Dead Man Talking

by Dead Man Talking (retail) (epub)

  ‘Yes, we could,’ Kurt said doubtfully. ‘Perhaps we will. Here comes your tram. Goodbye.’

  And then he turned and was gone into the summer night, striding away towards his dark lover with the transformed pigtails.

  * * *

  So absorbing had the work of completing the Ernest Shackleton become that Jack, to his retrospective shame, almost forgot about this odd encounter. Kurt’s sombre character lent an air of personal dramatisation to the affair and this had tended to demonise his younger brother. Johannes was not such a bad fellow and probably nursed no more than the prejudices of many young German men. In this reflection Jack Clark forgot the perceptive notice he had taken of his aunt’s concern, taking refuge, as many do, in hoping things were not as bad as they sometimes appeared. Long afterwards Clark could see with fateful hindsight how these circumstances had bound him and his life inextricably with events to come.

  It was this personal entrapment that had enabled him to remain silent for so long after the climacteric to which these minor events were but the opening gambits. Perhaps too, his later secrecy was an expiation for his failure to perceive the seeds of tragedy, a tragedy which was as much personally as historically disastrous. But such consequences and reactions that bright morning as he went aboard the Ernest Shackleton lay far in the future.

  In the weeks since his encounter with Kurt he had not seen his cousins at all. Clark had not returned to Altona to visit Johannes or his parents and, although he had observed a group of uniformed naval officers once or twice in the shipyard, he had not recognised Kurt among them.

  But that morning he and Gerry Hunter walked into their meeting with the shipyard managers and found Kurt sitting at the table. There was a palpable air of awkwardness among the men, with whom they had discussed matters for months and whose moods and methods they had grown familiar with. The ship manager, Herr Eberbach, explained the presence of Korvettenkapitän Petersen as an observer and the discussion commenced. As they concluded and gathered up their papers, Kurt spoke for the first time. ‘You speak excellent German, Herr Clark.’

  ‘Thank you,’ responded Clark, meeting his cousin’s gaze and sensing the charade was for the benefit of Kurt’s fellow countrymen, if not a test of himself. ‘As I have told my friends here,’ he said, gesturing at the shipyard personnel, ‘I have German blood and it was a second language at home…’

  He did not think he had ever said more than that to any of the casual acquaintances he had worked with in Hamburg, but he was not 100 per cent certain. No one seemed particularly interested, however, and if he had ever mentioned his relatives’ name to Gerry Hunter, the engineer did not appear to have made a connection with the dark-uniformed German naval officer just then rising from behind the table. Of course, he could not be sure, and the presence of the Korvettenkapitän seemed to inconvenience the men of the shipyard, so that Clark felt a lingering unease that he had let Kurt down.

  ‘I shall be interested in observing your inclining experiment,’ Kurt said conversationally, looking down at a paper before him. ‘And I see that is scheduled for next week. You will be ready for it I hope, Herr Eberbach?’

  ‘Certainly, Kapitän.’

  ‘And you are already bringing members of your crew over from England, Mr Clark?’

  Clark met Kurt’s gaze and nodded. ‘I have requested them, yes, but I am waiting for confirmation from my owners.’

  ‘But you both hope to have the ship in commission by October?’ Kurt’s gesture took in both Clark and Eberbach.

  ‘By the end of the first week,’ Eberbach said emphatically.

  ‘Provided everything is in order and as promised,’ Clark added with a smile.

  As the conference dispersed, Clark avoided Kurt’s eyes as he left the room with Hunter.

  ‘Something funny about that meeting,’ said Hunter the moment they were outside, so that Clark’s heart missed a beat and he felt the breath tight in his throat.

  ‘Yes,’ he managed, ‘the presence of that German naval officer…’

  ‘Oh no, it wasn’t that,’ Hunter broke in. ‘He wants the fitting-out berth, I heard. They’re now in a hurry, falling over themselves to oblige the navy. They’ve a hull in Bremen they want to tow round here to complete, so there’s no mystery in that. Old Korvetten-what’s-his-name just wanted to make sure that if the yard completed we’d have the ship away without a delay. No, it wasn’t that…’

  It was odd how Hunter, with no knowledge of German, could find out so much more about what was going on in the yard than Clark himself, but he had little time for this reflection with the engineer in full flood.

