Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (5 page)

Nathan thumbed through the rest of the pages,
becoming more and more annoyed with himself for being
so slow to decipher the written German. There were
numerous entries throughout the twenty-one pages that
showed the U-boat’s final voyage. From the time that it had
left port at St Nazaire in France. It soon became obvious
from the entries, that the submarine had been sent out into
the Atlantic Ocean and south towards Africa. At the Cape
of Good Hope U683 had then changed course towards the
North again, passing Madagascar on its way to the Red
Sea. There were various notations on the 27th April as the
submarine passed through the Suez Canal and out into
the Mediterranean. This all seemed very odd to Nathan
Cunningham as he sat there pondering over what he had
just read, and he genuinely thought that he had translated
the entries incorrectly. The route didn’t make much sense
to him. It was certainly the long way round, but he thought
they obviously had their reasons for embarking on such an
arduous voyage, but to what end? Nathan flicked quickly
to the last entry that was on the 8th May 1945. D-Day he
thought. That was the effective end of Hitler’s Third Reich.
If that were correct, then what on earth was U683 doing in
a secret subterranean waterway under the Island of Jersey?

Cunningham sat there wondering what he was going
to do with this phenomenal discovery, whom would he tell?
Did he really want to share his secret? One thing he was
certain about was that if news leaked out about such a find,
then the island would be invaded within days or even hours
with journalists, relic hunters and sightseers.

He flicked back through the diary; stopping suddenly
on the 28th April. A name jumped out at him, Heinrich
Himmler, this made him flush and his pulse race. He read
on excitedly, the entry had been made just before dawn, the
submarine was to rendezvous with a Sicilian fishing vessel
and take on board secret cargo of national importance to the
Third Reich. Cunningham’s excitement was almost too much
for him to contain. Heinrich Himmler, head of the Gestapo
and the SS had been, next to Hitler and Martin Bormann,
one of the most powerful and feared men in the Nazi Party.
Had he really committed suicide just after capitulation or
had it been another carefully staged deception, for which
the Nazis were particularly skilled at. It had become almost
run-of-the-mill during those last months of the war for
many of the top ranking Nazis to have doubles. People who
were taught to speak, behave, and even dress in the same
uniform as those they were impersonating. This was simply
so that those individuals who would otherwise be put to
trial or death by the allies could escape. Nathan thought
about how many academics and historians had speculated
or written books on that subject?

He put the diary to one side; picked up one of the
envelopes and idly pulled the letter out. The name at the top
of the sheet of paper made him sit up, Grossadmiral Karl
Donitz. Nathan carefully read the letter and stared at it in
utter amazement for some time before carefully placing it
back inside the envelope, gathered up the documents, diary,
and the letters and put them all back inside the aluminium
case. He shut the lid, snapping the two clasps back in place
and took the case below to put inside his holdall. Then he
went back up, and started the engine, letting it idle while he
engaged the automatic anchor chain winch.

Throughout his years as a serving officer in the Royal
Navy, Cunningham had never seen or read about anything
as mysterious as this. His instincts told him that whatever
it was, it was absolute dynamite, it had to be. He had a
U-boat tied up in an underground harbour, with a final
diary entry on the last day of World War Two. There was a
reference to one of the most evil men in the Nazi Party. As
well as a letter from the Commander-in-Chief of the entire
Kriegsmarine who eventually became the acting Head of
State of the Third Reich.

“What in hell’s name have I stumbled upon? My
God, if this turns out, not to be a dream, then I’ve probably
woken the devil himself?” He mumbled aloud.

He fought with his conscience about what to do
with his find, eventually making a decision not to go to
the authorities on the island or the police. Journalists were
totally out of the question and he certainly wouldn’t be able
to talk to any of his friends. “Except one” he said out loud,
and then laughed.

Edward Levenson-Jones, of course, LJ would know
what to do. He wasn’t far from Bonne Nuit, but he still
opened up the throttle. The fibreglass hull slapped the
waves as the boat speeded towards the bay. Nathan’s
thoughts strayed back to the time he and LJ had first met,
when both men were attending the same university. They
had immediately hit it off, both having similar backgrounds
and interests, as well as the same taste in women. LJ
had been approached early on by MI5 and had, without
hesitation, chosen to join them, fast tracking right to the
top as Director of Operations. During both of their careers
they found themselves working together on half a dozen
secret missions where Royal Navy assistance was required.

On more than one occasion, the two friends very
nearly lost their lives while doing their duty for Queen and
country. His daydream was broken as the hull of the sport
fisherman slapped down hard onto another wave. “Yes,” he
said aloud, LJ was definitely the right person to tell. After all
he was an expert at keeping secrets and had and interest, as
well as unlimited access to all sorts of military and maritime
historical information.

He eased back on the throttle as he entered Bonne
Nuit harbour and saw Charlie Trelawney one of the old
fishermen stood up on the sea wall looking down at him.

