‘Answer when I question you!’ It was almost a scream.
‘I am entitled –’ He got no further.
‘Here, I am in command. You are entitled to nothing beyond the limit of my orders! Do you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ His shadow moved round the lamp again until he was directly in front of the chair. He leaned back against the table, his features composed, even calm. ‘I am glad to know it. If I had returned earlier things would have been different. I do not know if what you told the two officers,’ be spat out the words with obvious contempt, ‘is true or false. I care even less. But I promise you that when I have done my work you will be eager to tell me everything and anything. Your sort will always hide behind your out-moded conventions and standards. Play the game, eh? Or something is not cricket?’
The room was starting to spin again, and Seaton had to fix his gaze on the wall to stop himself from collapsing.
‘The intervention by those officers of the naval staff merely delays matters slightly. It will give you time to build your strength for what is to come.’
There was a nervous tap at the door and the commandant swung round angrily. ‘Herein!’
It was a soldier with a sealed envelope. Seaton saw his hand shaking as he held it out to his officer.
He ripped it open and read the short note inside. To Seaton he said, ‘A car and escort is waiting. You will go to the naval hospital.’ He reached out and touched Seaton’s face very gently. ‘Enjoy your respite.’
He beckoned to some soldiers outside the door, and once again Seaton was hauled to his feet, his teeth grinding to hold the pain at bay.
Seaton watched the officer’s squared shoulders as he strode ahead along a poorly lit passageway. It was an old building, the walls lined with glazed bricks. But at the far end was a narrow rectangle of light. Outside was reality. If only for a brief while.
A door to the left opened slightly and a man in a white coat, wearing small, gold-rimmed spectacles, waited for the commandant to see him.
Seaton felt his heart pounding. Perhaps they had their own doctor after all and had been playing with him, like a cat with a mouse.
The commandant said something sharply and pointed at the floor. There was water everywhere, and the air was heavy with a foul, acrid smell.
‘Well, Leutnant Seaton.’ The commandant faced him coldly. ‘You may wish to see something.’ He kicked the door inwards with a polished boot, while the soldiers gripped Seaton’s arms and pushed him into the entrance.
After the passageway the overhead lights were searingly bright. There were several figures in the room, some in white coats, others in shirt-sleeves, as they paused to watch his reactions.
Lying spread-eagled on the floor, wrists and ankles cruelly tied to ring-bolts, was a naked, bloated ‘thing’. You could not accept it as human. Every inch of the bloated flesh was discoloured by bruises and burns, but worst of all was the way the body itself was swollen to incredible and obscene proportions.
The sound which Seaton had heard through his pain in the passageway began again, and he realised with stunned horror that a rubber pipe which ran out between the pinioned man’s buttocks was connected to a stirrup-pump which in turn was being worked into a new bucket of water.
He would have fallen but for the rigid hold on his arms. The body was starting to heave with the mounting pressure of water, and a series of inhuman grunts accompanied each powerful thrust of an S.S. man’s arms on the pump.
The tortured creature seemed to realise that someone else was present. The head tried to turn, the eyes bulging from a contorted face.
‘Enough.’ The commandant stepped into the passageway, holding a handkerchief to his face. ‘It will take more time yet.’
Seaton allowed himself to be half-dragged, half-carried towards the pale daylight. His mind was screaming, trying to shut out the regular squeak of the stirrup-pump.
Had Trevor recognised him? Did he in the last moments of unspeakable torture realise that Seaton was trying to spare his agonising degradation?
Outside in a walled yard a camouflaged car was throbbing quietly, a German seaman sitting at the wheel, and several S.S. men waiting beside it with their Schmeissers.
As he was pushed into the car he turned and looked at the commandant. He was standing in the entrance, smoking a cigarette and smiling.
The car rocked and jolted over the cobbles and then turned towards a main road.
Everything was the same as before, and yet totally different.
Seaton stared out at the muffled townspeaople, almost grateful for each stabbing pain as the car gained speed, if only to blot that scene from his mind.
