The U-33( S) was one of the newer 863 tonne Type VIIC U-Boats. She had been built by the Germania Werft Company in the Kiel Dockyard with the intention of replacing her sister ship the U-33. In fact her designation (S) stood for schwesterboot (sister ship). But with the onset of war every submarine was needed, including the original U-33 which had been commissioned in July, 1936. Now the U-33 was no more. No one knew what had happened to it. It had been lost at sea in February of this year.
The U-33(S) had a two-shaft diesel/electric power system which gave it a surface speed of 17 knots and a submerged speed of 8 knots. The length of time submerged could be as much as 18 hours while cruising at a speed of 4 knots. Her operating range was 4,300 miles. She could carry a total of 14 torpedoes, firing from one tube aft and four for’ard but on this trip Hoesch had been ordered to take only three torpedoes and use them solely in self-defence. He had to rely on the 1.45 inch gun on the forecastle and twin 0.8 inch anti-aircraft guns for any real protection from attack. Thank God no attack had been forthcoming.
U-33(S) was a comfortable and efficient vessel. But Hans Hoesch wouldn’t have minded commanding a leaky tin can if only…
He sighed deeply. He hoped this mission was going to be the last one of its kind.
He glanced at the chronometer.
Soon they would be off Devil’s Point on Cat Island, the rendezvous point to pick up his passengers. He wondered who they were. Who was worth all this trouble and expense to the Third Reich?
CHAPTER XXIV
Thursday, August 29, 1940
Alfredo Serafini’s villa was situated over ten miles west of the harbour of Port Howe. It was perched on a curious outcrop of rock known as Devil’s Point, a headland which could have been chosen by a military eye as being a natural defensive position, safe from surprise attack from either land or sea. The villa grounds also formed a natural peninsula. The villa itself was protected on three sides by the sea, above which the headland rose about a hundred feet and more with cliff-like precipitation. A wooden quayside, a small jetty with a small wooden boat shed, stuck into the sea from the point with access to the villa by a twisting stone stairway. The water was shallow here and dotted with coral reefs. The private harbour could not accommodate boats of the size of Serafini’s Lupo di Mare. But a motor boat was moored there which Serafini often used to ferry himself to his luxury yacht, which could anchor a mile off the point.
A low stone wall skirted the edge of the cliffs as a border between the drop and the level broad patio outside the villa. The patio itself was studded with stone tubs in which numerous trees and shrubs had been planted while to one side was a fairly large swimming pool.
Along this side of the villa, at ground floor level, were a series of French windows which gave access to a scenic view of the sea and this was the side of the villa where Serafini lived and where he had constructed the accommodation for his guests.
The only approach to the villa was from the landward side along a rough roadway which curved up the incline to the villa through shrubs and trees to a large wall that looked more like the wall of some fortress than a private dwelling. The double gates had a similarity to the gateway of a Mexican mission station. Indeed, the whole villa was built in Mexican style with red tiled roof and white stucco plaster walls. It was elegant, expensive and rambling. Its rooms were large and palatial and Serafini had spared no expense to have them furnished in exquisite taste which was not exactly his own. But he could afford to employ people to provide him with taste.
Through the gates was a cobbled courtyard, separating the garages and outhouses from the front of the house. The front of the villa was not as inviting as the back and here Serafini had placed his servants’ quarters and utility rooms.
The whole was very much a fortress. Serafmi had seen to that. Indeed, from land or sea, there was no way any body of men could approach the villa without being seen, assuming they came by boat or by automobile.
But, then, Conroy and Harry Adams were on foot.
It took them a long time to traverse the scrubby terrain which separated the edge of the palm trees at the foot of the hill and the tall walls of the Serafini villa. They both realised that Serafini would have been warned by now that Sneque had been killed and his voodoo henchmen had been dispersed. He would have ensured that the guards at the villa were alerted and so they moved stealthily, keeping to the thickest cover where possible. The moon was full and shone with a bright white light which, when the clouds did not hide it, lit the night scene as if it were daylight.