“Morning Nathan,” he called. “You were out early
today. Where you been?”
“Grosnez Point, Charlie.” Cunningham lied easily,
but in the circumstances he had no other choice if he were
to keep his secret.
“What’s it like round there this morning?”
“Absolutely perfect diving conditions.”
“No such thing as perfect. You should be more
careful, diving alone around this island, it isn’t safe.”
Trelawney yawned, gave Nathan a friendly yet dismissive
wave, and then started to walk back along the sea wall to
his hut.
“You take care now Nathan.” He said loudly over
his shoulder.
Cunningham moved slowly into the harbour and
over to his mooring buoy. Leaving the engine idling he took
the gaff hook and pulled the bright orange buoy on board
before tethering a rope to it. Dropping it back into the
water he then went back into the wheelhouse and engaged
the automatic anchor winch.
He was out of breath when he reached the house.
He’d seen Annabelle working in the Café, so he knew
that he was alone. As he went through the living room he
glanced up at the ship’s clock on the wall, which showed
eleven o’clock. In the kitchen he poured himself a strong
black coffee from the fancy machine that his daughter had
bought him the previous Christmas and took it through to
his study. Unzipping the holdall he took out the aluminium
briefcase and put it on the desk. With the cordless phone
in one hand and the cup of coffee precariously balanced
in the other, he scrolled through the phone’s memory until
he found the number that he was looking for. Pushing the
appropriate button, he waited to be connected.

In London it was another busy working day for
Edward Levenson-Jones who was just getting up to go
to his weekly Partners’ meeting. This was always held in
the atrium room on the top floor of Ferran & Cardini’s
prestigious Docklands building. The phone on his desk
started to ring, glancing down at it, he saw that it was an
internal call from Guy Roberts.