He thought of Jens, of the brave and pathetic boy Thor, and of the girl. He was almost fearful of even remembering her in case she had been in an adjoining cell to Trevor. Waiting or suffering even worse torture.
Ideas wild and desperate played havoc with his thoughts. He would kill himself. Anything but give in to the smiling madman with the death-head on his uniform.
Seaton heard the driver swear under his breath and saw another German car parked across the road. A fish cart was upended, and while its owner waved his hands in the air the occupants of the car gathered round to watch. They were soldiers, and seemed to be enjoying their driver’s argument with the Norwegian.
One of the soldiers saw the naval car and grinned hugely. He started to walk towards it, pretending to hold his fingers in his ears to shut out the argument behind him.
Seaton closed his eyes, stunned that his captors could take an interest in a minor collision after what they had just witnessed. After what they probably saw on every working day at the police H.Q.
The rear door was suddenly wrenched open and a voice filled the car. ‘Hände hoch!’
Seaton stared with disbelief. Now he knew he was going mad. He had to be. The soldier from the other car had whipped a machine-pistol out of his greatcoat and had it trained on the S.S. guards, and as if to a shouted command the other soldiers were also running to surround the vehicle in a tight circle of guns.
The man with the little cart came last, unbuttoning his leather coat, keeping his huge eyes fixed on the motionless occupants. It was Brynjulf.
He saw Seaton and nodded slowly. ‘Can you climb down, David?’
Seaton pulled himself towards a door. He heard the nearest guard move too, the sudden click of a safety catch. The response was instant, the murderous hail of bullets cutting the S.S. man down and spattering blood across the terrified driver and shattering the windscreen.
Seaton coughed in the smoke and allowed eager hands to aid him to the street. Their faces were starting to swim and fade.
He gasped, ‘Trevor!’
Pistols clattered in the street and were immediately gathered up by Brynjulf’s fake Germans.
The Resistance leader said quietly, ‘Yes. I know.’ His tone sharpened. ‘Now. We get you away from here. Quickly.’
They all started towards the other car. All except Brynjulf. As the Norwegian driver swung his car round in a violent turn towards a side street, Brynjulf wrenched open a door and flung a grenade into the back.
Seaton was propped between two of the Norwegians for comfort and security. Nevertheless, the blast almost threw him to the floor, and when he peered through the rear of the careering car he saw a black crater and a swirling funnel of smoke.
Then and only then did his last reserve of strength give out.
12
Gesture for the Dead
LIEUTENANT GEOFFREY DRAKE WRIGGLED HIS shoulders deeper into his various layers of clothing and made himself check the control panel. If nothing else, it kept him from falling into a dazed sleep, or from counting the minutes since he had last looked at the clock.
Jenkyn was asleep in the battery compartment, and Niven was stretched out on the bunk on the port side of the control room. His back was turned inboard, so Drake did not know whether he was awake or not.
It was cold and damp, with heavy drops of condensation falling from the curved deckhead like rain. On the corticine deck covering, over machinery and dials, and on Drake’s head and shoulders.
The boat felt very still as it lay nestled against the burned-out wreck. Drake was uneasy about the one time he had surfaced the boat, just before the dawn which had followed Seaton’s departure. A stiff cross-current had swung the hull wildly, and they had slammed against the wreck like a battering-ram. Quite apart from the grinding noise, he had been worried about possible damage. He still was.
Drake had always relied on Jenkyn as a gauge of the security, or lack of it. The little E.R.A. had spent hours going over his printed diagrams of electrical circuits and one of the tail-clutch. He always did things like that when he was bothered. Just to keep his mind busy and ready.
Drake reached up half-heartedly and wiped the steel plating directly above him. But the old towel was already sodden. Stinking with the boat’s own sweat of water and oil.
