The Last Eagle (2011)

by Michael Wenberg

  McBride gave an appraising look at the pair across from him. He’d always heard Americans were an idealistic bunch. News reporters, she had said. McBride took his time smoking, his mind racing with the outlines of a plan. Maybe they could do something after all. And these two could be a key. He felt the hair rising on the back of his neck. It had been a long while since he had felt the call of battle. Athena was surely singing at the top of her lungs now. He slapped his hands together. “All right,” he said. “It occurs to me that you two – news people – can go places that I cannot. I imagine the Poles could use a few weapons, don’t you think?”

  “Guns? I don’t know about that. …” Reggie said nervously. “And what would you be doing, Mr. Brave Navy Man?”

  “I’m a bit too well known around here,” McBride said evenly. “Never know when I might run into someone who knows my face. Show up there, and the game would be up. We’ll have time and opportunity for one chance to help them. After that, it’ll be too late. And that means you two …”

  “What do you have in mind?” Kate asked.

  McBride related the plan. It was simple enough. Kate and Reggie would smuggle weapons to the Polish crew and relay instructions about what McBride was intending to do. McBride would set off an explosion nearby. In the distraction, the Poles could make a break for their boat. The rest was up to them.

  Reggie glanced at Kate, a worried look on his face. “Sounds like someone could get killed.”

  McBride stared at them. “I’m told the Germans will make the Eagle one of their own in a day or two. What do you think will happen to your friends after that?”

  “Why, they’ll just be turned over to the Polish embassy,” Reggie sputtered. “Or let free. I mean, they haven’t attacked Estonia. It’s Germany they’re fighting.”

  McBride didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He finished his cigarette, stubbed out the end.

  Kate decided for both of them. “Sounds good, Mac. When do we get started?”

  “Are we under arrest?”

  Commander Jaak Talli frowned. “Of course not.”

  “Then can we leave?” Eryk asked.

  Talli sighed. He was having trouble meeting Eryk’s eyes. He gazed at the chandelier that from high above dominated the room. “I’m sorry to say, no,” he said. “I have my orders. You are to stay here tonight until my superiors make arrangements with your embassy. We will bring in blankets. It is the best I can do …”

  “Helluva way to treat your friends,” Eryk shouted, face reddening. He looked like he was going to take a swipe at the Estonian officer, but Squeaky stepped up, grabbed him by the arm. Eryk hesitated and then shook him off, making it a point to glare at Talli, and then the guards posted by the doors at either end of the room. He turned on his heels, crossed over to the chairs where the rest of the officers and crew of the Eagle were sitting, kicked a chair, and then picked it up and sat down.

  Talli held out his hands in appeal. “Remain calm,” he said raising his voice. “I regret what has happened; truly I do. I will do what I can to make you comfortable. We have food and coffee coming in an hour. You will be allowed to use the facilities one at a time. Until then, for your own protection, you need to stay here.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” somebody shouted. He was joined by more shouts, and then, just as quickly as it started, it began to die out. It was as if losing their ship had ripped the heart and passion out of each and every one of the crew. It was something Talli understood. He was a sailor, too. That submarine was not only their duty, but it was their home. They looked after her, and she looked after them. Cut off from the Eagle, they had lost an important part of themselves. Talli looked mournfully over the group of submariners, shook his head, and left.

  Ever since he had joined his men, Stefan had sat quietly on a chair in the corner. When offered cigarettes, he ignored them. When Eryk, and Squeaky, and the others approached him, attempted to get him to respond to questions, he did nothing.

  “I think he’s cracked,” Eryk said. “Who would have thought it?”

  Squeaky shook his head. “Nah. He’s thinking up a plan to get us out of here. Soon as he has it all figured out, he’ll let us know. Don’t worry.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Eryk said. “Say, where’s the captain?”

  “Speaking of somebody being full of shit,” Squeaky said. “And yeah, that’s a good question. Where is the asshole? Makes you wonder, don’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Eryk said.

  “I mean, whose idea was it to come here.”

  “You don’t think he was in on it, do you?” Eryk looked over his shoulders, his voice hushed.

  “Guy was just looking out for his own ass. That’s what I think. We were his trophy boat; he’d stay hitched to us for a while and then move on to bigger and better things at headquarters. Unfortunately, the war started up. That put a kink in his plans, yes, sirree. And then, instead of going after the Germans, we’re forced to skedaddle for repairs here. But lo and behold, we’re interned by the Estonians. Who’d have thought that. In other words, safely out of the war.”

  “Jesus, you could be right.”

  “We should tell Stef.”

  “Nah, leave him be. He’s still thinking. If I can figure it out, so can he. If I’m right, he’ll let us know.”

