The Prisoner in the Castle

by Susan Elia MacNeal

  “Yes, Herr Kaleu. Right away, sir!”

  The Kapitänleutnant peered back through the periscope. “It’s going to be a very long watch.”

  * * *

  —

  At the chapel, Maggie found Anna and Quentin lying on the stone floor. Quentin had a bullet wound in his shoulder—he’d managed to take off his jacket and was using it to put pressure on the injury. Blood had soaked through the wool, but when Maggie took a look, it was a through-and-through shot on the outside of the shoulder. “You’ll be all right,” she told him. “Just a little longer.”

  “Leo?” he asked.

  “He’s been…neutralized,” she said. “Shot, but still alive. Ramsey’s with him.” He groaned, then nodded.

  Then Maggie went to Anna. She’d been hit in the chest. There was blood everywhere and the young woman’s face was ashen. Her eyes were closed. Maggie felt for a pulse at the base of her neck; it was thready.

  “We can’t move them,” Teddy warned. “We need to go to the dock and meet the boat. Then we can direct them to the chapel.”

  “We’ll be all right,” Quentin assured them. “You go.” He tried to smile. “Just remember to come back for us.”

  Maggie took a long look at Anna and bit her lip. How long can she last?

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Quentin said, as if reading her mind. “And I’ll be here for her. Now go! Go!”

  Maggie nodded to Teddy. They both grabbed their rifles and left.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ramsey had used his woolen scarf as a tourniquet to stop Leo from bleeding out; his hands and feet were tied with rope and he was unconscious. As Maggie and Teddy approached, Ramsey raised then lowered his rifle when he recognized them through the drizzle. “Where did you get the rope?” Maggie asked, catching her breath.

  “Brought it.” Maggie started. She’d never heard Ramsey’s voice before. It was disarmingly normal. “Just in case.”

  “You can talk.”

  “I can,” he replied. “But I chose not to. Now it’s safe. Enough of you lot are dead.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I didn’t want you people getting anything out of me. Anything your side can use.”

  “What side is that?”

  “I know all about you—and your camp. This is a Nazi-run camp. You’re Germans! You’re trying to seduce us into letting our guard down. Telling our secrets.”

  “What?” Maggie felt her brain slam to an absolute halt at the absurd shock of the accusation. “No. No! No, we’re all British subjects. Why on earth would you think we’re Nazis?”

  Ramsey shook his head. “You want me to tell my secrets.”

  “No. We’re British,” she insisted. “But there is a German agent somewhere on the island—a madman—and we need to escape.”

  “You’re trying to convince me that’s what’s happening, so I’ll tell you what I know. And then you can inform Abwehr. But I won’t,” he said, raising his rifle again. “I won’t tell you anything!”

  “I don’t care what you know.” Maggie’s eyes blazed in frustration. “In fact, I’d rather not know!”

  “That’s what you say, but you’re only trying to have me lower my guard.” He added, “And I’m no madman. I’ve been surviving.”

  “What the devil are you talking about now?”

  “I’ve been picking you all off, one by one. Fewer Nazis in the world.”

  Maggie felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. “You’re the murderer?”

  “I’m not a murderer. I’m a soldier,” he clarified. The rifle remained steady in his hand. “This island just happens to be the battlefield.”

  Oh, God. Maggie repressed a shudder. “We’re not Nazis,” she repeated. “Look—the war, and the isolation, and the darkness…” Her thoughts were spinning. “Why on earth would you think we’re Nazis?” She’d heard of war veterans becoming delusional after missions—was that what had happened to Ramsey?

  “You’re a Nazi,” he spat. “Of course you’d deny it.”

  “No!” How to convince him? “How could you possibly think I’m German? And Leo? He was trying to shoot everyone to ferret out the German spy among us—does that sound like something someone in a Nazi-run spy camp would do? No, that’s what someone British would do.”

  “Nazis kill their own all the time.”

  “The British don’t. Anna and Quentin are wounded, but they’re not dead. Leo just wanted to incapacitate them. Nazis don’t have any mercy. The British do.”