  ‘I was just taken by the way Eberbach went all sheepish when I said that they were leaving the fitting of the poop accommodation and the completion of the centre-castle contactor houses a bit late. They’ve been dragging their heels on those areas for a fortnight now…’

  ‘They said there was a delay in the supply of switchgear and the accommodation won’t take long to finish off.’

  ‘Oh come on now, Jackie, don’t you go swallowing all that crap. Did you not see how that little bastard Kessler was grinning?’

  ‘The electrical foreman?’

  ‘That’s the one, the little weasel. And have you seen the badge he wears in his lapel? He’s a fucking Nazi right enough…’

  ‘Well, so what?’

  ‘Have you not yet rumbled the fact that the Nazis are a bunch of shits…?’

  Clark laughed. This was Ulster prejudice taken too far! ‘So they’re like the Fenians, are they, Gerry?’

  ‘You can laugh, Jackie, but you mark my words! You get on to Liverpool and let’s get a crew and fuck off out of this place. I’ve had Hamburg up to my eyeballs. I don’t care if the firemen down aft sit and shit in buckets and I’ll build a contactor house myself wi’ a bit of help, but let’s get this ship to sea.’

  They separated, Hunter to go and harass Kessler, and Clark to telephone Liverpool. In the little office he picked up the phone and got through to the shipyard’s switch-board. For twenty minutes he waited impatiently while the operator tried to contact Liverpool but in the end the poor girl admitted defeat.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘I’ll try again in an hour or two.’

  He went back on board the ship and, for half an hour, immersed himself in checking through the specification. He was expecting a stores delivery that day and, to his delight, several large packages had been carried aboard and left in the near-completed wheelhouse. He knew what they were instantly, the folios of British Admiralty charts without which no Eastern Steam Navigation Company ship ventured far. They covered the entire world and came with sailing directions, the International Code of Signals manual, the company’s volume of Standing Orders and several other books and documents. A few minutes later one of the shipyards’ storemen, recognisable in the brown cotton overall coat worn by such functionaries, came into the chartroom, where Clark was putting the books in the neat shelves shiny with new varnish. The man carried a neat brown-paper-wrapped package in each hand.

  ‘Ah, the chronometers,’ Clark said with relish.

  ‘Good German chronometers, Herr Clark,’ the man said with a grin. ‘To go with your good German ship.’

  Clark cut the sisal string round each, peeled back the paper and looked at the first of the clockfaces staring up at him from its double ring of brass gimballing. The name of the maker was set over the word: London.

  ‘These are…’ he began with mild astonishment, looking up, but the storeman pre-empted him and closed the chartroom door.

  ‘Yes, they’re British and,’ the man interrupted, speaking perfect English, ‘it pains me to have to tell you to leave them behind, but I take you for Mr John Clark.’

  Clark frowned. ‘Yes, and who are you and,’ he added looking down at the chronometer face again, ‘what d’you mean by…?’

  ‘My name is Sanders and I’m from the British consulate. Be a good fellow and get your men together. I want you out of this co
untry by tomorrow morning. You won’t get through to Dentco, the authorities here will prevent it. I don’t think they are interested in interning you or your colleague, but they want your ship and I’m afraid it looks as though they are going to get her by default. You must get yourself to the Hook of Holland and on a ferry to Harwich by tomorrow night.’

  ‘Why should the German authorities want this ship? I don’t understand… and if they do, I can’t just walk off…’

  ‘That’s exactly what I want you to do and what we have persuaded Dentco is the only solution to the problem. We had hoped to get her away before the situation became volatile, but Berlin and Moscow signed a non-aggression pact five days ago and we’ve just formalised our arrangements with Poland into a full alliance.’

  ‘Poland? What the hell has Poland…?’

  ‘There’s going to be a war, Mr Clark,’ Sanders said with a faint air of exasperation. ‘Or at least I think it most likely. I have been living with the possibility for weeks now while you, it seems,’ he added with a mild sarcasm of penetrating accuracy, ‘have been too involved with your ship to notice.’

