Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1)

by Fernando Gamboa

  “Are you suggesting,” Carmen said, with an expression of disbelief, “we stay indefinitely on this hole-ridden shell?” She had changed into some of Julie’s work clothes.

  “I wish that were possible,” he answered, weakly. “But it’s only a matter of time before the Royal Navy or a U-boat finds us and sinks us.”

  “Whatever we do,” César said, “we’re screwed.”

  “And what about March?” Julie asked. “We have his million-dollar machine, and he must have the means to help us disappear.”

  Riley nodded bitterly. “You said it, Julie. That man makes deals indiscriminately with the British and the Germans, so he probably wouldn’t hesitate to make us disappear as soon as we give him the Enigma. And even if we decided to risk it and meet him,” he added, “we know he won’t be back in Tangier for five days, and to be honest, I don’t think we’ll stay afloat that long.”

  “But Elsa and I will be able to get off in Lisbon like we agreed, right?” Kirchner said.

  “I’m sorry, Helmut. The route to Lisbon is patrolled by both sides. We can’t even get close to Portugal without being detected.”

  Jack smirked. “Very good, Alex,” he said, taking out his pipe and tapping it on the table. “Now that you’ve convinced us we’re going to die and have lost all hope and everything else, tell us what’s going through your head. Because if I know you well—and I think I do—you’re laying the groundwork to convince us to do something we wouldn’t normally do even if we were drunk out of our skulls.”

  Riley winked at his friend. “Jack’s right, but so is everything I said before. It’s true I want to convince you to do something I wouldn’t even bring up in other circumstances, but the truth is I need you,” he said, looking into their eyes.

  “Everyone?” Kirchner asked.

  “Everyone.”

  Jack asked the key question: “To do what?”

  Riley stood tall, gathering himself, aware that much was on the line. “To do the only thing we can: stop that damn ship. I want you to help me find and sink the Deimos.”

  C and Winston

  The Cabinet War Room

  Basements of the British Ministry of Finance

  London

  That night, like every one before it over the last two years, concrete walls protected the office from the night bombings carried out by the German Heinkel He 111s. The room was dark, save for a small desk lamp that cast some light on the tired face of its occupant.

  The smoke of a half-finished cigar in the ashtray rose toward the ceiling in a perfectly straight white line. On the other side of the desk an empty, wide glass sat next to a freshly opened bottle of whiskey. In front of the bottle, a pile of folders rose a foot high.

  When the door opened, the man behind the desk looked up from the paper in his hands and invited the newcomer in.

  “Prime Minister,” the visitor said solemnly.

  “Save the formality, Steve,” Churchill answered with friendly impatience. Besides the queen and his wife, Churchill was the only one who could address the director of MI6 like that. “Take a seat and help yourself.” He motioned toward the bottle. “I have a box of twelve-year-old Islay that needs to be finished or the fucking Germans will end up with it.”

  “Thank you, Prime Minister. But—”

  “Winston, damn it. I need someone to say my name every once in a while before I forget it.”

  C coughed as he sat down, not even looking at the glass of amber liquor. “Winston,” he said uncomfortably. “I have bad news.”

  “Big surprise,” he said, putting the paper down and leaning back in his chair. “What now?”

  “It’s about our agent in Tangier. The one I sent to—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. What about him?”

  “He’s been killed.”

  Churchill’s expression clouded as he silently gazed beyond the room. C fidgeted in his seat, waiting for him to explode. But he just picked up the lit cigar and asked quietly, “Did he complete his mission?”

  C lowered his head and shook it regretfully. “I don’t know the details, but it seems his targets have escaped.”

  “How is that possible? Wasn’t he your best man?”

  “He was.” He nodded. “And though I don’t know the circumstances, I assure you that—”

  Churchill interrupted him with a sudden motion of his hand that scattered ash on the table. “I don’t want excuses. I want solutions.”

  C tried to sound firm. “All our agents in North Africa, the Mediterranean coast, and the Iberian Peninsula are looking for them, and I ordered the Royal Navy to find and destroy any ship that matches the Pingarrón’s description. Wherever they go, we’ll find them, Wins—Prime Minister.”

  Churchill took a long drag on the cigar and blew loose smoke rings. “Do you think they may have contacted . . . third parties?”

  C vigorously shook his head. “Impossible. The only way they could harm us is by handing the original information on Operation Apokalypse to the American authorities, and that has not happened and will not. Surely,” he added, gaining confidence, “they’re currently looking for some place to hide, unaware of what’s really going on.”

  “But they suspect something,” Churchill said. “Especially after you tried to kill them . . . unsuccessfully.”

  C flinched. “Of course, of course. But don’t forget they’re just a bunch of smugglers. I don’t think they really know what they’re up against.”

  Churchill leaned over the desk and pinned C in the chair with his gaze. “And us, Steve? Do we?”

  C swallowed. “I . . . we . . . Yes, Prime Minister. We’ve known the Nazi plans for some time from various sources. We know where the attack will be, and our experts agree that the effect of the uranium bomb will be devastating. The American public will be furious with their government, and they will have no choice but to finally declare war on Germany.”

