Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1)

by Fernando Gamboa

  Two minutes later, balanced on the stool again, Marco put the key in the safe and turned it. With a dull crack, the interior latches opened.

  It hadn’t been much fun taking the chain off the corpse’s neck, but that was beside the point. There was something important enough in the safe that the officer had kept the key so close to his body.

  “There you go,” Marco said, the door groaning as it opened. “But I need some light in here.”

  “What do you see?” Riley asked impatiently, holding the flashlight above his head. “Is it there?”

  Instead of answering, Marco reached into the safe, fumbled around, and took out a blue book with a Nazi logo and a small wad of German bills. “You were right, Captain,” he said with a sarcastic smile. “After this job, we can retire.”

  “Fuck!” Riley kicked the floor with his lead boot.

  “Now what?”

  Riley tried to calm himself down. “We still have two days,” he muttered, running his gloved hand over his face. “So we take as many documents as possible in case there’s something valuable and go back to the ship. Once on board, we can think calmly about what to do next. Maybe we’ll think of something.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Marco said skeptically. “Maybe we’ll think of something.”

  “Exactly. Now help me with the papers, and let’s get out of here as soon as possible.”

  Marco got down from the stool, put the money and book in one of the bags, and started collecting anything that seemed valuable—the Nazi uniform, hat, and boots included.

  Riley played looter too, but with his head in a different place. It was a lottery with few winning numbers, but despite his pessimism, the result of being both a soldier and a sailor, he’d been looking forward to finding the device and making them all rich. All the clues had led to that cabin as the place where he’d find his peculiar treasure, but providence once again showed itself to be a stubborn and bitter old lady with a twisted sense of humor.

  Disillusioned and grumpy, he grabbed the loose sheets of paper and folders without worrying about their value or possible importance. He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, go back to the ship, and get slowly and methodically drunk in his cabin till he lost consciousness.

  But then, after shoving a last handful of papers in the bag, he looked down at his feet. There was a dark wooden box hidden in a pile of rubble, its lid partially open. He lifted it and found what seemed to be a strange typewriter with two keyboards and four small gears.

  Riley froze, not believing what he saw. Fate had finally smiled on him.

  23

  Ninety feet above their heads, the atmosphere on the Pingarrón was tense. The crew and passengers closely watched the surface of the water, hoping to see a pull on the signal cord and finally end the dive that could change their lives.

  They were all leaning on the bulwark. Even Elsa was there, though she was in a bad mood. As they all quietly watched the gentle waves, something unexpected happened.

  Not far from where the divers’ bubbles were rising, a six-foot pole emerged from the water. Jack stood up with a start. Blocking the sun with his hand, he thought that Riley and Marco were somehow floating the Phobos. “But what the hell . . . ?”

  “No . . .” Julie said, taking a step back in fear. “Not again.”

  “Again?” César asked.

  “Don’t you see?” She pointed. “Mon Dieu! That’s a periscope!”

  The pole rose even higher, surrounded by half a dozen antennas. Then came an iron structure dripping with water and foam. It was a regrettably familiar sight.

  “Mein Gott!” Elsa screamed, covering her mouth with her hand.

  They were all paralyzed with fear. Then Jack realized he was in charge. Still squinting at the Nazi tower, he yelled an order to Kirchner and Elsa: “Quick, hide in your cabin!”

  It took them an instant to react, but they ran to the superstructure. Before leaving the deck, Elsa gave Jack a terrified, pleading look. He forced himself to nod and give her a smile that said everything would be okay, though he expected it to be anything but.

  “Do you think it’s the same one?” César asked as the boat came up amidst furiously churning water.

  “No Kriegsmarine sign, a swastika on the bow . . .” Jack murmured. “I don’t think there are many like that.” He looked at the air hoses stretching into the water. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head angrily, “they couldn’t have appeared at a worse time.”

  “What are we going to do?” Julie asked with concern.

  Jack took a deep breath, trying to think of an answer. “I don’t know,” he said finally, staring at the submarine. “I swear to God I don’t know.”

  The U-boat emerged completely between them and the Moroccan coast. This blocked all possibility of escape and made the Pingarrón block them from the view of the English on the Rock of Gibraltar. Also, the freighter was anchored firmly, fore and aft, and Riley and Marco were still underwater, so they couldn’t move.

  When water stopped draining from the tower, they heard the dry thud of a hatch being opened. Three sailors rotated the fore gun so it pointed directly at the hull of the Pingarrón, while two others did the same with the antiaircraft machine gun on the stern.

  “They seem displeased,” Julie whispered. The euphemism would have been funny to Jack in any other situation.

  “If they know about the Phobos,” César said, “I think we’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I’m afraid they’re not here for that,” Jack said quietly, running his hand through his hair in preoccupation.

  “They’re here for them,” Julie said, nodding toward the superstructure. “This time we don’t have the suits to hide them in the tank.”

  Jack sighed. “It’s all the same. We fooled them once and escaped alive. Whatever we do, I don’t think we’ll have that luck again.”

  “So?” César asked.

