“Maybe if we moved out to sea…?” she suggested.
“All right,” agreed Adams, after a few moments’ thought. “We’ll swing out into the open sea and move down the coast a little. Maybe we can pick up the sloop or Nassau from there.”
But he was reluctant. He didn’t want to put the Eleuthera in a position where he could not help Conroy when help was needed.
“Come on, Harry,” Jessie urged. “Let’s get going.”
He started up the engines and thrust the throttles forward, sending the Eleuthera skimming the waves into the darkness.
Fifteen minutes later he eased back on the throttles and cut the engine. He called the naval sloop first.
This time there was no problem.
The reply came back immediately from HMS Snark. But they were sixty miles south, off Rum Cay and would come with all possible speed.
Next he tried Nassau.
“This is Station N.”
It was the impassive tones of Colonel White which crackled over the air.
“Station N, this is Eleuthera. We need some back-up at Cat Island.”
“Eleuthera, what is the situation?” White’s voice was emotionless.
“We believe that a U-Boat is heading for Devil’s Point on Cat Island. We are attempting to stop them. The escort sloop is on the way but is sixty miles to our south, heading here at all possible speed. How soon can you join the party?”
There was a pause.
“Not for some time.” The voice hesitated. “HMS Snark has a Martlet seaplane on board. I’ll signal them to launch it and pick me up from Nassau. I should be with you around dawn. Out.”
Adams turned a troubled face to Jessie.
“That’s about all we can do, Jess, except to head back and join in the fun with…”
He paused, head suddenly tilted to one side, listening.
“What is it, Harry?” whispered Jessie.
Harry motioned her to silence and continued listening.
There was little differentiation between the soft sibilant murmur of the sea around them and the curious tone which irritated in his mind. An odd blowing sound.
He bit his lip as he considered the sound carefully.
The faint noise began to increase in volume, changing from a soft blowing sound to a bubbling noise. The sea was being disturbed unnaturally. The sound was like that made by a saucepan of water coming to the boil.
It was then that Harry Adams realised what it was.
“Jesus! It’s a submarine about to surface.”
He grabbed for his Zeiss night glasses and peered around.
He could see the water frothing about a hundred yards off on his port bow.
“We’re too close,” he cried, starting the engines of the Eleuthera and twisting the yacht away into the darkness of the night.
Jessie was gazing back, catching sight of a dark shape emerging out of the sea.
“British?” she asked.
Adams shook his head as he eased back on the controls and cut the engines again.
“I would say that it is the U-Boat, right on time and heading in to Devil’s Point.”
Just as he finished speaking a light blinked through the darkness from the direction of the newly surfaced submarine.
Adams frowned as he studied the flashes.
“The signaller is sending the letter K, Jess.”
“Look,” whispered the girl.
From the shore, atop the cliffs, another light was blinking.
“JOK…” deciphered Adams.
“What’s it mean?”
“Identification code. I was right, Jess. It is the U-Boat come to make the pick-up. The captain will know that he can’t get across Tartar Bank because of the shallows. He’ll sit here sedately until his passengers are brought out to him.”
“Jimmy might stop that,” Jessie said.
“We can’t wait to see.”
He hurried into the cabin and removed the panel of the armament compartment. From it he took out four of the hand-grenades. When he came back to the cockpit, his face was grim.
Jess saw the metallic glint of the grenades and looked anxious.
“What are we going to do, Harry?”
“I think I might have a way of crippling that U-Boat.”
CHAPTER XXVII
Friday, August 30, 1940
Conroy blinked as a light abruptly reflected against the darkened windows of the second storey of the villa. Once more he drew back into the cover of the pot shrubs and turn to gaze out to sea from where the flash undoubtedly came.
In the darkness came the blinking of a light.
His heart began to beat fiercely; so strongly he raised a hand to rub his chest in an unconscious effort to dispel the sudden surge of adrenalin.
Skenfrith came to the window and stood watching the flashing light. Conroy heard him call for the lights to be switched off while he moved unhurriedly to a table, took up a flashlight and returned a series of long and short flashes.
He repeated the Morse signal: J…O…K.
Paused and waited. The light out to sea flashed a response. Skenfrith turned and called for the light to be switched back on. The group were now gathering at the window.
“Our friends have arrived, sir,” Skenfrith said to the Duke. “Now is the moment to begin your historic journey back to your country and your throne.”
The Duke had stood up, nervous and looking slightly confused.
The Duchess had risen and walked to the Duke, holding out her hands to him.
“Everything will be fine, David,” she said.
The Duke forced a tired smile and half nodded towards her.
“Well, we are in the hands of these gentlemen now, Wallis,” he said softly.
Serafini came to stand at Skenfrith’s shoulder and stood peering towards the sea’s enveloping darkness.
“At least the Germans are efficient,” he remarked in his quiet cultured tones.
Skenfrith nodded and Serafini turned to the others.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, “there is a launch waiting for the ducal party at the foot of the cliffs here. They will be ferried out to the U-Boat which will come as close inshore as it can.”
Conroy’s eyes flickered to the Canadian bodyguard, Drake, wondering how he would react. Of course he had to know about the plot. But was he in the plot or merely an unwilling accomplice? Conroy wondered whether he could expect any support from that direction.