  Churchill was silent again, thinking about the terrible decision he had to make that would cost many innocent lives but may make the difference in the war. “If that prude Roosevelt had already entered the war . . . Tell me, Steve, and I want you to be completely honest, is there even a remote possibility that this ‘bunch of smugglers’ could stop the Germans from carrying out their damn apocalypse?”

  C was already shaking his head. “Not at all, Prime Minister,” he said with a slight smile. “It’s absolutely impossible.”

  45

  The sharp bow of the Pingarrón cut the surface of the water as fast as its motors would allow. The water was choppy, and white foam covered the crests of the waves, which shone in the moonlight. Riley calculated that the wind had gone up two or three knots in the last hour. It veered right and was now coming directly at their back, which made him—wiping salt spray off his face with his sleeve—think they may be heading right into the center of a storm.

  He ran across the deck of the ship, climbing the steps to the dining room two at a time. With his hair dripping wet, he bent over the British Admiralty’s detailed chart of the Moroccan coast, Canary Islands, and Madeira. He took out the little book where he’d written the coordinates with the Weems & Plath sextant and, after transcribing them on the map to compare them with those he’d made two hours before, he slammed his fist on the table, shaking his head with a curse.

  Wasting no time, he went to the engine room, passing Carmen and Elsa, who were carrying plugs and wedges made from chair legs and pieces of wooden furniture. Jack, Marco, and Kirchner would use them to fill the holes in the hull closest to the waterline, which were getting worse and letting in more water.

  Riley thought how strange it was to see the mature, worldly Carmen with the young, somewhat naïve Elsa. Yet they worked side by side to keep the ship from sinking. He wondered what the two of them, who had so little in common, talked about. Then he realized they did have something in common: him. Grimacing at the thought, he pushed it out of his head and hurried on.

  “I need more power!” he screamed over th
e noise at César, whose blue jumpsuit was covered in grease. “We’re barely reaching eighteen knots!”

  César turned toward Riley with a big wrench in his hand and an annoyed look on his face. “And what do you want me to do? We’re at 100 percent! Look at the tachometer!” He motioned to a semicircular dial in front of the pistons that pointed past the red mark. “Can’t get any more horsepower out of it!”

  “Then put it at 120! You have to get to twenty knots no matter what! Even if the engine explodes!”

  César stretched out his arms. “Don’t you get it? This is it!”

  Riley bit his lip in anger, knowing César was right. He furiously kicked the engine block, which shook like it was going to break into pieces. “Do whatever you have to! Anything! But get this ship to twenty knots or it’ll all be for nothing!”

  Not giving César time to tell him something he didn’t want to hear, he turned around and left as quickly as he’d come in.

  He knew it wasn’t fair. César was doing everything humanly possible to catch the Deimos, but his duty as captain in times like that was to squeeze everything he could out of his crew, even if it was unreasonable. Many of his compatriots’ lives were on the line, and if he had to act like a bastard, he’d damn well do it.

  The four crew members and three passengers had agreed without hesitation to accompany him on the mad chase. Riley’s plan was to get the Pingarrón near Santa Maria Island, where everyone but him would take the auxiliary launch to land and try to somehow alert the American authorities.

  What he would do after that, when he was on board alone, was less clear, and the only idea he had so far was to try to get close to the corsair ship and ram it, sinking it or damaging it enough to keep it from carrying out its mission. It was a stupid plan with few chances of success against a ship four times bigger armed with torpedoes. To pull it off, he would have to be extremely lucky, and the command of the Deimos either inept or overconfident. Encountering one, let alone both of those conditions, would be a long shot. But as his mother used to say, “Anything’s possible.”

  Back on the top floor of the superstructure, he rushed into the wheelhouse. Julie was looking through the small window, wearing a worn green raincoat. Holding the wheel with both hands, she squinted through the wet wind that soaked her face.

  “We’ve only covered thirty-six miles in two hours,” Riley said. “We have to go faster.”

  She turned to him for a moment. “You already talked to César?”

  Riley nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead. “Said the motors can’t go any faster.”

  “I can’t do anything else either. The sea’s choppy. The waves are over three feet high and before dawn they’ll reach six. The tailwind is helping a little, but the swells are making it hard to move, and I’m afraid we’re going slower and slower.”

  Riley knew the farther they went into the storm, the taller the waves would be and the more water would enter the holes in the hull, making the ship heavier and heavier. With both hands on what was left of the instrument panel, he lowered his head and exhaled. He was doing everything in his power, but the elements seemed to be conspiring against him, and that was not a battle he could win. Best-case scenario, they’d be four hours late to their appointment with the Deimos. But the closer they got to the eye of the storm, the slower they went. The four hours could easily turn into six or eight.

  “Damn,” he grunted, slamming his hand on the wood. “We have no chance like this.”

  Julie kept looking forward as if she hadn’t heard anything.

  Riley looked at the rising waters, and it hit him that the ship was in no shape to face an Atlantic storm. If the waves surpassed six feet, they’d be lucky to make it to the Azores without sinking.

  A harsh tearing sound rang out, and the piece of rubber Jack and César had put on the roof to keep the rain out flew off toward the bow like a spectral bird lit by the deck lights.

