by Antony Trew
“What can he learn by coming on board? You are forewarned. You must feed him with so much incorrect information that he will leave the Hagenfels convinced that we cannot take her to sea. That is why I want him on board. If his job is espionage this is the best thing that can happen. Do you understand?”
Grudgingly they admitted that they did, while Lindemann made no secret of his admiration for the Freiherr’s idea.
“There is one other reason why I want him on board,” continued von Falkenhausen. “I shall be coming to the party myself—somewhat later than your other guests—and I may confront Mr. James Newton with what I know about him. He doesn’t look a very tough customer, and I think he may talk if he’s frightened. By the way, who are the other guests, Kapitän?”
Lindemann smiled, faintly embarrassed. “Two local ladies, Herr Baron. Senhoras Mariotta Pereira and Cleo Melanides and their two men friends. One is a German from South Africa, his name is Rohrbach, and the other an Afrikaans farmer from the Western Transvaal, le Roux. Moewe is also bringing off a lady—Fräulein Hester Smit. That is the entire party.”
The Freiherr was thoughtful, his searching brown eyes on Lindemann. “What do you know about these men, Kapitän?”
“I understand that le Roux is anti-British and that Rohrbach, under the pretence of being a German Jew, is passing information to our side.”
“You understand! Do you not know them?”
“No. But they are friends of the young ladies.”
Von Falkenhausen drummed on the desk, his forehead puckered. “Rohrbach—Rohrbach—I do not know the name. But then of course it might be anything. The Abwehr do not tell us of these men unless we have to contact them. And the ladies?” For a moment his face relaxed and he smiled, “They are—ladies—I take it?”
Lindemann nodded stiffly. “Most certainly they are, Herr Baron. I would not permit the other sort in my ship. One is Portuguese and the other Greek. Fräulein Hester Smit is Afrikaans and, like so many of her people, pro-German. I can vouch for them. But they will talk, of course, if there is trouble on board.”
“There will not be trouble, I hope, Kapitän. Possibly, if Mister Newton becomes difficult, we may have to ask him and Mrs. Brett to leave, but there will be no rough stuff—of that I can assure you. We may stage a bluff, to frighten him into talking, but no more. Of course,” he shrugged his shoulders, “we cannot guarantee Mr. Newton’s safety after he leaves the Hagenfels. Unfortunate accidents do occur—especially in harbours when a man is drunk.”
“What sort of accidents, Herr Baron?” Lindemann’s blue eyes searched the Freiherr’s.
“Oh! Stabbed by natives in the dock area. Run over by a hit-and-run motorist. You know how easily these things happen when a man is not sober.”
Lindemann shook his head. “I don’t like that sort of thing, Herr Baron.”
“Nor I,” sighed the Freiherr, “but war is a nasty untidy business and quite dangerous. We are at war, unfortunately. There are U-boats and raiders outside and they are counting on us. I am afraid we cannot allow people like ‘Butcher’ Widmark and Newton to stand in our way.”
Stauch scratched the back of his neck with a thick finger. “Do you think this Newton will accept the invitation to the party?”
“I think so. If he is looking for information about the Hagenfels he will jump at it. If not, Fräulein Bauer has powerful weapons of persuasion.”
“She is a remarkable woman,” agreed Stauch, wishing that Paula had half the other woman’s charm. Only half. He was not greedy.
Chapter Ten
Early that Tuesday morning, on Widmark’s instructions, the Newt met Johan and McFadden near the bathing kiosk to warn them that von Falkenhausen was Swiss Fritz of the Montelémar—now blond and clean shaven, and to be recognised only by the twin scars on his left cheek—that he had recognised Widmark, and that McFadden and Johan, who had often visited the Montelémar, should be on their guard. Then he told them about Kemathi. Described him and said that he, too, was from Alexandria, that he was evidently shadowing Widmark and had seen him coming down the Clan McPhilly’s gangway. It was clear that he was von Falkenhausen’s man. They were also reminded that the final rendezvous would take place that night, five miles out of Lourenço Marques on the road to Marracuene, down a dirt-track leading off to the right several hundred yards beyond the eighth kilometre post; the usual “break-down” drill would be followed and they were to bring empty bathing bags.