  Ramsey glared at her, daring her to betray herself. Then he shivered. “Oh, Christ.” He exhaled, his entire posture deflating, his eyes forlorn. “Anna?” He lowered his rifle. “Leo shot her? How bad is it?”

  “Anna’s injured, but she’s still alive, Ramsey. Now put the gun down, please. We can talk about this.” The young man’s eyes darted from Maggie to Teddy.

  “Ramsey—” Teddy began, an edge in his voice.

  “Oh, God! I killed all those people…” the young man cried.

  “What about Anna?” Maggie asked him. “Do you really think someone like Anna could be a Nazi? We need to save her life, Ramsey.”

  Ramsey seemed as if he might pass out. “I killed all those people—and they were British?” His face crumpled in anguish, and he swayed. “Tell Anna…I’m sorry.”

  “Ramsey, no!” Maggie cried, lunging forward to stop him, but it was too late. The shot echoed through the forest. Eight, she thought, looking away, her soul numb. Eight dead.

  She barely registered the sound of startled birds taking wing before there was a stunning flash of pain, and she slumped to the ground.

  * * *

  —

  All Maggie knew, as she surfaced from a deep, sparkling blackness, was that every bone in her body ached. Her stomach roiled and pitched; her senses swam with pain and nausea.

  Eventually she realized it was the surface she was lying on that was pitching, not just her stomach. The air smelled of seaweed, and there were rhythmic splashing slaps somewhere below her. She cracked open blurry eyes to discover she was in the wheelhouse of the boat, lying against one wall, her hands tied behind her with coils of rope.

  She struggled to sit up, grimacing in agony as a blinding pain radiated through her skull. Slowly, she struggled to piece things together, her thoughts sluggish and stunned. Ramsey is dead, she remembered. He shot himself, when he realized…Leo, Anna, and Quentin are injured. The others—they’re dead, too….What about—?

  She looked around. “Where’s Leo?” Maggie croaked, testing the ropes around her hands and feet. They were tied adroitly, as any expert fisherman would know how to do. “Is he all right?”

  “Dead.” Teddy’s voice had lost its friendly warmth. It was lower now, harsh and tight. It was still raining, but not as hard, and behind the clouds, the red sun was sinking. Maggie realized she’d been unconscious for hours. “I shot him—put him out of his misery. It’s too bad, really. But this is war. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t want it to end like this.”

  Leo, dead as well. Number nine. Dear God.

  She looked back up at Teddy. Or whoever he was. Her friend had vanished, along with his twinkling eyes and easy camaraderie. This man was a stranger to her, she realized, unable to catch a breath for shock. It was this man, not Teddy, who’d convinced Ramsey, poor impressionable, vulnerable Ramsey, to kill the prisoners. It was this man who’d drained the petrol in the boat’s tank, so it would wash back to shore and he’d have a way to escape. It was this man who’d snuck out at night to use the boat’s radio to contact the Germans, not realizing he’d been seen by Lady Beatrix. Teddy…

  Maggie realized Teddy wasn’t using his walking stick. She appraised him critically. Did he seem surer in his movements, his back straight, his stomach pulled in? He appeared decades youn
ger. “Your arthritis seems a lot better.”

  He turned to her and winked. “The storm’s passing.” She had a sudden vision of how easily he moved through the storm on their way to the church. He’d been lying all along. He’d played her.

  Pain turned to panic, which then unexpectedly morphed into rage. Captain Evans, Ian, Dr. Jaeger, Captain MacLean, Helene, Camilla, Torvald, Ramsey, Leo. All dead—because of him. McNaughton, Anna, and Quentin injured, perhaps dying, because of him. And Sayid—he almost killed Sayid. It was too much to bear.

  She struggled against her bonds. Stop it, Hope. If you want to make it out of this alive, you must be smart. Smarter than he is.

  “We will rendezvous with a U-boat a few miles from here,” the man told her, moving the shift. “They’ll surface to pick us up tonight, in the darkness.”