“Yes, I know I’m late, but you can tell them, that I’m
on my way up.”
“There’s an outside call for you sir, the gentleman
insists that he is an old friend of yours and must talk to you
immediately. Shall I tell him that you’re in a meeting?”
“What’s his name?”
“Commander Nathan Cunningham, sir.”
“Nathan Cunningham, no Roberts, put him through
at once. Oh, and call the Partners, tell them that I’ll be ten
minutes late for the meeting, they’ll understand.”
“Nat, you old sea dog, how’s life treating you down
there in Jersey?”
“LJ, things couldn’t be better, how about you?
Still working your nuts off seven days a week in the city I
suppose?”
Levenson-Jones sat down behind his desk. “Good to
hear your voice, old son. Are you in town?”
“No, I’m in Jersey, but I’ve got a bit of a dilemma,
that I thought you might be able to help me with. You see,
I went for a dive this morning, and found myself a large
Second World War German U-boat.”
“Well that’s splendid, Nat. But there must be quite
a few sunken wrecks around the Channel Islands from the
last war. Nothing unusual about that old son.”
“No you don’t understand LJ. This one is fifty-five
feet down and under the island, tied up in a cavern that’s
like an enormous subterranean harbour. It’s got a bloody
great big red leaping devil painted on the side of the conning
tower, and LJ, it’s definitely a type VIIC.” Nathan could
once again feel a tingling sensation run up and down his
spine, and the bristles on the back of his neck stand on end.
Levenson-Jones own excitement had made him break
out into a cold sweat. “Nat, I won’t insult you by asking if
you’ve been under any pressure or strain recently. But how
on earth has this thing not been found before?”
“LJ, there are hundreds of wrecks throughout the
English Channel and especially around these islands, with
more being discovered every year. But this one; was never
meant to be discovered. It’s hidden deep within the very
granite of Jersey, and the water in the area where I was
diving is, to say the least, lethal. No one ever dives in this
particular area because of the rocks and the extreme tidal
movements. We had the most horrendous storm last night,
and this morning it was like a millpond. So I dropped
anchor, and went in, couldn’t resist it. Of course, under
normal conditions you wouldn’t be able to get close enough
without being smashed to a million pieces on the rocks.”
“So how did you find this underground harbour
then?”
“Oh, it was purely by accident really. You see I’d
taken a sounding of the area some weeks ago. As you know,
I got the bug for marine archaeology a few years back, and
when I checked again this morning. Well, what I saw was
a wide, deep furrow in the seabed that had somehow been
concealed before. You know me, inquisitive to the last.
When I got down there, I noticed two things; firstly that
there was a strong current flowing back out to sea and
secondly that the water was much colder than usual. All
I had to do was swim against the flow, towards the shore,
and eventually came to the rock face that had taken the full
brunt of the storm during the night. There had been a lot
of movement, and some incredible rockslides, but my torch
beam picked out a small gap near the base of the rocks.
This was where the water was coming through and where I
entered the tunnel that eventually led me to the cavern. LJ,
it’s incredible, really incredible!”
“Is she still afloat? What condition is she in?”
“Only just. The control room is completely flooded,
right up to the conning tower hatchway. But, I’d say that’s
the only area that is, due entirely to the fact that the forward
and aft watertight doors had been sealed. And she’s taken
quite a beating. But the strangest thing is? On the outside
there is considerable damage, but the inside tells a very
different story, with everything calm, and from what I could
see, in its place.”
“What about the crew, any skeletal remains, old
son?”
“There were only two skeletons that I came across.
One poor soul who had been impaled where he stood on
the conning tower deck by a piece of twisted support rail. It
had gone right through his back and out of the front of his
chest. The other was in the control room, I’m pretty sure
that this was the Commander. I found a watertight silver
briefcase laying at his side.”
“Did it have the Kriegsmarine insignia etched on it
up in the top right corner?”
“Yes it did, but it also had this red leaping devil
across the centre of the lid.”
“The insignia tells us that it’s a standard issue case.
But that leaping red devil that’s the bit that intrigues me.
Very odd that, Nat. Were there any numbers on the conning
tower or briefcase?”
“No, none on either that I could see.”
“Um, that really is odd. If there are no numbers then
what have we got here?”
In Jersey, Cunningham was already thumbing
through the diary. “LJ, wait a minute, I’m just having a look
back through the pages. Yes here we are at the very front
of the U-boat diary there’s a reference number. It would
appear that our sub, was commissioned U-683. How on
earth did I miss that before, anyway it’s the only numerical
reference to it.”
“Okay, so we now know her identification number
or we think we do. Nat, do you mind holding for just one
moment while I tap into the central archive database, this
will tell us about our submarine and what she got up to
back then.”
Cunningham waited patiently while LJ tapped away
at his keyboard. “This is already becoming more and more
curious, my old friend.” LJ said.
“What is?”
“Well according to the information that I’ve got in
front of me - U683 was officially reported missing twice.
The details are sketchy to say the least, and to make things
even more confusing; there are two official Kriegsmarine
reports. One, which states that she went down in the North
Atlantic on the 20th February 1945 just Southwest of
Ireland. The other that she was sunk in the English Channel
near to Lands End on the 12th March 1945. Her last known
position though was recorded at co-ordinates, 49.52N,
05.52W. It looks like she was depth charged by the British
Frigate HMS Loch Ruthwen, and the sloop Wild Goose.
Ah, but look here, the frigate captain entered in his ship’s
log that the attack that they had made was more than likely
against another wreck. Here it is, yes, U-247 was charted
sunk in almost the same position previously. There looks
to have been much speculation about this one, Nat. And
I’d say that it was highly unlikely in light of what you have
just told me, as to whether U-683 actually ever did go down
with all hands lost. As the forty-nine crewmembers were
never recovered.”
“Sounds like they were trying to create a deception,
if you ask me. Is that it?”
“Just about, she was laid down on 23rd December
1942, at Howaldtswerke, Hamburg and commissioned, on
30th May 1944. Look up the details of the Korvetenkapitan’s
in the diary, will you, what’s his name?”
Nathan turned to the U-boat Commander’s details,
“It states in the diary that the Korvetenkapitan’s was Otto
Sternberg. Why?”
“Um, it looks as if we have a mystery on our hands,
and becoming more and more intriguing by the minute. The
only recorded commander of U-683 was Kapitanleutnant
or Lieutenant Commander Gunter Keller. This information
also clearly states that this sub only ever took part in one
patrol, other than a training exercise just after she was
commissioned. Which means that Sternberg and possibly
the crew were specially selected for that last mission, which
leaves only one question. What the hell were the Nazis up
to on Jersey on May 8th 1945, VE day?”
“I really don’t know. Except that there are two
letters. One makes reference to the cargo that they were
carrying and addressed to Otto Sternberg. It was opened
but still in its envelope.”
“Really, who were they from?”
“Grossadmiral Karl Donitz, and Heinrich Himmler,
and the cargo was something called the Spear of Destiny.”
Levenson-Jones stood up quickly and took a hard
pull on his cigar. “Nathan old son, I think you’d better hop
on a plane this afternoon and come and see me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Um, well look here. Don’t bother with the scheduled
stuff, get yourself and that aluminium case up to the St.
Helier Aero-club, and charter a helicopter and pilot. Book
it to Ferran & Cardini and tell the company to phone this
number for immediate payment. As long as the weather is
good, you should arrive in London mid afternoon. I’ll have
a car waiting for you at the heli-pad to bring you directly to
my office here in Docklands, Oh, and Nat, don’t breathe a
word of this to anyone, not anyone.”
“Understood, so it’s just like old times, then. It’ll be
good to see you after all these years, and perhaps you’ll
allow me to buy you that dinner I owe you this evening?”
“I’ll be looking forward to it old son,” said LJ, and
replaced the receiver. Checking his watch, LJ saw that he
was thirty-five minutes late for the Partners’ meeting.
Nathan put the receiver back on its cradle and
immediately picked it up again. Yes, there was a helicopter
available for charter that afternoon. He made the booking
in the name of Ferran & Cardini International; the young
lady at the other end of the phone placed him on hold while
she called London to confirm the payment. This done he
sat back in his chair, thinking about the mystery that he’d
uncovered. There was plenty of time to pack an overnight
bag and to freshen himself up with a shower and shave.
But first he had to go down to the café and see
Annabelle. Unlike earlier, Bonne Nuit was now bristling
with activity as he walked down the hill to the café. The
harbour had an old world charm and timeless beauty as was
common throughout the Channel Islands, the main reason
why Nathan had fallen instantly in love with the place.