  Across the room, Stefan was vaguely aware of the furtive, worried glances from his men. He saw Eryk and Squeaky huddled together, talking fiercely. They would have been disappointed to discover that instead of planning their escape, he was wondering whether he should bother somebody for a smoke. For the most part, he had recovered from his initial shock, the guilt and regret over not being able to prevent what had happened. The personal recriminations at being such a complete fool. He had known better and still he had let it happen. Now that they were under guard, he couldn’t figure out a way to rectify his mistake. He had always prided himself on his ability to solve problems even in the most stressful situations. But this was unique. And his mind felt trapped in molasses. Of course, he knew that worrying about a smoke was just a way to ignore the real problem, a growing sense of fear over what might happen to his men. He had no illusions. As well-meaning as Talli seemed to be, he would do what he was ordered. Stefan doubted they would be handed over to Polish diplomats, and even if that happened, what could they do? Before long, there would be no Poland. Of that he was sure. The Estonians couldn’t very well let them go free. After all, they were combatants in a war. Most likely, they would be handed over to somebody else. And that meant either the Soviets or the Nazis. Stefan didn’t like either choice, but he was at a loss to know what to do. And so he sat and worried about a smoke.

  Kate didn’t even bother to knock. She looked at the address on her pad, then at the numbers above the massive stone doorway. “Excuse me,” she said to the Estonian sailor guarding the door. She pushed the barrel of his gun aside and marched right on in.

  The guard opened his mouth to shout a warning, but Kate glanced over her shoulder and gave him a perfectly timed smile. That stopped the guard in his tracks. He gave Reggie a confused look. Reggie shrugged an apology, held out his press card for the guard to scan, and then snapped his wallet shut. “BBC,” he lied, and then he picked up the camera equipment and followed after her.

  Kate paused in the entryway and did a quick turn around. McBride hadn’t been kidding. It was a gorgeous place. Strange jail for the crew of the Eagle, but it made a certain sense. An actual jail or prison would have alarmed the men right off. Hard enough to control one angry sailor, she couldn’t imagine how it would be with sixty. Besides, they weren’t officially arrested. What had McBride said the Estonians were calling it? “Belligerent guest restrictions.” Kate wondered if they actually hired people to come up with inane phrases like that or if it was just a characteristic of every bureaucracy on the planet. Of course, bringing the Eagle’s crew here made the threat less obvious. And as McBride pointed out, the building had limited ways to get in and out, so it
could be guarded by a small group of men. When they figured out what to do with the Poles, they would load them aboard trucks, and drive them off to their fate.

  Kate shifted her purse on her shoulder. The weight of the two pistols made the strap bite uncomfortably into her shoulder. They had decided against hiding them in Reggie’s equipment. Too easy for them to be discovered if anyone decided to look. Kate’s purse wasn’t much better, but McBride had figured that the ever-proper Estonians would bother to check Kate’s personal belongings. That was the hope, anyway. And so far, so good.

  A short Estonian naval officer trotted up to Kate at about the same time Reggie staggered through the door. The officer was wiping his mouth, missing the sheen of grease on his upper lip. They had interrupted dinner.

  He glanced at them both. Judged them British by their clothes. “Yes, yes, what can I do for you?” he said in accented English.

  “I’m here to talk with the officer in charge.”

  “That is me. My superior, he is gone for the moment.”

  “NANS,” Reggie blustered nervously, holding out his press ID.

  “We’re here to interview the Polish sailors. …” Kate added. “We’re with an internationally recognized news service.”

  “Impossible,” the Estonian said with a shake of his head. “The men are in protective custody. You must not disturb them. I am under orders.”

  “Why?” Kate said with alarm. “They aren’t sick are they? It isn’t smallpox, or the flu. …”

  “Or something really contagious,” Reggie added hopefully. He was having serious second thoughts about this whole operation. If the crew was sick, that would end any hope of freeing them. It would be too bad, but so it goes in life.

  “No, no, they aren’t sick. They are perfectly healthy and eating food graciously provided by the people and government of Estonia as we speak at this moment.”

  “That’s perfect,” Kate cooed. “You’re feeding them right now. You see, we just want to get their story for our readers, and write about the wonderful treatment they’re receiving from their Estonian hosts. They are being well treated, aren’t they. By the way, what is your name?”

  The Estonian officer straightened the front of his jacket. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white handkerchief, and wiped his lips once again. He glanced at his watch. Talli wouldn’t return for another hour. He would have to decide. He glanced at the woman and decided. “Veski,” he said. “Walter Veski. Lieutnant Commander, Estonian Navy.” He bowed his head formally and smiled.

  Kate answered the smile with a giggle. She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Walt,” she said. “Miss Kate McLendon. I’m an American. This is my associate, Reggie Goldberg.”

  The Estonian took Kate’s hand. For a moment, she thought he would raise it to his lips. But he didn’t.

  “Yes, we treat them very well. They have committed no crime ...”

  “Then why won’t you let us chat with them? It would mean so much to me.”

  Reggie stifled a sigh of disgust. The girlish routine couldn’t possibly work on the man. But, as in the past, he had overestimated the powers of his own gender and underestimated Kate’s.

  A look of alarm crossed Veski’s face. He took Kate’s hand. “Of course you can see them. Please, please, dear lady. And you write a nice story?”