  ‘A war?’

  For a moment an incredulous Clark stood stock still and Sanders was intelligent enough to let the full import of his grave news sink in. Clark rallied his scepticism once more.

  ‘How do I know you are who you say you are? I mean, if the Germans want the ship, you could be…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand your misgivings, Mr Clark, but here…’ Sanders held out his diplomatic pass. ‘You’ll have to trust me, old man. I know you have German relatives…’

  Clark’s response was sharp, prompted by an old family fear and compounded by his distaste for Johannes’ National Socialist dogma. ‘I hope that you don’t consider me a sympathiser with the German government,’ he snapped.

  ‘Get yourself and your men to the Hook, then. I’ll not be far behind you.’

  ‘You’ve known about this for some time,’ Clark said, pushing the chronometer, which, he found, he had been clutching to himself.

  Sanders nodded. ‘As I have said, we hoped to get the ship completed before things got to this pass, but it’s too late for worrying about that now. Be on your way home and prove your patriotism. Dentco will approve, I assure you.’

  Clark emerged from his shock under a flood of comprehension. ‘They do want the bloody ship, by God! That’s what Kur… Korvettenkapitän Petersen’s doing here! And that’s why they’re delaying work on the poop. There’ll be a gun there and others forward on the contactor houses! They’re going to make a commerce raider, or a Q-ship out of her!’

  Sanders nodded again. ‘Bravo, Mr Clark.’ He sighed. ‘Now look, we’ve left all this a bit late, I’m afraid, so we’re going to provide you with transport. There will be a Volkswagen parked outside your hotel this evening. Get yourself to the Dutch border as quickly as you can and don’t hang about when you have crossed it. Get a train from Groningen to the Hook. I want you back home telling Dentco I’ve done my bit.’

  ‘Why don’t we sabotage the ship and prevent…’

  ‘Look, Clark, neither you nor I are Bulldog Drummond. Let’s just go home like good boys and then, if you feel so inclined, you can embark on any number of escapades.’

  Clark felt suddenly foolish and nodded sheepishly, looking down at the exposed chronometer. ‘It seems a pity to leave this behind,’ he said.

  ‘Take it with you then if it bothers you,’ said Sanders curtly, ‘I’ve got other things to worry about.’

  ‘A Volkswagen, you say…?’

  ‘All ready to go. Full of fuel. You can drive, can’t you?’

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘And you have some money? A ship’s imprest, or something?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Then take the lot and consider yourself lucky we’re helping you to the extent we are. We don’t normally do so much for Distressed British Seamen.’

  ‘Is that what I am now? Most kind. I’d better go and find Hunter, the Second Engineer.’

  ‘Good idea, and by the way, I wouldn’t mention this to anyone apart from your colleague. Don’t say anything to the yard people. Just bugger off quietly at the end of the afternoon.’

  ‘They’re going to notice we’re not here tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Well,’ Sanders shrugged, ‘so be it.’ He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye and good luck. I think we’re going to need quite a lot of it.’

  Clark could not find Hunter immediately. A workman in the engine room told him that he had heard the Irishman talking to one of the chargehands and they had gone aft to take a look at the steering gear. When Clark reached the steering flat it proved empty, though its steel door was tied back and it smelt of wet paint. He stared briefly at the gleaming quadrant which seemed ready for instant use. As he hung a moment in the doorway, Clark felt a creeping anger that it would be a Nazi voice that would order its first operational movement. Ironically, his ‘God damn!’ of fury was enunciated in his perfect German.

  As he went ashore it occurred to him that he ought to try and get through to Liverpool again. If he understood the spirit of Sanders’ instructions, he should behave normally. Once again, he could not get through. It was clear now that he was not meant to, and he recalled being cut off when he had last spoken to Wilson.

  ‘Well, I’m damned,’ he muttered in English.

  It was when he left the shore office and began to hurry back to the ship that he bumped into Kessler.

  ‘Herr Clark, you are in a hurry…’

  ‘There is a great deal to be done, Herr Kessler, as you know. Have you seen Mr Hunter?’