  As if in response, several submarine officers came out of the tower, along with a man in a black uniform with silver trim and an unmistakable face, white as death. “Guten Morgen!” he said with a joviality that couldn’t signal anything good. “What a pleasant coincidence to run into you again!”

  Unfortunately, one thing they could be sure of was that it was no coincidence, and certainly not a pleasant one. Jack imagined the most likely chain of events. Captain Högel of the Gestapo had followed the false trail Riley gave him to Barcelona. Discovering the lie, he retraced his steps in search of the insignificant freighter and its crew, who’d been foolish enough to trick him and by extension the whole Reich. He was determined to make sure it wouldn’t happen again by making them all pay with their lives.

  “How’d you find us?” Jack asked nonchalantly, trying to gain time.

  “What’s it matter?” the Nazi responded, almost cheerfully. “We have eyes and ears all over the world. Of course Tangier is no exception.”

  “Of course . . . And what do you want from us now?”

  Högel smiled like a snake. “You know perfectly well. I want you to give me the two passengers.”

  “Passengers? I don’t know what you mean.”

  Högel took off his cap, wiped the sweat off his forehead with a white handkerchief, and said something to the two sailors manning the dual 20 mm machine gun. Jack barely had time to dive down before bullets swept the deck of the ship, peppering the superstructure, the cabins, and the entire starboard side of the hull.

  Pressed against the deck with their hands over their heads, Jack, Julie, and César endured the awful sound of bullets flying over them. Piercing the thinnest parts of the hull, they made a terrible noise and left fist-sized holes. Glass, metal, and splinters rained on them from all directions. This was nothing new for Jack, but it was for Julie and César, who curled up and hugged each other in the fetal position in search of some form of refuge.

  It would be hard for them to sink the Pingarrón with that antiaircraft gun, but Jack knew it was only a matter
of time before the two-pound bullets flying over a thousand miles per hour ended up killing them one way or another. There was nowhere to hide.

  Just when it seemed like their lives would soon end, the firing stopped.

  “Are you okay?” Jack yelled, turning toward them.

  César had a wound on his shoulder that was gushing blood, and Julie had small cuts on her face from the debris. Neither of them answered, mute with fear.

  Jack looked at the damaged superstructure where the cabins were—Kirchner and Elsa were hidden there. His ears were ringing, and he wasn’t sure his legs could support him, but he tried to sit up. With as much poise as he could muster, he leaned overboard again.

  “Oh! You’re alive,” Högel exclaimed with false relief on seeing him. “Wonderful! Now I don’t have to repeat myself. Hand over the passengers.”

  “We don’t—”

  “I know they’re on board,” Högel said impatiently. “If you insult my intelligence again by denying it, I’ll shoot . . . but not with a harmless machine gun.” He gestured to the powerful cannon on the bow, which seemed to be aimed right at Jack’s face.

  They were at a dead end, and Jack could think of no way out.

  “Okay,” Jack said finally. “Let’s suppose the two people you’re looking for are here. If you keep shooting you’ll kill them too.”

  Högel gave him a wolfish grin. “That is a risk I am willing to take. My mission is to return the two traitors to Germany immediately. But above all, I have to make sure they do not fall into enemy hands.”

  “And you want us to give them to you, in exchange for not sinking our ship.”

  “I see you are a more reasonable man than your captain,” he said without answering. “By the way,” he added, looking along the Pingarrón, “where is he?”

  “He got off in Tangier. He had business there.”

  “I see . . . We will take care of him later. So are you going to hand over the traitors, or do I have to sink your ship and fetch the bodies from the water?”

  Jack looked at Julie and César, then at the cabins where he hoped Kirchner and Elsa were still alive.

  “Okay,” he said, his head down. “But what guarantee do I have that after giving them to you, you won’t sink us anyway?”

  Högel laughed loudly as he glanced at his watch. “You have three minutes, which is the time it will take us to get there in our launch. For your own safety, I hope the prisoners are ready by then.”

  In the long hours spent with the Lincoln Battalion, Jack learned to play poker pretty well. One of the many lessons from the game, so similar to real life, was that there are times when you can’t win, and you have to settle for cutting your losses.

  The situation with the Nazi submarine aiming their 88 mm cannon at them point-blank was like a game he’d played in the ruins of a large house outside Toledo destroyed two days earlier by Condor Legion bombs. He’d bet almost everything on a pair of queens, which were just concubines after two aces appeared on the table. The guy across from him was smiling from ear to ear as he took out a hundred-dollar bill and a picture of his girlfriend naked, which was worth at least as much. To call the raise, Jack would’ve had to risk everything he had. He thought about it for a few seconds, since if he threw in his cards he would lose everything he already put in, but then he remembered the saying “A timely retreat is a victory” and folded.

  That hand cost him 90 percent of his money, but he kept playing and was soon able to make most of it back. He even got the photo of the girlfriend that half the platoon wanted—she really was a beauty.

  “You two,” he whispered to Julie and César. “Stay crouched and try to get to the stern without letting them see you. Jump in, and when the danger passes try to swim to shore.”

  They exchanged a confused look. “What are you talking about?” Julie said, starting to get up.

  “I said stay down,” Jack said.