Rohrbach and Widmark would make arrangements during the day for storing their cars in garages for several weeks, as taxis would be used on the night of the party.
“Got all that?” asked the Newt.
Johan gave him a thumbs up sign. “Ja, meneer—yes, sir.”
“How are you chaps feeling about to-morrow, Chiefy?”
“Och! A wee bit queezy, laddie. Usual feeling before the show starts. And you?”
The Newt patted the underside of his moustache with his forefinger. “Pretty fit. Actually a bit windy, I dare say.”
“How’s Steve?”
“Rather tense and ratty. Burning with determination as usual.”
Johan chipped in. “Mariotta says Cleo’s been in a trance since she met him at Costa’s on Sunday. He promised to phone her but hasn’t.”
“He’s not likely to, either, Johan. Until this job’s over. She doesn’t know Steve. He’s a man that keeps his eye on the ball.”
There was no more to be said so they went their separate ways.
That Tuesday was a busy one for a number of people: for Rohrbach and Johan, who arranged for storing the Studebaker at a garage at Pinheiro Chagas and then saw Domingos Parao about the fishing boat.
They explained that they would collect it at six the next evening, and return it at midnight. They were anxious, they said, to try their luck on the reef off Chefine.
“You won’t be back at midnight if the feeshings ees good.” Domingos hitched his trousers over his large stomach.
Rohrbach frowned: “That’s a point, Johan. I mean, we never know what the night may produce.”
“Yes! He’s dead right. We might get stuck into something really big.”
“Tell you what, Senhor.” Rohrbach pulled at his beard. “Let’s say we should let you have the boat back by morning.” The “should” salved Rohrbach’s conscience.
“Of course,” Domingos beamed. “You no worry, I trust you. Take plenty time. You still young. Take pretty girl in boat. If feesh no bite, you still got plenty fun. Ha! Ha! Very good, isn’t eet?” Beneath the black curling moustache, his teeth gleamed like pearls.
“Ha! Ha!” Johan held his sides. “Very good!”
So with that arranged they left Domingos and called next at a hardware store where they bought a steel hack-saw and some spare blades. After that they went to the up-stream end of the Gorjao Quay, checked on the Hagenfels’s anchors, saw that she was still lying to both, that the gangway was down and that a launch was alongside. “The eleven-thirty trip,” said Rohrbach. “Taken the mail off.”
“Hope they enjoy it‚” said Johan. “They won’t be getting much more.”
While they watched, they saw a familiar churn of white under the stern. “The chief’s turning the engines, Johan.”
“Yes. He’s a stickler for routine.”
“Hallo! Look what’s happening!” Rohrbach pointed down river to where tugs were pulling a merchant ship clear of the quay. “That does my heart good.”
“If it isn’t our old friend, the Clan McPhilly. The Butcher should be here to see this.”
While they watched, the Clan ship came clear of the quay, cast off the tug and drifted up river on the tide past where they were standing. Presently she started her engines and altered course to port, towards the anchorage where the German ships were lying. She was about a quarter of a mile from the Aller, when they heard the roar of cable and saw the splash as her starboard anchor was dropped and she swung slowly, paying out more cable as the tide caught her. Then she let
go her port anchor and they heard again the noise of running cable. Eventually the cables were checked and she rode to her anchors, her stern a few hundred yards from the Hagenfels’s bow.
“Nice piece of seamanship, David.”
“Wizard! She’s just where Steve wanted her.”
As was their custom, they counted the ships lying at anchor in the stream. The day’s total was sixteen; well up to average. Already a cargo ship was warping slowly into the vacant berth left by the Clan McPhilly, and as they walked back along the quay they saw that the Tactician had singled up fore-and-aft and was standing by, waiting for the tug to assist her out into the anchorage.
“You know, David,” said Johan. “These are the chaps who are winning the war. These merchantmen. Look at them. As defenceless as lame ducks. They’re being sunk day and night all over the show, and yet nothing stops them. It’s bloody marvellous and every time I hear some blithering idiot in the Union moaning about the difficulty of getting golf balls, or the hardships of petrol rationing, I feel sick.”