He tried to think, but it was getting more difficult in the foul air. Despite all his watchful care, the air supply was running low. But they dared not surface to charge batteries and ventilate the boat. Even during the night he had heard the pounding vibration of fast engines. It was too damn risky.
It was late afternoon. He yawned hugely, the stubble on his chin rasping painfully on his collar. The skipper would come back tonight. He had to. They couldn’t keep on like this. He almost envied Seaton’s trip ashore.
He rubbed his gloved hands together. God damn the cold.
Niven rolled over and stared at him wearily.
Drake said, ‘Go to sleep. Save the bloody air.’
Niven sighed and peered at the clock. ‘Is that all it is?’
When Drake remained silent he said, ‘Do you think he’ll make it back?’
‘What a stupid remark.’ Drake looked away. ‘’Course he will. Dave’s a real goer.’
Niven lay back and covered his face with his cap. ‘This is enemy territory.’ He spoke thickly, like a man who has had too much to drink.
Drake watched him. ‘I had noticed.’ He glanced at the door of the W & D compartment and added, ‘I’m more worried about the state of the boat. The batteries are getting punch-drunk, and unless we can get weaving soon we’ll not have the power to make the rendezvous with the sub.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
Drake stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t.’ It came out almost savagely. ‘Christ, it’s getting me down.’
Niven groaned. ‘It’ll be the same in a thousand years.’ The thought seemed to rouse him. ‘What d’you reckon will happen to the midget subs which have gone down? I mean, after the war?’
Drake waited, trying to curb his unreasoning anger. ‘Depends who wins.’
‘But does it?’ Niven propped himself on one elbow, his eyes very bright. ‘Take Lieutenant Vanneck’s boat, for instance. We’ve written it off, accepted it as a steel coffin. But years from now, we or the Jerries, or even Ivan, will salvage her and stick her up on a plinth with a sort of pride.’ He chuckled. ‘Think of it, we’ll all become valuable relics!’
Drake said sharply, ‘You’re round the bend, mate!’
Niven regarded him thoughtfully. ‘How did you get on with Decia, by the way?’
Drake swallowed hard. ‘Decia?’
‘Yes. My wife, you know.’
Jenkyn almost fell through the door. ‘We’ll need more air from the after cylinders, Number One. What about it? I can brew some char then.’
Drake looked at him gratefully.
‘Great idea. See to it, Alec.’
‘She would hate it if anything happened to me.’ Niven did not seem aware of Jenkyn. ‘She hates wearing black.’
Jenkyn said quietly, ‘I seen it ’appen before. We was stuck on the bottom for two bloody days while Jerry flung depth charges about like they was goin’ out of fashion. Our navigator completely flipped. One minute he was studyin’ ’is precious charts, an’ the next ’e was strippin’ off stark naked an’ makin’ for the connin’ tower.’
Drake watched Niven’s blank features. ‘What happened?’
‘The Old Man says, “’Ere, Pilot, where the bleedin’ ’ell d’you reckon you’re goin’?”’ Jenkyn’s narrow face split into a grin, remembering and savouring the moment. ‘Mr Thomas, that was ’is name, turns and replies, “I’m goin’ up to speak sharply to them bastards!”’ He rocked with silent laughter. ‘An’ us lyin’ in a ’undred foot o’ water!’
Niven flopped on his back and said in a small voice, ‘I feel like hell.’
Drake crossed the control room and looked down at him. If anything, he seemed younger than ever.
What would happen, he wondered, if he really told him? That he and Decia had made love in every position he had ever imagined, and a few more she had introduced him to. That they had been too shagged out to move, let alone speak.
He heard air hissing into the pressure hull and breathed deeply.
That was close. Too damn close. But he had acted wrongly, as deep down he had thought he would. He had always wanted to share, be part of something special. David Seaton had left him in command, making him responsible for the boat and his companions.
At the first sign of over-submerged jitters he had cracked. He had asked this poor, ashen-faced subbie what he should do. He swore aloud, ‘Oh, sod it!’
Then he tried to whistle, but for once South of the Border would not come.