  “Why the hell do you want us to get off the ship?” César asked.

  Jack glanced at the submarine and saw a group of sailors inflating the launch. “They’ll kill us as soon as we give them Helmut and Elsa,” he whispered. “You have a better chance of surviving if you swim away, and when they’re gone you can try to make it to the coast.”

  Julie blinked rapidly. “You don’t know that! And if you’re going to give them to the Nazis, what’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that at least they’ll survive. And if Högel thinks you died, maybe you’ll survive too.”

  “And what about the captain and Marco?” she asked. “If they sink us, they won’t be able to get back to the surface.”

  Jack slowly shook his head, pointing at the compressor that should have been sending them precious air, now torn apart by bullets.

  “Forget about them,” he said. “They’re already dead.”

  24

  When Jack entered the cabin to look for them, Kirchner and Elsa were already waiting in the middle of the room for him with grave expressions.

  “I’m sorry, I . . .” was all Jack managed to say, looking down.

  “We know you’ve done all you can,” Kirchner said, going toward him and reaching out a hand.

  Jack shook it without looking up, biting his lips. “It’s your only chance,” he said. “If I don’t hand you in, they’ll sink the ship, and we’ll all die. At least this way you can survive.”

  “And what . . . what about you?” Elsa asked, afraid of the answer. “Julie, the captain, you . . .”

  Jack looked up at her silently, not knowing how to answer. “We should go,” he said, motioning to the door. “We don’t have much time.”

  Elsa took his arm and pulled him toward her, then put her arm around his neck and hugged him tightly—a hug of apology and farewell. When she separated again, her green eyes looked helpless.

  “It will be okay,” Jack said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.

  They all knew that empty phrase was untrue. They also knew that what was going to happen in the next few minutes was inevitable, so they nodded, pretending to believe it.

  “Okay,” Kirchner said, clearing his throat. “Let’s go.” Straightening the little glasses on his nose, he went out in the direction of the deck.

  When they stepped outside, Jack saw that Julie and César were gone and prayed they had followed his advice and jumped into the water.

  “Magnificent!” Högel cried when he saw them. “I finally found you! When they gave me the mission to take you back to Germany, I had no idea it would be so much trouble. But you are finally mine, like it could not have been any other way.” He motioned toward the inflatable boat off the side of the sub, which four soldiers were boarding. “Now I just ask you to wait for my men to arrive and bring you here to the submarine.”

  “So it’s you,” Kirchner called, squinting. “I heard about a fanatic albino Gestapo captain called ‘The White Demon.’ I thought it was made up by the Party to scare dissidents.”

  Högel smiled proudly. “Well, now you see it was not. I thought of the nickname myself . . . and then I spread the word. Do you like it?”

  “They say you’re a monster.”

  Far from being offended, Högel looked pleased. “I just follow orders. But when you are on my boat, we can talk all we want about my methods . . . and find out if they are justified or not.”

  Jack couldn’t help but look at Elsa, who was staring weakly at the Nazi. He started to suspect her fate would be no better than his and immediately began to regret his decision. As he watched the four soldiers start paddling toward the ship, he got all kinds of crazy ideas about how to save everyone.

  But unexpectedly it was Kirchner who took a pistol out of his pocket and pointed it at the nape of Elsa’s neck. Incapable of comprehending what was happening, Jack took a step back. “What . . . what are you doing?”

  “The only thing I can,” Kirchner answered, shakily gripping Riley’s Colt with both hands. “I can’t let either of us fall into their
hands. The lives of millions could depend on it.”

  “But this is . . . it’s crazy. There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t, Jack,” Elsa said. “If they make us go back, they’ll force Helmut and my father to make that terrible weapon, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  Jack stepped forward to take the gun, but Kirchner turned, putting Elsa between them. “Don’t try to stop it,” Kirchner said with his finger on the trigger. “It will be best for everyone.”

  “Please, Jack,” Elsa begged. “Don’t make it harder.”

  “Bullshit!” he yelled. “I swear to God I can’t believe you’re acting like such fucking idiots!”

  Elsa’s eyes teared up as she saw the launch approaching. “There’s no other way.”

  “Take your finger off the trigger!” Jack shouted, pointing at Kirchner.

  “Come on, shoot!” Högel shouted, cracking up. “You do not have what it takes!”

  “Shut up, you son of a bitch!” Jack roared, turning to him.

  Högel laughed harder. “You won’t be so cocky after I sink your ship.”

  “Go fuck yourself.” Jack turned back to Kirchner and Elsa. “There’s gotta be another way!”

  Elsa closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “But I . . . I love you,” Jack said. “I love you, Elsa. Please . . . don’t do it.”

  She gazed at him with her green eyes, devoid of hope, two wet streaks running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching his face. “I’m very sorry.”

  Jack took her delicate white hand and squeezed it desperately, but he saw the unwavering look in her eyes and knew there was nothing he could do.

  “Do it, Helmut,” she said, turning to him. She grabbed the barrel and pressed it against her forehead.

  “No!” Jack screamed.

  But before he could stop him, Kirchner pulled the trigger.