Nevertheless, keeping low, they moved up to within a few feet of the villa walls without encountering any of Serafini’s guards or other obstacles.
Crouching behind the cover afforded by the bushes and trees, Conroy surveyed the walls.
“If you give me a lift up,” he said to Adams, “I could reach the top. I’d say it was about nine feet high, maybe slightly less.”
“Then what? I’d be on this side of the wall and you’d be on the other without support.”
“No need for both of us to break into the villa,” Conroy replied. “I just need to see what the situation is, try to find out if the Duke is still there and, if so, when Serafini expects the transport to arrive.”
“The place is probably crawling with guards. Serafini must know what happened with Sneque. He must suspect that we are still on the island.”
A low growl made them both turn at once.
They were gazing at the malignant eyes and bared fangs of a German shepherd dog.
In the distance they could hear someone pushing their way through the rustling bushes.
“Funa, che cosa e? Furia,”
The dog was snarling now and ready to spring. The guard was not far away.
Conroy moved first, launching himself with Sneque’s knife at the German shepherd dog just as the it leapt towards him. His timing was uncanny for just at the last moment he contrived to twist aside and bring himself on the back of the creature, one arm around its throat while the other rose and fell, bloodying its side. The dog growled and yelped as the knife sought for its vital organs. In one last desperate thrust. Conroy had pushed the blade into its throat, driving it up into the skull.
The animal convulsed and lay still with Conroy panting on top of it, momentarily unable to move through sheer exhaustion.
Only after a few moments did he suddenly remember the guard, the dog’s handler. He sprung to his feet and whirled round. The bloodstained knife still in his hand, held defensively.
Harry Adams was bending over the prone figure of a man. He still had his automatic in his hand, gripping it by the barrel. He looked towards Conroy and shrugged.
“No, he’s not dead. Better help me tie him up.”
Without another word they drew off the guard’s shirt and his trouser belt, using them as bonds, and secured the man, leaving him propped against a tree.
“I don’t know how long it will be before Serafini misses him,” grunted Adams. “But 1 don’t think you should attempt to get into the villa now. Let’s contact the sloop and get some back-up.”
Conroy shook his head.
“No. That’s not my orders from London. This is too sensitive. We have to make sure the Duke and Duchess are in there first. This doesn’t alter our plan. Come on. Give me a lift up.”
He sheathed the knife, having wiped the blade on the grass, and moved quietly to the villa wall.
Adams followed him suppressing a sigh. His face was serious.
“I’m not a fool, Conroy. I think you can now confirm that this isn’t just a kidnap plot. Is the Duke a willing defector to the Nazis? Have you been ordered to kill him?”
Conroy hesitated, his expression grim. He merely nodded and then said: “You wait here for me. Keep under cover. If I’m not out in half-an-hour then get back to Jessie and raise the navy and Colonel White.”
Adams bent down and placed his hands together to form a stirrup. Conroy put his left foot into it and sprung up, with Adams giving hi
m an additional impetus. His outstretched hands reached the top of the wall and he swung himself upwards, laying flat along the top of it for a few moments. Then he raised a thumb to
Adams and rolled off. Adams heard him drop on the far side.
“Herr Kapitan?”
Hoesch came out of his light fitful sleep with a sense of anger at being disturbed.
“What the…?” he began in irritation.
It was the boat’s second officer, a young pale-faced boy from Hamburg.
“I beg to report, sir, a vessel bearing off our port bow, heading this way.”
Without another word, Hoesch swung over the edge of his bunk and preceded the young man into the submarine’s control room. The First Lieutenant was in a crouching position, bent at the waist, peering through the periscope.
He moved over to make room for Hoesch.
“A corvette, I think, sir.”
Hoesch focussed.
“I see her. No, that’s a sloop. Enemy warship bearing red two-two-four.”