“I couldn’t agree more. In the club in Cape Town the other day there was a commercial type in the bar boasting that so far this war he’d not missed motoring to the Game Reserve and back with wifey each year. A little over two thousand five hundred miles! ‘I get the coupons from the company’s ration‚’ he said. ‘Just have to get away. With so many chaps on active service, we’re under terrific pressure.’”
“Poor chap!” breathed Johan. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. But there was a pongo there called du Toit who was a major in something or other—he’d lost an eye at Sidi Rezegh—and he said: ‘Can’t you recommend yourself for a decoration‚’ and walked away.”
Another busy trio that day were von Falkenhausen, Stauch and Captain Lindemann; they had met by arrangement in Stauch’s office off the Rua Araújo, where they were sitting round his desk talking. It was a hot morning and the large fans were doing little more than exchange one lot of stale air for another. Normally the door of Herr Stauch’s office was open and this would have helped, but to-day the subject under discussion was too confidential and the door was shut.
Herr Stauch, his face glistening with sweat, had loosened his tie, opened his collar, taken off his linen jacket and eased his belt several notches—but he was still far from comfortable. Lindemann wore a white drill suit and perspired freely. The Freiherr in tussore silk somehow contrived to look cool and elegant.
He leant towards Lindemann. “You say that two officers and seven men will be coming ashore to-morrow night, Kapitän?”
“That is correct. Moewe and I will be on board with eight others including Müller, the steward. We have one man in hospital.”
“Which officers are going ashore?”
“Kuhn, the chief engineer, and Schäffer, the second engineer.”
“He’s that big man?”
“Yes, Herr Baron. That is him.”
“Good! That should convince our curious friends that we’re not staging a break out to-morrow. At what time did you say you expect your guests?”
“The launch will pick them up in the boat harbour at eight-thirty. They should be on board fifteen minutes later.”
The Freiherr smiled. “Splendid! I shall be coming off later. About ten o’clock. I want Kuhn to stay on board with you. Not to go ashore. And I want Schäffer to come off with me at nine-forty with one of his men. A good man. You may explain to them what is happening. Ask Schäffer to meet me in the boat harbour at twenty-five minutes to ten.”
“Do you really think that precaution is necessary, Herr Baron?” Stauch, looking worried, mopped his face.
Von Falkenhausen nodded. “Probably not, but I don’t want to take any chances. Better to play safe. This way—from ten o’clock—there will be five of us in your cabin and only three of them.”
“Three of them,” echoed Lindemann with surprise. “What do you mean?”
Von Falkenhausen’s eyes were calculating. “Kapitän, I have checked on Rohrbach and le Roux. I have no idea who they are, but I can tell you they gave false addresses at the frontier. Like Widmark, McFadden and Newton, they are not known at the addresses they used. Quite a coincidence, is it not? Like the coincidence that they should be asked to a party on board the Hagenfels. I’ve no doubt they made a point of cultivating Senhora Pereira at the Cardoso, once they knew that she was a friend of yours. Some time we must find out how they knew that. But it’s all beginning to take shape now. The British are very thorough. Five officers sent to Lourenço Marques to check on the Hagenfels. That looks as though they’ve got a pretty good idea that we’re standing by for a break out, and they attach a great deal of importance to it. That is a very serious matter, gentlemen. The information should not have got out. When the signal comes from the Wilhelmstrasse we cannot fail. That is why I am taking no chances to-morrow night.”
Lindemann was confused. “Herr Baron, I regret that I have invited these men on board. Mariotta Pereira made the suggestion but I have been careless, and——”
Von Falkenhausen interrupted him. “Don’t worry, Kapitän. No harm has been done. Indeed, it is fortunate that matters have turned out as they have. Now we have three of the five on board. But I have no desire for violence. It would be a great mistake in a neutral port. It might well ensure that the Hagenfels does not get out. What we must do is convince them that the ship cannot sail. That will be a task for you, Kapitän, and your chief engineer. When I arrive on board with Schäffer you should have completed it. I hope we shall find you having a gay party—especially your guests. By then I trust they will have had much to drink.” Von Falkenhausen smiled. “They must have no cause for complaint about German hospitality. And it will make my task easier, for I intend to make them talk.”
