

  “They’re gone. They’re all gone. Your mother... Wihelm, I’m so sorry.”

  He thought of his mother. He hadn’t been able to contact her for years. She’d perished not knowing if her son was dead or alive.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I went there myself. You would not recognize our city anymore. Or our street.”

  “And Emilie?” William whispered.

  There was a long silence on the line.

  “Yes,” Karl said quietly. “I’m sorry. And Wilhelm, there’s something else…”

  Suddenly the line went dead and the connection was lost.

  “Karl, Karl, are you there?”

  But he was not able to reach his friend. What else had Karl been trying to tell him? It sounded urgent. No matter, his mother and Emilie were gone. There was nothing else to say, nothing more he cared to hear.

  William couldn’t face Diana right now. One look at him and she would be able to read his grief. And that would give him away. He couldn’t go home yet. He left work and drove to a bar in Hamilton to drown his sorrows and lament the life he had been denied. Celebrate the blessings.

  The papers were full of Dresden; the story ran for weeks. Eyewitness accounts of the firestorm from the two days of saturation bombing and the subsequent days of burning. Explosions that wouldn’t stop. Fire. Scorching heat, hot enough to burn the human hair and tender flesh of innocent women and children. Smoke so thick you couldn’t see or breathe through it. Screaming from the wounded. Collapsing buildings. Mutilated corpses. The dar
kness of the night, the darkness nightmares are made of. Dresden, a burned-out shell, a hell on earth. He conjured up his mother’s angelic face. And Emilie’s perfect, porcelain one, cool and still as a marble statue, now horribly, painfully, burnt. He only hoped they hadn’t suffered overlong.

  8th April 1945. On Hitler’s orders, Admiral Canaris was executed at the prison in Flossenbürg. He was like a father to me. I will mourn his loss greatly.

  Chapter 18

  Bermuda, 1958

  William picked up the telephone. This was not a conversation he relished having. He hadn’t come into contact with his aide since the end of the war, when their association had ended abruptly and awkwardly. Everything had fallen apart. No instructions had been given, no contingency plans made. No one expected to lose the war. He was on his own, isolated on an island. Wrapped in riches, but nevertheless isolated. When he noticed his papers were missing, he wanted to take action. But he was helpless to do anything until their inevitable phone conversation. He had finally tracked the monster down.

  “I believe I may have lost something of value,” William began when he heard what sounded like Nighthawk’s voice.

  “Misplaced?” Nighthawk virtually sneered through the lines.

  He wished they could have met in person, so he could see Nighthawk’s eyes. Then he would know for sure.

  “No,” William said, detecting a hidden message in the silence that followed.

  “Could these items you’re missing possibly compromise you?”

  William paused. He had not mentioned the fact that more than one item was missing. So, that was the way the game was being played.

  “Yes,” William said simply.

  “There’s something I find very curious. You kept such complete records during the war years. But the entry for 7 December 1941, which should have been the culmination of our years of hard work and planning, was scant. No detailed notes, no mention of the failure of our operation. It was glaring in its absence.”

  William couldn’t breathe.

  “Hopefully these items weren’t too valuable, Herr Whitestone. I assume you had the proper insurance?”

  The message came through loud and clear.

  “They’re uninsurable, irreplaceable, as you well know.”

  His journal and the other missing items could potentially blow his cover, ruin him, and bring harm to his wife. Now he was being told that his survival hung by a thread, that he could be exposed at any moment. He was well pleased with his wife, his home, and his life on the island, and he had no intention of jeopardizing them.

  He’d always known his former associate was dangerous, that when a dirty job had to be done, Nighthawk had been the one to call. He should have killed the man when he had the chance. He could seek out Nighthawk and threaten his life unless he revealed where the missing documents were. But he could not afford to kill him until he knew the whereabouts of his property. It was too risky. That was Nighthawk’s insurance policy. Nighthawk could fly at any time. He lived among the shadows. William was prominent and visible on the island, and therefore vulnerable.

  And Nighthawk didn’t pose the only threat. How many of Nighthawk’s shady associates had known about his past? His double identity? His buried fortune?

  If he required any evidence of Nighthawk’s capacity for violence, he need look no further than Yvette. The man certainly had held a great affection for her, yet he had planned to kill his pregnant mistress without hesitation. Murder his own children.

  William’s sexual appetite was as deeply developed as the next man’s, but he had experienced only two true loves in his life, and he was loyal, at least in his heart, to both of them. But he could hardly blame his associate for falling under Yvette’s spell. He had been a little in love with her himself. The birth of her twins had created a bond between them, even though he’d never seen Yvette again once she disappeared from the hospital. Watching the miracle of a baby’s birth softened his heart and made him yearn for a child of his own, a child with Diana.

  Perhaps Yvette had first turned to Nighthawk for protection, alone in the world as she was, although that notion was utterly ridiculous. Nighthawk was the kind of man you sought protection from. She had used him. What secrets had he accidentally revealed to her or to the others who came after her? What secrets had they shared? And what had happened to that brave woman?