Jenkyn watched him gloomily as he waited for water to boil for the tea.
‘Just like mother makes!’ He looked away, stabbed by his own attempt at humour. Poor old Ma. She was well out of it.
High above their heads, as the shattered bridge of the wreck showed itself through a dropping tide, its clinging weed reflecting the flashing buoys, other shipping went about its affairs.
A few launches pushed through the swirling water, eager to get home before darkness closed in, and two small fishing boats headed towards the quays.
Hardly anyone had heard the brief rattle of gunfire either that morning or later in the day where it was rumoured a German car had been ambushed. By terrorists or patriots, according to your point of view or how you had to earn a living. Either way it would mean trouble, and most people had enough of that already.
In his office near the docks, Kapitän zur Zee Hans Vogel sat behind his big desk, pretending to study the daily report of progress in the new U-boat pens. But his mind was with his son, who was also in the navy. The signal lay hidden under his blotter where his efficient assistant, Habeit, could not see it. Missing. His son’s ship had been sunk by British motor torpedo boats near the Dogger Bank. Missing.
He rubbed his eyes and thought about the young British lieutenant he had seen at the police station. All at once he was glad he had tried to help him, and despite his background and inbuilt loyalty, he was even more pleased he had escaped from that S.S. butcher.
Perhaps, and it was only a small hope so far, his son would be rescued, and somewhere, even now, a British officer would be helping him.
From the other desk, Kapitänleutnant Habeit said, ‘I have ordered the harbour patrol to be doubled.’ He saw his words had not reached his superior.
Habeit knew about the signal. But it was war. The Leader needed firm, dedicated officers. Orders would be obeyed at all times without question. That British officer, for instance. He had known more than he had said. He had admitted being the one who had destroyed the Hansa. It might have set back Germany’s victory by a year. And all his superior could do was praise him for his courage.
Darkness returned to Bergen’s seven hills, and in the police station the thing which had once been a man at last mercifully died.
Seaton opened his eyes, the pain returning instantly. Part of it was caused by tensing his body, as if to protect himself or to withstand a blow.
He was in another room, and he realised it was lit by a small table lamp which was shaded by some cloth to prot
ect his eyes. The lamp made a small arc of light against the opposite wall, and played on a framed picture of some hills, with the sea between them like water in a vast dam.
He tried to move, and realised two things. That he was naked between clean sheets, and that his whole body felt as if it were clamped in sections of armour plate.
A shadow detached itself from the wall and moved silently to the bedside. It was Brynjulf, his great liquid eyes hidden against the soft light.
‘How do you feel?’
Seaton winced as the memories flooded back. Thor’s blood running out between the cobbles. The German’s helmet rolling away. The boots and the agony.
He licked his lips. ‘What about the bargain now?’ He felt the bitterness welling up inside him. ‘God, I hope you’re satisfied.’
Brynjulf shrugged. ‘It was unfortunate. Nobody knew that Thor was wanted for questioning. About some small matter. I am sorry.’
Seaton raised his wrist and looked at his watch, which was surprisingly unbroken. About the only thing which was intact.
He gasped, ‘It’s late! I must get up immediately.’
Pictures revolved in his aching mind. The wreck buoys, the launch, Drake listening for his return.
There was someone else by the bed now, a small, round man with scrubbed hands and a grave expression. Without asking, Seaton knew he was a doctor.
The doctor eyed him severely. ‘You have suffered, young man.’ He snapped on the overhead light, almost blinding Seaton. ‘I think you should meet someone before you begin to assert yourself, yes?’
Seaton felt his heart pounding and made himself lie still as he looked around the bedroom. Small, and rather old and quaint. Pictures of fjords and square-rigged ships on the walls, a china Polar bear on the dressing table.
The doctor swung the long mirror of the dressing table towards the bed. ‘I should like you to meet you.’
Seaton felt Brynjulf levering his shoulders from the bed, and then stared at himself with horror.
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