  ‘I have just come from speaking with him. He is in the conference room, talking with Korvettenkapitän Petersen. Korvettenkapitän Petersen is most interested in the engines, you know, and the maximum speed of your ship. I have told him that she is designed for eighteen knots. That is correct, is it not? But I expect that she can make twenty!’

  ‘Excuse me, Herr Kessler…’

  ‘Of course, Herr Clark. I had forgotten you were in a hurry.’

  Clark found Hunter in the meeting room alone with Kurt. He stared from one to the other, not sure what to make of this odd mismatch under the circumstances.

  ‘Ah, Jack, there you are,’ Hunter said, turning to face his shipmate. ‘The captain here has been telling why he is interested in the ship’s movements. It’s just like I guessed, the German Navy is fitting out some naval auxiliaries in this yard and they want our berth…’

  ‘I see.’ Clark’s heart was hammering in his chest. ‘Well Gerry, we have some problems arising on board…’

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope, Herr Clark,’ Kurt broke in, catching Clark’s eye.

  ‘Er, that depends upon whose point of view you are taking,’ Clark responded, holding his cousin’s gaze and feeling a tightening of the muscles in his gut. ‘It’s pretty bad for us… on the ship…’

  ‘What the fuck’s up?’ Hunter asked, standing up in a posture of alarm.

  Clark turned to Hunter. ‘Bit of a problem on board, Gerry. Not something we can talk about in front of strangers.’ He threw Kurt a final glance with the last word and saw a slight frown cross his cousin’s face. ‘I’ll see you in the chartroom in half an hour. In the meantime, I want a word with the Captain here, and I think you should take a look at the steering gear.’

  He watched with relief as Hunter reacted. ‘What the fuck have the bastards done? It was all right an hour ago.’

  ‘Go and have a look,’ Clark said coldly, adding, ‘and I’ll see you in the chartroom in half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll be there, don’t you worry!’ Fuelled with uncertainty and concern Hunter hurried from the room.

  Shutting the door behind him, Clark rounded on his cousin. ‘You might have told me you were intending to take over my ship!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but how do you know?’

  ‘I’ve just been ordered to head for the Hook of Holland!’

  ‘Who by?’ Kur
t frowned.

  ‘The British consulate.’

  ‘God damn!’

  ‘I understand that war is imminent.’ The impact of these words clearly surprised Kurt.

  ‘No! Not between England and Germany! If we requisition a ship being built in Germany we would pay compensation.’

  ‘You are beginning to sound like a Nazi. Who are you going to go to war with? I know it isn’t the Communists, you’ve just signed a pact with Moscow…’

  Kurt’s mouth dropped open in unfeigned astonishment. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘How do you?’ Clark responded.

  ‘I don’t.’ Kurt looked genuinely astonished. ‘I have no knowledge of any pact with the Soviet Union.’

  ‘Well, I have to be gone, cousin, and we look like becoming enemies.’

  ‘No, this is not possible,’ Kurt said, clearly distressed, his voice edged with despair and desperation. ‘Not even Adolf Hitler would want to go to war with Great Britain, while it is impossible he has allied himself with the Communists!’

  Clark’s news had quite clearly discomposed his cousin, who ran his hand through his hair in a frantic motion.

  ‘I hope you are right, Kurt, but I am not keen to hang about on your evaluation of the situation. There is clearly a requirement in the minds of your masters for my ship…’

  ‘Yes, but that is part of a long-term plan… My God, what am I saying?’ Kurt paused and stared at Clark. The admission was quickly followed by the true state of Kurt’s thoughts. ‘When are you going?’ he asked, swiftly adding, ‘You must take Magda with you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get her out of Germany for me! Please, I beg you!’

  ‘For God’s sake, Kurt…’

  ‘I’ll get you a car…’

  ‘I’ve got one.’

  ‘Good! Tell me where to be with her. What time are you going? Come, quickly, I don’t want to be found talking to you like this!’ Sweat stood out like glass beads on Kurt’s forehead and he moved like a chained dog.

  ‘I can’t just take Magda…’

  ‘Why? I know hundreds of Jews have gone to England since the Night of Broken Glass. Even you have heard of that, for God’s sake!’