He snapped a switch with a click, followed by a high pitched buzz. The periscope slid down into its well.
“Shall we load torpedoes, sir?” asked the First Lieutenant.
“No. Our orders are to avoid all contact. Order diving stations.”
“Diving stations!”
“Dive, dive, dive! Maximum depth, eight-fifty revolutions. Course, three-fifty degrees. Let me know when you’re happy about the trim, Gunther.”
The control room was a sudden hive of activity. The main vent valves were opened followed by the sound of rushing air leaving the ballast tanks. In a matter of seconds the tanks were full of water and the U-Boat began to move unhurriedly down into the darker waters. An unteroffizer was juggling with the hydroplane wheel and pump controls. Hoesch could feel the boat’s bows responding as the craft trimmed at sixty metres, the maximum depth.
“All stop.”
“All stop, Herr Kapitan.”
“Rig for silent running.”
“Silent running, sir.”
“Hydrophone operators, keep listening,” Hoesch glanced at his First Lieutenant. “I’m taking a chance that their asdic won’t pick us up among the coral reefs.”
Everyone froze to stillness in the vessel. Even the suppressed cough of a rating brought forth a frown of annoyance from his petty officer.
Hoesch glanced at the depth gauge, resting motionless and showing that the craft was lying perfectly horizontal in the water. His eyes moved to the inclinometer. Motionless.
There was an echo in the U-Boat now. A sound which grew nearer, nearer, the rushing waters made by churning propellers. The noise of the reverberations of the diesel engines sounded as if they were directly above the vessel. Then the noise was fading, fading rapidly. Hoesch waited a moment until it could no longer be heard and then snapped.
“Periscope-depth.”
The depth-gauge needle began to quiver and as it reached the requisite height, Hoesch pressed the button of the periscope hoist switch. The tube ran up in the well. Even as it was rising. Hoesch grabbed the handles and swung it in a 360 degree turn, following it with his whole body. Then he settled on one bearing of the compass, pressing another switch to increase magnification.
“Excellent. Enemy warship disappearing to starboard. We’ll soon have San Salvador between us and her. Downscope.”
He turned and grinned at his First Lieutenant.
“Thanks for calling me, Gunther. It was just a normal
Royal Navy patrol. No problems. They are not expecting nor looking for us. I’m going back to my cabin. Call me when we get to Columbus Point.”
Conroy landed in the soft earth of a flower bed. The grounds were in darkness. No lights were showing from any of the windows in the front of the villa. Neither were there any lights from the outbuildings.
Conroy crossed to the shadows of the villa walls and hesitated. If he tried to force a window, it could be that the villa was wired with alarms. He decided to edge around the side of the building in case there was another method of entrance. He hesitated again. The back of the villa seemed flooded with lights.
An iron grating was tucked close by the wall. He bent down, wondering whether he could find ingress into the villa through it. It obviously led down into the cellar area. There was an iron ring handle and he gripped it, making ready to exert all his strength but, surprisingly, the grating rose fairly easily. He could just see a stone flagged floor a few feet below. He was about to open the grating fully when he heard a noise from the house. He eased the grating back into place and stood up. As he stood undecided, a door swung open further along the side of the villa and a man appeared, halting a moment in the doorway. Conroy pressed back into the shadows.
The man was dressed in a suit but carried a distinctly recognisable Schmeisser machine pistol, slung from his shoulder. He moved across the stone paved patio and went to the low wall, gazing out to sea. He stood staring into the darkness for a while and then reached into his pocket, drew out a pack of cigarettes and took one out. He lit it, cupping his hands to shield the flame of the match against the night breeze from the sea.
Conroy edged along the wall until he came to the side door from which the man had exited from the villa. Keeping his gaze on the man’s back, tensed for any sudden movement, Conroy held out his hand and grasped the door handle. It turned quietly. He eased it open and slipped inside, drawing it shut behind him.