  The past was catching up with him. But what of the future? He wondered if he would ever know the extent of Nighthawk’s betrayal.

  PART THREE

  The Treasure

  Bermuda 2013

  Chapter 19

  Bermuda 2013

  Patience’s eyes were blurry from reading the handwritten journal entries and from plain exhaustion. Tears from her swollen eyes splotched the already delicate pages. Waves of nausea threatened to drown her. Her head was splitting apart. Shame and disappointment threatened to choke her. There simply wasn’t any doubt about where her grandfather’s loyalties had lain. Nathaniel must hate her. She rubbed her neck and sank back onto her pillow.

  She didn’t have the resolve to read much more. Her grandfather’s spirit was noticeably sagging, especially after the death of his champion, Canaris. He was demoralized and depressed. After that his ramblings detailed a series of defeats, crumbling pockets of resistance on all fronts, cessation of operations, occupations, Victory-in-Europe Day, a stunning defeat for the Kriegsmarine, and suicides—Hitler’s and Eva Braun’s soon after they had married, the Goebbels family, and others. Dönitz, who had assumed the duties as the new German head of state following Hitler’s death, was ordering maximum resistance on all fronts, hopelessly followed by unconditional surrenders and war crimes trials. The last gasps of the dying Third Reich. Her grandfather’s legacy. Reading his words was tantamount to watching him die all over again.

  There were also tears over everything William Whitestone had lost, over Emilie and everyone else who had perished in Dresden or lost their lives in the world conflict, and over the death of his daughter, the mother Patience never knew.

  She swallowed hot, bitter tears as she reread the traitorous passage. Her grandfather had lied to her about many things. He had called her his little miracle. But he never even wanted a child. Never wanted her real mother. Never wanted her. Oh, he had accepted his responsibility, was even great at playing at being a grandfather, but in the end, he had tried his best not to have a child. She wondered what else he had lied about?

  “He never loved me,” Patience said, not realizing she had spoken the words aloud or that Nathaniel had returned to the room and was sitting right beside her on the couch. Chewing on her bottom lip, her hand clung to the material of her dress, balling it up in her fist. Her breath sailed out in a painful whoosh. Her entire life had been an illusion, a beautiful but cruel illusion.

  Nathaniel placed his hand over hers and slowly unclenched her fist, opening one finger at a time.

  “Of course he loved you,” Nathaniel said gently. “His actions proved that. Why do you think he worked so hard to keep you close and safe? He had lost one daughter. He couldn’t protect her, so he was ferocious about protecting you.”

  “Protecting me?”

  “If William Whitestone’s true identity were discovered, his life and the lives of those he loved would be in danger because of what he did during the war. His way of protecting you was to keep you locked away in the safety of his compound, on a rock in the middle of the Atlantic, where no harm could come to you. If I’m sure of anything, it was William’s love for Diana and for you. Come here, Patience,” Nathaniel said as he took the diary from her hand and gathered her up in his arms.

  She dissolved into him, her arms reaching out to hold him tightly. They sat there in silence on the couch, not saying a word, until she fell asleep against him and he carried her into her bedroom.

  ****

  Nathaniel settled himself on the couch and pored through Wilhelm von Hesselweiss’s last journal entry, trying again to find clues that would rev
eal the identity and whereabouts of Nighthawk—the man he believed was threatening Patience.

  Nathaniel reread William’s journal entries with interest and the dispassionate eye of a historian. He thought he could almost understand the spy known as William Whitestone. Patience’s grandfather as a young man had been caught in a new world order where orders were to be followed and love sacrificed.

  Nathaniel read about the man who had followed his own father to the sea. For all his wealth, for all the respectability he had achieved in the business world, William Whitestone was, at heart, still a seaman. He did not consider himself inherently evil, though he provided regular reports on Allied shipping activities, enabling his counterparts to pursue and massacre enemy merchant ships in the mid-Atlantic. Like Canaris, William’s allegiance had been to the German Navy, not the Nazis. He would have given his life for his fellow U-boatmen.

  He had also written about his respect for the Allied submariners. As fellow men of the sea, he felt a special kinship with them. Just as he would never have sanctioned the killing of survivors in the water by his crew, he could not fathom how Allied Air Force crewmen could kill innocent civilians in Dresden, even from their anonymous heights.

  A picture arose of a man who had managed to rise above the cutthroat competition that existed in the Kriegsmarine and was more comfortable in pitching seas than in petty politics.

  William had written a lot about life on his submarine before he was dispatched to Bermuda by way of Switzerland. He did not feel confined by the U-boat. The close quarters only heightened his readiness for action, highlighted his recklessness, and hammered home his hunger for danger in his role as submarine commander.

  In the months following the assassination attempt on Hitler’s life at Wolf’s Lair, William had known that some five thousand people associated with the plot were rounded up and executed. Nathaniel wondered if Patience’s grandfather had felt the noose tightening then, if he had realized suspicion would arise in the inner circle of power, questioned how long it would take before they wondered whether Wilhelm von Hesselweiss, protégé of Canaris, was a threat to them? Whether he could be trusted, or if he would have to be handled as well?