  “Fuck,” Riley said, shaking his head. “Now even the wind’s being a pain in the a—” He stopped with his mouth half open, watching the rubber writhe in the air as it disappeared into the night.

  Julie looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Capitaine?” she asked, seeing he didn’t move a muscle. “Are you okay?”

  The answer still didn’t come. He turned to her with a triumphant, crooked smile. Then he kissed her forehead, turned, and ran out like he was on fire.

  Julie was left looking at the empty space where he’d been. Then she looked in front of her, convinced he’d lost his mind.

  The wind hit the deck with gusts of twenty-five knots, and water sprayed it every time the ship rocked. Only a handful of lights outside the superstructure shone through the darkness, making the deck the last place anyone would want to be. But that was exactly where Riley decided to call the whole crew together again, with the exception of Julie, since she couldn’t abandon her post in the middle of a storm. Already, they were navigating large swells with waves almost six feet high and a tailwind of twenty-one knots.

  “I hope this is important,” Jack grumbled, soaked from head to toe. “Water’s coming in the hold faster than we can pump it out. If we don’t plug the holes, we’ll have a serious problem in no time.”

  “I know,” Riley said over the wind. “But I have to update you on the situation.”

  “And do you have to do it here?” César said, squinting in the wind.

  Just then Carmen and Elsa appeared, wrapped in blankets.

  “As you already know,” Riley went on, “we have problems with leaks, and the waves are flooding the hold, which means we’re running the risk of sinking.”

  Riley paused, but no one said anything. It was no secret.

  “What’s more, after doing the calculations, I can assure you that at this speed we won’t reach the Deimos in time. Our current speed is eighteen knots and decreasing, and we have to reach at least twenty-point-five knots, which is impossible, even with the engines at maximum power.

  “So,” he went on, raising his voice, “we’re facing a dilemma. If we follow the plan I proposed to get to Santa Maria in less than forty-eight hours, we may not make it in time, and we could sink. I want to be very clear,” he said to the three passengers, “that the prudent thing would be to turn around right now and go back to port.”

  The wind whistled behind them.

  “But nevertheless, I’m going to ask you . . . to risk your lives and help me get this ship to the Azores. I want to use every chance we have to reach the Deimos before they leave and become impossible to reach. What do you say? Are you with me?”

  Jack answered first. “You’re the captain of this ship, Alex. You don’t even have to ask.”

  “But you didn’t sign up to go after German corsair ships.”

  “Go after German corsair ships, mess with Italian fishermen, what’s it matter? A job’s a job.”

  “This is a mission without compensation, not a job,” Riley said, looking at the passengers again. Carmen looked like she was freezing to death. “So I can’t order you to keep going with this madness . . . but I’m asking you to please do it.”

  “Sorry, Alex,” Carmen said, “but didn’t we already have this conversation a few hours ago?”

  “A few hours ago we weren’t sinking, and I was sure we could make it on time.”

  “And not anymore?”

  “Now it’s possible,” he said, nodding, “though unlikely.”

  “If we go back to dry land, where would we stop?”

  “In our condition, the only option is Morocco. If we try to make it to Spain or Portugal, we’d definitely be discovered on the way.”

  “But they’re looking for us in Morocco too, right?”

  “Yes. There’s no good option. Just bad and worse.”

  César turned and left the deck without explanation.

  Marco leaned on a homemade crutch and smirked. “Looks like the mechanic chickened out.”

  “Shut up, Marco,” Riley said. “What do yo
u want to do? Turn around . . . or keep going?”

  “Let me see,” Jack said, counting on his fingers. “Our options are go back to Morocco, where it’s only a matter of time before they come after us again, ‘they’ being the Germans, British, March—everyone and their brother. Second, try to get to Europe,” he went on, “with the risk of being sunk on the way or, best-case scenario, getting snuffed as soon as we touch ground. Or third, try to stop the Deimos, save the lives of thousands of people, screw the SS and MI6, and then, if we’re lucky, get to the Azores as best we can.” He held up three fingers for Riley. “Am I missing something?”

  “Great summary.” Riley’s black hair blew across his forehead. “Now I need to know if you’re with me.”

  They looked at each other briefly and nodded without hesitation, even Carmen, who had every reason not to, and finally Marco, who was left with no choice. César came back to say he and Julie were on board too.

  Elsa, nevertheless, looked a little confused. “Captain, I’m with you, but how are we going to get there if the ship can’t go any faster?”

  “I said the motors can’t go any faster.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” César asked.

  “Under normal circumstances, of course,” he said, taking a white handkerchief from his pocket. “But today we have something to our advantage.” He held it above his head and let it go.

  The handkerchief immediately flew toward the bow, vanishing in the night.

  46

  The sky had been growing cloudy, covering the stars, and now the first drops of rain began to fall. They fell loosely and periodically, but were a preview of what was coming in the next few hours.

  The white cotton handkerchief had long since disappeared from view, but no one standing stoically in the growing force of the wind had understood the captain’s dramatic gesture. And if anyone had, they certainly wouldn’t have believed the suggestion for its strangeness.