  She was tired. So tired. And in so much pain. If I close my eyes, just for a minute…Someone surely had to be coming. SOE, the Navy, the coast guard…She had to hold on, to stop him from meeting up with the U-boat. Do this and then it will be over, she told herself. Think, Hope. The effort made her so dizzy she feared she’d faint.

  He pulled out the choke. Keep him talking, Maggie thought, testing the ropes around her wrists. As long as he was still talking, she was still alive. And she wanted to stay alive more than anything. “You had Ramsey convinced we were all Germans,” she began. “Convinced he was in a Nazi prison camp, where we were all trying to obtain information from him.”

  “They exist in England, you know,” the man she knew as Teddy said coldly. “Camps like that. I’ve heard of them.” He primed the engine and pulled the starter. The motor flared. Then it coughed and died. He scowled.

  “So he was working with you—that’s how you could kill so many of us without anyone suspecting. You were working together. But why?” He tried pulling the starter again. Nothing. He gave the starter another, harder pull. Again, it didn’t catch. “Scheisse,” he muttered.

  Good, she thought, even as she fought for consciousness. The boat pitched and juddered.

  “You said something,” he continued. “In one of our conversations this autumn—you said something about the needs of the few versus the needs of the many. Do you remember? I realized then you knew something, some sort of immense sacrifice your side was willing to make—and that’s why you were imprisoned on the island. From my knowledge of your personality, I guessed you hadn’t gone along with it.”

  The double agent continued to pull at the starter, muttering profanity in German. The engine made a few grumbling attempts to start before falling silent once again. “Whatever you know was big enough for you to go to prison over. Even here, in relative safety, you wouldn’t reveal it. And I thought, What’s the biggest secret of the war? Then I realized—the Allied invasion of Europe.”

  The most precious secret of the invasion—Normandy, not Calais. Maggie cursed the day she’d learned it.

  He opened the switch panel to check the wiring. “I’ve spent almost three years in this stinking country with British idiots. I’m not about to die here. I’m going home, back to Germany, and I’m taking you with me. You’re my golden goose, Miss Hope. With you I’ll be welcomed as a hero, with the secret to the invasion. Without you, I’d be shot as a spy or else I’d have to live the rest of my life on some damp and cold island.” He looked to her, his expression almost droll. “Honestly, both options sound terrible.”

  The agent had found a red wire. “So I planned to capture the boat and kidnap you, then rendezvous with a U-boat for a ride home.”

  “You work for Abwehr,” Maggie stated, even as she felt her courage drain. This is it. This is the end. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. And, if she had to, she would take them both out. “How did you end up here?”

  He yanked the red wire, disconnecting it. “I was hired to work at Churchill’s Toy Shop. Unfortunately, it didn’t lead to anything. I was making the weapons, but I didn’t know where they were going or how they would be used—information kept from us, the day laborers. Then I heard a rumor. About a camp, a very special camp, for people who knew too much. So I made sure I was sent there.” He glanced up from the wires, back to her. His grin made her want to vomit. How could she ever have liked him? “It’s been most educational.”

  “I thought we were friends, Teddy.”

  He tugged the starter again. “This whole operation was fishing and hunting, Maggie. Fishing for information, then hunting the person with the best. Nothing personal, my dear. I actually quite like you. I’ve enjoyed your company, and I hope you’ve enjoyed mine.”

  “This feels quite…personal. To me. And the arthritis, another lie?”

  He ignored her, renewing his attempts to start the engine. “Küss meinen Arsch,” he muttered. “I’ll make sure you’re taken good care of in Berlin. Just cooperate when we arrive. Tell them what you know and I’ll make sure you’re treated well.”

  “I won’t tell you—or anyone—anything!” Maggie spat. “If I’m willing to go to prison to keep a secret, why would I tell the Nazis?” She squirmed against the ropes.