  “Of course,” Kate replied sweetly, squeezing Veski’s hand. “It’s Walter Veski, isn’t it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  From the front seat of a nondescript black sedan parked a block away, McBride watched Kate and Reggie disappear through the front door. He hugged the steering wheel, expecting them to reappear at any moment. When they did not, he slumped back in the seat, tipped his hat low over his eye, and waited. So far so good. But if they ran into trouble, they were on their own. He’d made that clear.

  Half an hour passed. Still no signs of alarm from inside the building. In fact, the guard at the entrance had slung his rifle over his shoulder and was talking and gesturing to an old man wearing a green beret, arms wrapped around a bag of groceries, who had paused on the walk. McBride watched the guard place a cigarette in the old man’s mouth and then light it, the match flaring brightly in the evening shadows. The old man shifted the load in his arms, nodded thanks to the soldier, and then continued on his way. It was all so normal, and yet McBride now noticed a strange tinge to all the usual activities. It was almost as if he was seeing them for the first time, marveling at what they represented. Or perhaps it was simply a realization that life couldn’t possibly go on as it always had when war had started again and every place would soon be touched by it? Or maybe it was more than that? McBride wondered.

  McBride nodded to the old man as he trudged by his car. It was time. He’d waited long enough. Now it was his turn. He started the car, slipped it into gear, and then began to make his way through the darkening cobblestone streets of Tallinn, back toward the warehouse district near the harbor. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror. He had taken the necessary precautions when he slipped out of the embassy, but you could never be sure. It was common knowledge that the city was crawling with intelligence agents from all sides of the war. He glanced at his watch. Nearly 8 p.m. Time enough. He bounced over railroad tracks, wheeled between two buildings, swung down a narrow side street and paused in front of a warehouse door. He flicked the car lights on and off. The door swung open. He gunned the engine and drove into the cavelike interior, turned off the motor, and stepped out. As soon as the door closed, overhead lights flared.

  “You weren’t followed ... ” It was a statement, not a question. A tall, thin-faced man stepped forward, held out his hand. “Not bad, for an amateur. Nice to see you again, Duncan.”

  McBride grinned, stepped out of the car. “I’ll take that as a compliment. All set?”

  Ashley Thomas, the local representative of the British Secret Service, nodded. “ A vacant building has been found a half a block away. It should burn quite nicely. No sense killing any locals. And this should do ...” He gestured over his shoulder in the direction of a bright red bus.

  “I said lorry,” McBride responded, frowning.

  “Best I could do on such short notice, old boy. It’s from a local company. Shouldn’t look too out of place. You have a driver? I hope you don’t expect me to waste any of my people on this fool’s attempt.”

  McBride could feel his cheeks beginning to color. “You have any better ideas? I’d like to hear them.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said dismissively, the Scottish tinge to his words becoming more pronounced as he continued. “Damn Germans didn’t give us much time. The crew is being hauled off tomorrow. The old man wanted us to help out, and that’s what I’m going to try to do.”

  Thomas exhaled in disgust. “Churchill? I heard he was back. We’ll see how long the dinosaur lasts this time. So, who’s your driver?”

  McBride took a deep breath. “Me.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to handle one of these? Not like driving a Morris.”

  “I think I’ll do all right,” McBride said pointedly. He didn’t mention the fact that his father still drove a dark green bakery delivery van through the streets of Edinburgh every morning, the same van McBride had used to learn how to drive when he was fifteen –years old.

  “What if you’re caught?”

  McBride shrugged. “I shan’t be. And if I am, I’ll just say the Poles made me do it.”

  Thomas laughed, tossed him the keys to the bus. “Good luck then,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”

  McBride caught the keys in midair. “Save it for the Poles. Getting down to the harbor is going to be the easy part.”

  Ritter was standing in the center of the foyer, legs apart, back flagpole-straight, slapping his black leather gloves impatiently into the palm of his hand.

  “How dare you bother me here at the home of my cousin? …”
Sieinski said.

  “You have a promise to keep, captain. Remember?” Ritter said evenly.

  “Józef? Everything all right?” A tall, well-dressed woman came up behind Sieinski, grabbed him by the arm, felt his discolored forehead. “He still isn’t well, you know.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” Ritter said, removing his cap. “My name is Peter von Ritter. And you?”

  “Frieda Aaviksoo,” Sieinski said. “Her husband is a minister in the government.”

  “What a delight.” Ritter said, nodding slightly. He didn’t offer her his hand. He replaced the cap on his head and looked sharply at Sieinski. “Well?”

  As Sieinski nodded, his face began to change, sag in upon itself like a rotten pumpkin too long in the sun. He turned to his cousin. “Yes, my dear,” he said hoarsely. “My men are in need of their captain. A few formalities. And then I will return.”

  The woman patted Sieinski on the cheek. “You know,” she said to Ritter, “Józef is my favorite cousin. It was such a nice surprise to hear he was in town.”

  “I’m sure,” Ritter remarked dryly. “Shall we go?”

  Ritter settled into the back seat of the Mercedes with an audible sigh. “Marvelous vehicle, don’t you think? Nothing quite like it in the world. And these seats. Only the very best leather. Quality always shines through. It is the same with people, I think.” Ritter smiled broadly. “I hope you found satisfactory resolution to your, ah, sickness?”