After a number of other matters had been discussed, the Freiherr got up to go. “A final detail.” He looked at Lindemann. “Schäffer and I will be armed. You and Moewe should have revolvers within easy reach. I don’t think they will be necessary, but it is as well to be prepared.”
At midnight the Buick turned to the right down the dirt-track beyond the eight kilometre post on the Marracuene road. After a mile they saw on the left the rear lights of a car pulled off the road, and soon established that it was Rohrbach and his men. The usual “break-down” drill was followed once they were together.
The back seats of the cars were taken out and the covers removed from the concealed compartments. An automatic pistol, a shoulder-holster and twenty-five rounds of ammunition were issued to each man. The fishing boat party—Widmark, McFadden, the Newt, Mike Kent and Hans le Roux—were given a light hook rope and a scaling ladder made from signal halyard, the paddles, hammer, punch and steel hack-saw. Belts, sheath-knives and torches were handed out. The blue light of the small torches ensured that in the darkness anybody using white torchlight would be known to be the enemy. Two large signal torches, and tins of stove-black, went to the boat party, who also took the charts and sailing directions. Coshes were given to everyone, except Rohrbach and Johan, who could not take them to the party.
Each man stowed his equipment in a canvas bathing bag, the last item in being a bathing towel.
After the compartment covers had been screwed back into the car, they gathered round Widmark for the final briefing.
The night was dark but the sky shimmered in its brilliance of stars, and a warm breeze drifted through the bush. Occasionally a nightbird cried, frogs croaked in a pond, and the smell of wood smoke, of African blankets and cattle dung, came from a nearby kraal.
Widmark took them once again through the detail of the plan, making certain that each man knew exactly what was to happen and what was expected of him.
The challenge and reply—“Tally-Ho” and “Break out”—were confirmed, and it was agreed to settle hotel accounts and book out at five o’clock the next evening. The small amount of luggage they had, apart from the bathing bags and the clothes they were to wear, would be locked in the boots of the store
d cars.
“Stay in your hotel rooms most of the day,” said Widmark. “Don’t let the equipment out of sight unless it’s locked away. Rest as much as you can. You won’t get any sleep from the time the operation starts until we get to Durban—that’ll be not less than thirty-six hours. I’ve got Benzedrine tablets but I don’t propose to issue them until you’re really exhausted. Have plenty to eat, but go easy on the drink. You two party-goers,” he looked towards Rohrbach and Johan, “have a problem about that one. You’ll have to use your wits. Drink slowly, spill your drinks, take them to the lavatory, swop full glasses for empty ones, anything you bloody well like. But don’t get tight. That’s strictly for your hosts.”
Mike Kent said: “When do I go to the wireless cabin, sir?”
“As soon as we’ve got control of the ship. Get familiar with the R/T and W/T gear but don’t make any transmissions until I tell you, or——” he paused, “the Newt if anything’s happened to me—and David if anything’s happened to the Newt. If David’s laid out, Johan takes over. By then we’ll have lost the battle, so forget it.” He chuckled dryly.
“What about our prisoners, laddie?”
“Put the lot—officers and men—in the chain locker. It’ll be hot and stuffy down there but they’ll have to lump it. We can’t spare guards, and we can’t put them in compartments with portholes or other openings. There’s only one door to a cable-locker and we’ll secure that on the outside.”
McFadden was silent for a moment. “And the women?”
“Until we’re clear of the harbour, we’ll lock them in the Captain’s sleeping cabin. After that they can come out, but they mustn’t leave midships. They’re welcome to the run of that.”
There was a long thoughtful silence, broken by Widmark. “Quite happy about starting those engines, Chiefy?”
“Don’t worry about that, laddie. A marine diesel’s a marine diesel whatever its nationality. Hans and I’ll have things moving in no time. We know they turn the main engines twice a week. The air bottles must be topped up for that. Don’t be fashin’ yourself about the engines.”