  The engine caught at last, rumbling to life. Maggie’s heart sank. “Look,” he said reasonably. “I don’t want to die here—and I don’t think you do, either. I took the Fahneneid, the German oath to country, the blood oath of a warrior. We are both soldiers, you and I. And now, like a good soldier, you must surrender—there is no shame in it.” The agent took out a compass from his pocket and checked the direction, then switched on all the boat’s lights. “You did your best. And you know what they’ll do to you if you don’t cooperate.”

  Maggie flinched; she knew all too well what they could do.

  “Just be a good girl. This is the choice I mentioned—that day we went fishing. Your choice to cooperate. Just do it, and I’ll make sure you have a pleasant life in Germany. A wonderful life.” He smiled. “We can go fishing! The Schlachtensee, in the Green Forest just outside Berlin, is my favorite lake.”

  “You’re quite the fisherman.”

  “And you are my beautiful mermaid.” He opened the throttle and pulled the boat away from the dock.

  * * *

  —

  Von Siemens, wanting a better view, decided to take a chance and gave the order to surface. U-135 broke through the waves as the sun set behind the clouds, the 20-millimeter deck guns manned and ready as an anti-aircraft measure or in case the pickup was some kind of a trap. Soon he and his first officer were standing in the conning tower, splashed by waves, breathing in the cold, fresh, salty air. The Kapitänleutnant gazed toward Scarra through Zeiss glasses. In the distance, he spotted the lights from the fishing boat. “It must be our man,” he muttered. “No other fishing boat would risk using lights in the blackout.” Then, louder, “Schäffler! Take us forward toward the craft. Prepare to board.”

  “Yes, Herr Kaleu!”

  “Then we must leave, as soon as possible. The damn Brits are finally learning how to sail.”

  * * *

  —

  Three miles due west of U-135, the Royal Navy’s Corvette 548 plowed through tempestuous seas. On its bridge wing, the captain and officer of the deck stood, binoculars raised to their eyes, peering into the darkness. They could see nothing in the rain. The German agent could come as close as a hundred yards and they could still miss him. “Wait!” the captain snapped. “Look to the port bow. There’s a light!”

  “I don’t see anything, sir.”

  “You’re decades younger than I am, with better eyes—how can you not see it? It has to be our German friend’s boat. Must have turned on the lights so they would see him approach. Go back to the bridge,” the captain commanded. “Turn and head for that light. Tell our men to prepare to fire. First the boat, then the sub. Take them both out.”

  “Sir, there’s supposed to be one of ours on that boat….�
��

  “I said, take them out! That’s an order, Lieutenant!”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir!”

  * * *

  —

  The water in the bay was rough, lifting the boat high and then dipping it down, like a child’s rocking horse. “Deceiving an enemy in wartime is similar to fly-fishing, isn’t it, Maggie? You cast patiently. You change your venue and your flies. There are many ways the trout—the enemy—may be lured in,” the agent mused, his back to her.

  Maggie was so tired, and yet she forced herself to listen. She braced her bound hands behind her back, forcing her body upright.

  The huge waves were rendering it difficult for him to make headway through the water, crashing over the boat’s gunwales. “And then, if you’re patient enough, the fish swallows the hook, line, and sinker.”

  Finally standing, Maggie worked the knot of the ropes around her hands against the hook of a life preserver ring. She felt almost preternaturally calm, as if she were in a dream. Nothing seems real except the pain in my head….Despite her exhaustion, she prodded: “So morals mean nothing to you?” The life preserver hook gashed her wrist; she ignored the pain.

  “We’re at war, my dear,” he replied, almost apologetically, as he wrestled with the wooden steering wheel. “And it seems to have come down to the two of us.” He glanced back at her. “But, as I told you, it isn’t personal.”

  “And yet it is.” Her hands were slippery from rainwater and the blood trickling from her wrist.

  “We’re both trying to stay alive. To help our country win.”

  “Some of us are trying to deserve to stay alive.”

  “Then you won’t last long.” He said it with regret.

  “Germany isn’t what you remember, you must realize that. Americans and Brits are bombing the factories and cities.” Maggie had loosened the ropes around her wrists enough to work her hands free.