“How so?”
“Simple. What’s the difference between the Royal family and my own family?” He paused but when Conroy made no comment he went on. “Okay, I’ll tell you. The ancestors of the Royal family were better thieves and murderers than mine. I see no reason to worship a family because of that.”
“So you don’t agree with the monarchy — the English monarchy?”
“I don’t agree with any monarchy. It’s outdated. You can’t justify an hereditary elite any more than you can argue, say, for hereditary Nobel laureates. I’m with Milton, Blake and Shelley…they were all good republicans.”
“So you don’t believe there is anything special about the monarchy?” pressed Conroy.
Adams just shrugged. Conroy drew a deep breath. He wondered how he would react when the time came. If the time came. He would be the first regicide in England since the executioner of Charles I. He shivered slightly at the comparison. He wished that he was not assailed by such doubts.
Jessie had seen a dark speck to seaward. She cried a warning and a moment later Conroy, sprung out of his speculations, had grabbed the Zeiss binoculars and focussed them. He drew a short breath.
“I guess the reason that the sloop isn’t in Port Howe is because it’s bearing down on us right now. Can you get the signal off to Station Nassau, Adams, and ask White to signal the sloop immediately. We may want back-up.”
Adams gave a long look in the direction Conroy was indicating. Then he nodded and swung below. Jess took over from him at the wheel. “Well. Jess, we’re about to have visitors,” smiled Conroy.
The low, sleek grey shape of the sloop, smoke streaming from her funnel, raced towards them.’. Conroy could see their light guns manned and ready; saw the white ensign cracking from its jackstaff at the stern. Identification letters were painted on her sides.
Adams returned to the cockpit just as the sloop was nearing the Eleuthera. He nodded briefly to Conroy as a voice, strangely distorted by mechanical amplification, echoed from the sloop.
“Heave to and identify yourselves!”
“Permission to come aboard, sir?” Conroy yelled back promptly.
There was a pause, presumably at the unexpectedness of the request, and then; “Permission for one to come aboard. We have you under our guns.”
The skipper was no fool.
Conroy gestured for Adams, who had taken over again from Jess, to case the yacht alongside.
A ladder was lowered down the sloop’s side. He leapt for it and managed to scramble up. As he did so he heard the voice telling the Eleuthera to stand off. The sloop’s captain was obviously a wary man.
A wooden-faced petty officer, armed and alert, was waiting for him at the rail. Ratings, with expressions of curiosity on their faces, stood to at their posts as they watched Conroy ushered briskly towards the midships.
“This way. mister,” he grunted, indicating a series of almost vertical ladders to the (‘pen bridge, where half-a-dozen officers and ratings stood waiting for him. The expressions of inquisitiveness on their faces were obvious. They were clad in tropica! whites. One of them, with a commander’s epaulets on his shoulders, moved forward. He was young, his youth badly disguised by a small spade shaped beard.
“Identify yourself, mister.”
“Are you the captain of this vessel?” Conroy asked.
The commander nodded in curt affirmation. “I am.”
“In a few moments you should be receiving a signal from Nassau, captain. When you receive it. I want a private word with you.”
The officer’s jaw dropped. His features took on an expression of astonishment and then suspicion. Whatever he had been expecting, it was certainly not this opening.
At that precise moment a rating came scurrying onto the bridge with a paper in his hand. He threw up his hand in a deferential salute.
“Sparks says an urgent signal, sir. fop priority.”
The commander took the flimsy paper and read through it, his eyes widening. Then he thrust it into his pocket and turned to Conroy.
“Follow me. if you please.”
The officers on the bridge were exchanging dumbfounded glances with one another.
At least the punctilious Colonel While was also efficient Conroy breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to follow the commander down below, with the imperturbable petty officer following behind.
The commander entered a cabin and motioned Conroy to follow, calling over his shoulder to the escort:
“Post a guard until further orders, Reynolds.” The petty officer threw up a smart salute and assumed an “at ease”
position outside the door. The commander closed it and then threw the signal flimsy on the table.