But Drake seemed to have taken the lead now. He actually seemed to be organising the few pieces of luggage which had clearly been packed for the journey.
The Duchess was looking wistfully at the small suitcases.
“What of our main luggage…our belongings?” she protested.
“I assure you, madam, that as much as your luggage as we can salvage will be taken to Cuba and transported from there,” replied Skenfrith politely.
But it was Drake who spoke curtly, in spite of his well-modulated American accent.
“I must emphasise that there is no room in a U-Boat for the luxury of baggage nor of servants. Only His Highness, yourself and I will make this voyage. Your servants will be sent on later in a neutral ship from Cuba.”
“And you, Skenfrith?” demanded the Duke, looking at the relaxed aristocrat.
“I will make my way back to England to arrange things, sir. The rest of our party will be going with Signor Serafini to Cuba,” he replied.
Serafini was doing his best to hide his impatience, glancing several times at his wristwatch. He caught Skenfrith’s eye and motioned towards the patio.
Conroy, crouching behind the shadowy cover of the shrubs, let his hand slide to the Smith and Wesson in his belt. His mind was undecided as to what he should do.
“Is everyone ready?” Drake asked.
The Duke exchanged a look with his wife and then nodded silently.
“Let’s go then. Lead the way Serafini.”
Serafini complied and led the way with Lor
d Skenfrith, followed by the Duke and Duchess. The two women, Magda and Maria followed with Luis Soriano. Drake, carrying the two small suitcases, brought up the rear.
In agitation, Conroy watched the procession cross the patio and begin to descend the winding stone steps cut in the cliff-face which led down onto the wooden jetty below. With compressed lips he peered out into the darkness of the night. He could see nothing in the blackness but he knew that not far out to sea a U-Boat was waiting on the surface to take its passengers to Germany. He listened carefully. There was no noise except the sibilant sound of the sea and its pounding motion as it smacked against the rocks below.
He moved cautiously forward, dry mouthed, and began to follow the party down to the jetty. He could hear Doctor Dalton’s voice echoing in his mind when he had summed up his role as being to prevent the removal of the Duke at all costs, even to eliminating the Duke rather than allowing him to fall into German hands. “The crucial phrase there, young man, is ‘at all costs’. But try to consider elimination as a last resort.” Had it, in fact, come to the last resort? There was something in the back of his mind which refused to accept that the Duke was selling out to the Nazis of his own volition.
Conroy moved quietly into the cover of some rocks overlooking the wooden jetty.
A storm lantern had been lit, its light illuminating the quay. Luis Soriano had moved to the moored motor launch and was checking it in readiness. Skenfrith and Serafini stood speaking quietly to the Duke and Duchess, as if making their farewells, while Drake had taken the suitcase to place it in the launch. The two women, Magda and Maria, stood deferentially to one side.
This was it. Conroy sighed. This was the moment of choice. In a moment or two, the Duke and Duchess would board the motor launch and head out to meet the U-Boat. Conroy’s hands were slippery with sweat. His orders were to eliminate the former King of England rather than let that happen. Yet his mind was now full of doubts and anguish. A great many thoughts flashed through his mind. In the end, the decision did not seem to be his. Someone else appeared to be raising the automatic in his hand and forcing him to move forward slowly, step by step, onto the jetty.
There was one last desperate gamble which he had to play before he could obey those final instructions. Some unaccountable reason was forcing him to give the former King one final chance.
“Stand still everyone!” his voice almost broke as he yelled the order.
There was a moment of utter quiet.
“The party is over, I’m afraid.” He took another step out of the shadows at the foot of the stone stairway in order to cover everyone gathered on the landing stage.
Everyone had frozen in a strange, silent tableau. In the light of the lantern, the Duke’s face was a ghastly hue while the Duchess, faster to respond than the rest, was staring towards Conroy with ill-concealed fury.
Conroy had based his gamble, a last attempt to avoid the responsibility of shooting England’s former most popular Royal personage, on the shock of discovery causing a meek surrender.
Skenfrith’s languid face had gone pale.
“Conroy!” The name was a long breath. “So you’re still in the game, eh?”
Conroy’s eyes flickered towards him.
Then it was Serafini who moved first, leaping to one side behind the small wooden shed and drawing a gun. The first shot was wild but its sharp report also caused Skenfrith to move, his hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a heavy Webley automatic. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Drake was literally pushing the Duke and Duchess towards the launch, out of harm’s way, as Skenfrith opened up.
Conroy swore softly, cursing himself as a fool for having let the element of surprise be taken from him through his own sentimentality.
He shot twice in Skenfrith’s direction, saw Skenfrith’s hand jerk up and the automatic flying from his nerveless fingers. The noble lord sunk slowly to his knees and crumpled sideways.
Conroy was already moving for cover and firing at Serafini who, after his first wild shots, was now taking careful aim. Conroy brought up his Smith and Wesson and fired in one smooth movement, catching the Mafia boss in the shoulder. The man yelled in anguish and clutched wildly at the red stain which was spreading over his white tuxedo jacket.