He was in a passage with several doors leading off. There came a distinct aroma of cooking. He pushed open the first door and found himself in a store room. There were shelves of tins, a large ice box, wooden barrels which seemed to store potatoes and other roots and further items which proclaimed it as a food store. Obviously, Serafini liked to keep his larder well stocked.
The scrape of a shoe sounded at the door along the passage.
Conroy quickly pushed inside the store, closing the door after him.
On the far side of the room was another door with a diamond-shaped glass panel in the centre.
He moved quietly across and peered through. On the other side of the door was a large kitchen. Saucepans were steaming on a stove.
His eyes widened in surprise.
A woman was preparing the dishes. It was Maria Soriano.
He was momentarily bewildered.
It was strange that Serafini, who could afford numerous servants, would allow Maria Soriano to do the cooking.
As he eased the door open a fraction, Luis Soriano suddenly entered from a door on the far side of the room. He looked slightly agitated.
He and his wife began a rapid conversation in Italian which, unfortunately, Conroy was not able to understand perfectly, though he was able to pick up a little through his knowledge of Spanish.
Magda Montego came in, also abruptly, and perched on a chair.
“This is absurd!” she snapped in her heavily accented English to no one in particular.
Luis raised an eyebrow.
“It is as it must be,” he replied.
Magda grimaced, drew out a cigarette and glanced belligerently at Luis. He moved across and lit it for her.
“How long are we expected to play servants? I can’t understand it. Why did ’Fredo insist on sending the servants away this evening so that Maria here has to cook for us all and I have to perform duties as a waitress?”
“You know that as well as I do, Magda. The presence of the Duke and Duchess.”
Maria Soriano glanced at the Cuban nightclub singer while she stirred the contents of a saucepan.
“If you are so concerned, Magda, you could offer to help me.”
“I? I do not cook,” snapped Magda peevishly. Behind the door, Conroy noticed that her thick, seductive Cuban accent which she had used on him on the Lupo di Mare had nearly disappeared. She spoke with a harsh, American accent, although distinct traces of a Spanish background could be discerned.
“We will all do what we have to do,” said Soriano heavily. “It is only for th
is evening, until the boat arrives. Then, once we have seen our guests off, we can get back to the yacht and you can be pampered to your heart’s content.”
Conroy bit his lip. He had been right. Tonight was the night. The Nazis were arriving to transport the Duke and Duchess back to Europe.
Magda was inhaling deeply and letting smoke trickle from her mouth and nostrils.
“I don’t like it.” Her voice was petulant.
Luis Soriano was helping his wife to place some dishes on a tray.
“What about the girl?” Maria asked suddenly. “Should I take her some food?”
Soriano shook his head.
“Not much point. Leave her in the cellar. As soon as the Duke and Duchess are gone ’Fredo plans to get rid of the dame.”
Magda gave a peal of laughter. It was entirely without humour.
“That’s good news. I always said that she was trouble. Christ, how ’Fredo is a sucker for those WASPs with their baby blue eyes. Why ’Fredo brought her on this trip is beyond me.”
Maria Soriano’s eyes narrowed.
“You were just jealous, Magda.”
The Cuban’s eyes flashed and she stubbed out her cigarette savagely on the top of the table without using an ashtray.
“You are lucky you say this thing with your husband here to protect you,” she hissed.
“Aw, quit squawking, Magda,” sneered Luis Soriano. “‘Fredo made a mistake about the dame, that’s all. Once he found out he could not leave her behind to spill the beans, could he? There’s more important things to do now. ’Fredo is expecting another important visitor here in a moment.”
“Another visitor? Who?” It was Maria Soriano who asked.
“We need not know, except that he needs to be treated with respect. So now if you ain’t gonna help here, Magda, get back to ’Fredo and help him entertain. And, for Chrissake, try to behave like a lady in front of the Duke and Duchess.”
The Windsor Protocol Page 25