“I am Commander Fellowes, captain of the Snark. Now perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what the hell this is all about?”
Conroy smiled apologetically.
“That I can’t, I’m afraid, commander. However, I presume that you have been informed that I am Major James Conroy of military intelligence, and that the yacht, the Eleuthera, is operating under my instructions?”
The commander nodded. His expression was slightly dour.
“Can I presume that this sloop will be cruising these waters for the next forty-eight hours?”
The commander grimaced.
“You’ll know that the Snark is under escort duty to certain important people who are currently visiting Cat Island. I suppose that your duty involves them as well?”
“That is correct, skipper. Those important people are still at Serafini’s villa?”
“Yes. They are not due to return to Nassau until tomorrow afternoon.”
Conroy was wondering whether the Naval man was right.
“Are you sure that they are still on the island?” He decided to chance rousing the man’s curiosity with the question.
The commanded shrugged. “We had to put through a special priority call to the…to one of the subjects this morning.”
Conroy sighed. He hoped it was the Duke who had taken the call but he could not press the matter further.
“I need to be able to contact you in an emergency, captain, and be assured of your assistance.”
The naval officer’s eyes widened slightly.
“Are you expecting some trouble? Is it in connection with…?”
Conroy silenced him with a gesture of his hand.
“I simply wish to be prepared for any contingency which might arise.”
“I see. You have radio access? HF/DF?”
Conroy made an affirmative gesture. The captain took a piece of paper and scribbled down some numbers.
“This is our call sign. Let’s agree a personal code — the letters HRH,” he smiled briefly, “which will identify your emergency.” Conroy nodded agreement. The skipper was capable and hard-headed. “We’ll be cruising the eastern passage between Cat Island and San Salvador during the next twenty-four hours. Admiralty orders. Then we shall be off Port Howe to form an escort for the Lupo di Mare to return to Nassau.”
“Good,” smiled Conroy. “While you are about it, I’d keep a careful watch for suspicious shipping in this area.”
The commander’s lips pursed. He did not look happy as Conroy turned to leave the cabin. The petty officer barred his way.
“That’s all right, Reynolds,” sighed the skipper. “Conduct our visitor back to his yacht.”
With his expression still wooden, the petty officer turned and led the way back on deck.
A few moments later, Conroy was back on the Eleuthera and they were heading away from the low, grey sloop, which was now standing out to sea.
“I bet the Navy loved you,” Adams grinned, as he tucked the codes behind the Eleuthera’s radio. “Their collective imagination must be working overtime.”
“So long as we have their back-up, if we need it,” Conroy grunted.
Abruptly Adams awkwardly thrust out his hand to Conroy.
“I guess I should have thanked you before now,
” he said.
“For what?” Conroy replied in surprise as he found his hand encased in Adams’ warm grasp.
“Getting me out of that mess back there.”
“After I got you into it in the first place? Forget it. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Meaning?” interposed Jessie, her face still wearing an expression of apprehension.
“Meaning that we still have to pay friend Serafini a visit. We have to keep a careful watch as to what he means to do with his house guests in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Do you still think that the Duke and Duchess will be taken from the villa sometime soon and put on a German vessel?”
Conroy compressed his lips for a moment.
“Yes. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Serafini won’t delay or hang about. He knows he doesn’t have long. My guess is that he must get them off tonight because in twenty-four hours they are expected to sail back to Nassau. The skipper of the sloop told me.”
“We’re passing Columbus Point, on the port side,” Jessie said. “Devil’s Point is about ten miles down the coast.”
Conroy peered at the hazy southern coastline of Cat Island.
“You said something about a shallow bank along this coast,” he turned to Adams.
The Eleuthera’s skipper nodded.
“Tartar Bank is directly below Devil’s Point.”
“But you didn’t say if we can get in there? How far can the Eleuthera get inshore? I mean, really get close in?”