Drake, having pushed the Duke and Duchess into the shelter of the launch, had turned back to the pier.
Conroy heard the blast of a pistol, registered a moment of surprise, and felt himself tumbling into a black void, knowing as he did so, that Drake’s bullet had found its mark.
Kapitanleutnant Hoesch lowered his night glasses and smiled towards his First Officer.
“That was the answering signal, Gunther. JOK. All is well.”
He lounged against the conning tower of the U-33(S). He now felt relaxed and comfortable for the first time after the uneventful voyage across the Atlantic. It was so peaceful in these tropical waters, he found himself almost wishing he could remain here. Hiding in the numerous cays and islands, venturing out at night, he could have built up a very respectable score amongst the island-hopping merchantmen. That sloop, earlier, had no idea that he was here. He could have sunk her with one well placed torpedo from the after tube. He sighed. It was a U-Boat captain’s paradise. But his job was to pick up his passengers and beat a swift retreat, directly back to Germany.
In the darkness he felt warm in his shabby reefer jacket, leather trousers and cork-soled shoes. Like most German submariners, he prided himself on the informality of his shipboard dress.
“A first class job of navigation, Gunther,” he commented approvingly to the first officer. “We are right off the point. And at our scheduled rendezvous time.”
The First Lieutenant was embarrassed at the words of praise from his superior.
“It is a first class boat, sir,” he replied. “Easy to handle.”
Hoesch’s smile broadened.
“A first class boat, indeed; but a boat cannot guide itself. Well done, Gunther.”
Hoesch felt pleased with his First Lieutenant and pleased with his vessel and world. He’d had many reservations when he had been summoned to the Oberkommando der Marine at Wilhelmshaven and personally briefed by Gross Admiral Donitz for this mission. Yet in spite of his initial reservations, they had reached Bahamian waters without so much as one enemy contact. No one knew they were in the vicinity except those who should know.
The plan was proceeding according to the book.
He brought his mind back to immediate matters.
“Is the special cabin prepared?” he asked his First Lieutenant. Hoesch was nervous about the special passengers. He had no idea who they would be, just that they were very, very special and no word of their identity must be spoken of, especially after they were returned to Germany.
“All is prepared, Herr Kapitan,” replied the officer. He paused, holding his head to one side. “Sounds like a fast motor launch approaching.”
“Good,” Hoesch grunted. “That will be our passengers, no doubt. Go down with the deck casing party and bring them up here as soon as they are on board.”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!”
The First Lieutenant began to move down to the casing.
Hoesch strained his eyes into the darkness and saw the dark outline of the motor yacht.
Strange, it seemed to be closing but not slowing.
It swung dangerously near, the engines not even hesitating in their full-throated roar.
“What the…?” began Hoesch in astonishment.
He was aware of a dark object sailing through the air. Something landed with a clang on the deck plating at his feet and before he had time to register what it was it had slid across the plating and toppled into the conning tower well. A second object followed the first. He heard a third object strike the ship’s for’ard casing and then the mysterious boat was tearing away into the darkness.
Kapitanleutnant Hoesch realised what the objects were a split second before they started to explode.
; *
On the wooden jetty, Serafini, standing holding his bloodstained shoulder, turned towards the momentary blinding light from the sea. A split second later came the roar of the explosion, followed by a cacophony of startled seabird cries filling the air. Several long seconds passed.
No one moved. They were rooted by the second shock moments later.
Serafini stood staring into the returned darkness of the seascape. His face was contorted with disbelief.
On the launch, Luis Soriano began to let out a stream of curses in Italian and English, intertwining them in a way that gave them a curious emphatic expressionism. He drew a gun from his hip pocket and, climbing onto the pier, he moved to where Conroy was laying prone and senseless at the end of the jetty.
“You sonofabitch!” he screamed in gutter Italian. “I’m gonna break your balls!”
In the glow of the light from the storm lantern, balanced on a wooden post on the pier, Soriano’s face was a mask of hatred.
It was at that moment that Conroy began to stir, coming back to his senses. It took him a moment to realise that the bullet from Drake’s gun had just creased his scalp, causing a momentary unconsciousness. He raised a hand to his head, pressing his fingers against the numbed scalp. Then he shook his head to clear it. But the blood was dripping from a graze on his forehead across one eye. He tried to raise himself up but he felt too dizzy. He became aware of Soriano moving forward, his automatic levelled.
The sharp stutter of automatic fire caused Conroy to flinch. He jerked backwards before he realised that no bullets had hit him. Indeed, he also realised that the bullets were not aimed at him.
Soriano was staggering back, a dark stain across his shirt. His mouth open in surprise.
Bemused, Conroy watched as the man went flat on his back. He heard Maria began to scream hysterically.
“You on the quay…put down your weapons.”
A voice sung out coldly and clearly above the discord of Maria’s screaming.
Conroy swallowed hard in utter astonishment as he recognised Lise’s voice.
Drake and Serafini were not in any mood to obey. They were desperate.
Drake was the first to move, yelling at the Duke and Duchess to stay down in the launch, he began firing blindly towards the rocks where he supposed the girl to be.
The Windsor Protocol Page 28