“That’s no problem. The waters here can take her draught. It’s only big ocean-going yacht’s like Serafini’s which have difficulties along this coastline. That’s why he has to put in at Port Howe and take his guests by automobile along a roadway he had built up to his villa.”
“Good. Is there a place, fairly near Serafini’s villa, but out of sight of it, that we can put in? Somewhere we can lay up until dark? Once it is dark I want to pay a call on Signor Serafini.”
Adams exchanged an anxious glance with Jessie and then shrugged.
“Sounds as if you are hell-bent on committing suicide. Wouldn’t it be better simply to stand-off and just watch to see if any suspicious vessels put in to Devil’s Point?”
“No. He might have dispatched the Duke and Duchess already. We can’t rely on what the Navy says. I have to find out for myself. And so far we have no idea how they plan to take the Duke and Duchess off. They might get them off by aircraft.”
“There’s no airfield on Cat Island, Jimmy.” Jessie pointed out.
“Okay,” Adams said. “Come to think of it, there is a small anchorage not far away, but it does have its dangers. We might well be spotted from Serafini’s villa, which is built right up on the point.”
“We’ll just have to chance it,” replied Conroy. “We don’t have time to do anything else.”
Adams began turning the Eleuthera inshore.
“So your aim is just to walk right up to the villa, knock on the door and asked Signor Serafini if the Duke and Duchess are ready to depart for the Fatherland?” His voice was slightly ironic.
Conroy shook his head slowly. He replied in the same tone.
“Not exactly. I plan to practice my house-breaking skills like they taught us at spy-school.”
Adams raised an eyebrow expressively but was quiet for a few minutes. Then he smiled thinly.
“I suppose I’d better come along…you could get into a great deal of trouble on your own.”
Conroy glanced quickly at him He had not wanted to ask but he needed Adams.
“I could do with a back-up man on this job,” he conceded trying not to sound too eager.
“And what am I going to do, while the two of you are wandering off?” demanded Jessie.
“You’ll have to keep your eye on the Eleuthera,” instructed Conroy. “We’ll leave at dusk. But if we aren’t back by dawn, it’ll be your job to contact the sloop and tell them what has happened.”
Jessie sniffed unhappily.
“I would have thought that you already had your fill of excitement, Jess,” grinned Adams, over his shoulder, as he concentrated on steering the boat close in towards the coastline.
“Harry, after this little jaunt, I’ve decided that you should take up a quiet job on shore somewhere. This trip has cured me of racing round the islands like some goddam kid. It’s about time we settled down.”
Adams gave a wry grimace.
“Hear that, Conroy? She never spoke about settling down before you came along with your oversized cloak and dagger.”
Conroy regarded Adams with an even expression.
“If you must know, I think Jess is right. You two ought to settle down and give up this business. It’s not a business for married people…” He paused and smiled softly. “Or people who are as good as married. You can’t give your mind properly to this business if you have some serious relationship to worry about.”
Jessie must have detected the hint of suppressed emotion in his voice and her expression was one of concern as she put a hand on Conroy’s arm.
“But what about you, Jimmy? Don’t you have someone in England to go back to?”
Conroy suddenly thought of Rebecca and her dark features which almost at once blurred into the bright-eyed countenance of Lise Fennell.
“No,” he said gruffly. “No one to go back to…anywhere.”
Jessie drew a soft breath.
“That’s sad, Jimmy. Maybe you’ll find…”
Conroy turned away almost roughly.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about the two of you. This is war. People get hurt. People get killed. In this corner of the world, you don’t have to take part in it. Find a nice safe job on an island somewhere and forget what’s going on out there.”
He turned and went down into the cabin.
Adams looked across a Jessie, who was staring after Conroy with an anxious frown, and caught her eye. He smiled ruefully and placed a finger to his lips.
Two miles east of San Salvador’s Graham’s Harbour, below the deep green-black waters of the Atlantic, Kapitanleutnant Hans Hoesch switched his periscope to maximum magnification and, after a moment or two with his left eye pressed against the lens, pursed his lips in satisfaction.
“What is it, sir?” demanded his First Lieutenant, standing at his shoulder.
The captain of the U-33(S), a slightly built, swarthy-faced man with black hair and a wispy beard, turned with a grin and motioned the man to take his place.
The First Lieutenant peered through the viewer and then contrived to shrug, still in the crouching position at the periscope well.
“A harbour marked by a memorial of some kind, sir. What is it?”
“That, my dear Gunther, is the island of San Salvador, one of the eastern islands of the Bahamas group. You’re looking at a very historical spot, Gunther.”
“Sir?” The First Lieutenant was politely puzzled.
“That is the spot where the first Europeans set foot in the New World, where Christopher Columbus landed with the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria.”
“Yes sir.”
Hoesch sighed. He did not really expect enthusiasm from his First Lieutenant. Hoesch himself was fascinated by history. Had it not been for the war he would have finished his degree in history at Bonn and gone on to be a teacher. One’s personal destiny was never entirely of one’s own choosing.
“Down periscope,” he snapped.
“What orders, sir?” asked the First lieutenant.
“I am going to my cabin for a lie down. Plot the course to Devil’s Point on Cat Island but have me called when we are off Columbus Point.”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitan.”
Hoesch left the control room and drew the green baize curtain which separated his small box-like cabin from the narrow midships corridor, isolating himself from the rest of the submarine and the forty-four men who made up its crew complement. He threw himself on his bunk with a sigh.
He would be glad when this mission was ove
r. He disliked these “cloak and dagger” operations. He would rather be out in the North Sea looking for likely targets. Hoesch was growing envious of some of his fellow U-Boat commanders whose names were becoming household words in Germany. Otto Kretschmer, Wolfgang Luth and his old schoolmate Gunther Prien had become the unofficial “aces” of the U-Boat command. When the history of the period was written, the books would recall these men…not the secret missions of Hans Hoesch.
He admitted to himself an intense envy of Gunther Prien who had received one of the Reich’s highest decorations when, in the previous October, he had guided his U-47 into the Royal Navy’s almost impregnable anchorage at Scapa Flow and sent the British navy’s pride and joy, HMS Royal Oak, to the bottom with three well placed torpedoes. Royal Oak had taken fifteen minutes to slide to the bottom, taking 833 men with her. Then Prien had managed to take his boat out of the heavily defended anchorage. Prien and his crew had been flown to a triumphal welcome in Berlin. The Fuhrer had personally bestowed the Knight’s Cross on Prien.
He suddenly felt a pang of disquiet. Prien had not been looking like a hero when he had last seen him a few weeks ago in Bunsbiittel Lock, where they were sheltering from an air raid. Both submarine commanders had been returning from missions. Prien had looked whitefaced and was unusually silent. He had just sunk the Ararulora Star and the news had come through that it had been packed with German and Italian internees. Prien had been shocked. In a quiet moment, he told Hoesch: “It’s wrong. Horribly wrong. I thought it was a troopship. It was a wild shot with our last torpedo The torpedo was faulty. We didn’t think it would even explode. It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have happened at all.” But already, Goebbels’ propaganda machine was attempting to turn the tragedy to advantage by claiming that civilian internees were being deliberately sent to their deaths by an uncaring British Government.
However, there were no medals for Prien on that trip. No Fuhrer waiting to greet him.
But at least Prien had been given the opportunity to be hailed as a hero. Everyone still talked about the sinking of Royal Oak. Prien still held the record for the most enemy tonnage sunk by a U-Boat commander. Yet not for Hoesch such heroic exploits.
A year into the war and he had only been given missions which were secret operations l Kindly trips to land agents. Errands which didn’t even merit a commendation from Admiral Karl Donitz, the U-Boat Heel commander, let alone the Fuhrer. He would willing have swapped his new boat for a more elderly type just to get a crack at the enemy.
The Windsor Protocol Page 24