The Discovery, A Novel (24 page)

Ben sat in the front seat next to Victor Hammond; his partner Nate volunteered to take the back. But Nate leaned forward between them. It was still so hard for Ben to believe this was happening. When they’d met him in the lobby, he half-expected them to put him in handcuffs. “It’s that building right up there on the left, right under the streetlight,” Ben said. “The one with the black iron railing.”

Hammond pulled the car over. “You know the kind of explosives they’re using?”

Ben nodded.

“Are we endangering the people who live in this building if we go in there?”

“Maybe,” Ben said. “Obviously, we were taught how to make our bombs safe, not to go off until we’re ready for them. But, they are explosives.”

“How big a boom are we talking?” Nate said from the back. “I saw what the first one did down at the shipyard. Should I be calling my wife and kids to say good-bye?”

“I don’t think so,” Ben said. “The idea is to make a fairly small charge that you set next to something that will blow much bigger.”

“A secondary explosion,” Hammond said.

“Right.”

“So,” Nate said. “We might not get blown to bits here, just lose some arms and legs.”

Ben smiled. “That’s one way to put it.”

Hammond opened the car door. As he got out, he drew his gun. Nate got out from the back, on the sidewalk side. He drew his gun too. Without thinking, Ben pulled his out from his waistband. “Now, wait a minute,” Nate said. “Vic, you okay with this?”

“I’m sorry, Ben. But—”

“Guys, I can shoot,” Ben said.

“I’m sure you can,” said Hammond. “But if these guys go down, the bullets need to be from our guns.”

“I’m okay with that,” Ben said. “But you might need a third gun. Believe me, Graf and Kittel can shoot too. We’re not cut from the same cloth as the guys you rounded up back in June. Compared to the training we got, they were clowns.”

“I get your point,” Hammond said. “But . . . keep your finger off the trigger. You serve as backup only. And I mean, only if this thing gets away from us.”

“Fine,” Ben said.

They walked slowly to the door, Ben last, Nate and Hammond in front. Ben had already given them a detailed description of Graf and Kittel. They walked up the handful of brick steps and opened the door into a dark hallway. From the light let in by the streetlamp they could see two doors and a set of stairs on the left. One door right up front, one at the end of the hallway.

“You know which one?” Hammond whispered.

Ben shook his head no.

“I’m going to knock on this door. If either one answers, Nate, you and me come in fast. Ben, you hold back.” He looked at Nate, then at Ben. Both men nodded.

“Hope this doesn’t blow up in our face,” Nate whispered.

Hammond looked at him, a slight grin on his face. He shook his head, as if to say “you idiot.” He knocked on the door gently. Heard some movement inside. Footsteps coming toward the door.

“Yes? Who is it?” It was a woman’s voice, an elderly woman with a strong Southern accent. The door opened a few inches, stopped by a brass chain.

Hammond and Nate lowered their guns. “Hello, ma’am,” Hammond said, almost in a whisper. “We’re from out of town, got some friends we’re trying to look up. They gave us this address. Two fellas, about our age.”

She closed the door, unhooked the latch, then opened it. “Let me get a look at you.” She was short, less than five feet tall, silver hair in curls, thick glasses. “Has to be Mr. Garner and Mr. Keller y’all are looking fer, if they gave you this address. Mr. Hemming lives down the hall, but he’s older than me.”

Hammond looked at Ben, mouthed the words “Garner and Keller.” Ben nodded. He remembered their fake names.

“That’s them, ma’am. So they’re upstairs?”

“Usually they are. In the apartment right above this one, but y’all just missed them. They went out not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Really. That’s too bad. They say where they were going?”

“I didn’t talk with them, but I think young Mr. Keller there might have been called back to work the night shift. He works down at the shipyard.”

“Why’s that?”

“He was carrying his hard hat and lunch box.”

“Does that happen very often?” Nate asked, sounding more like an FBI agent than an old friend.

“Why, no, I don’t suppose it does. You want to leave a message? You could write your names down and I’ll tell them you stopped by.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hammond said. “We’re just heading down to Florida, thought we’d stop by, see if we could catch them. But you’ve been very kind. Have a good night.”

She closed the door, set the latch. The three men walked back outside.

“It’s tonight,” Ben said.

“The lunch box?” Hammond asked.

Ben nodded.

“Then we better get out to the shipyard,” Hammond said. The men ran to the car, hopped in, and sped off.

A few moments later, Nate pointed at Ben with his head. “What are we going to tell the guards at the gate about him?”

Ben interrupted before Hammond could answer. “I don’t think we want to come in by the front gate. I have a better idea.”

The three men drove the dark car through the even darker streets on the east end of town. Always before them, like a small sunrise, the shipyard lights glowed, creating a golden dome. Once again, Ben was struck by the absurdity and inconsistency of the blackout regulations. He knew the Germans had no means of flying planes across the Atlantic to bomb the US; the town of Savannah could have left all its lights on, all night long if it wanted, every night of the week.

If the Germans had possessed such a weapon, they’d leave the darkened town alone and bomb the shipyards to smithereens, lit up as it was and actually producing something the Germans wanted to destroy. But the Nazis had no such weapons. What they had at the moment were Graf and Kittel, armed with a small handmade explosive device hidden in a metal lunch box, now on their way to set up their second act of sabotage.

“What can you tell me about the first explosion?” Ben said.

“It’s classified,” Nate said. “Need to know only.”

Hammond looked over his shoulder at him, made a face.

“Okay, guess you need to know.”

“Don’t need to know that much,” Ben said. “Did anyone die?”

“No. It blew up on the third shift. Five welders were slightly injured. Cuts, bruises, one guy lost some hearing.”

“The explosion happened around welders?”

“Lots of welders in a shipyard,” Nate said.

“I’m just thinking, they followed protocol for the first one. Tonight will be worse. Since they made it work, they’ll probably choose the same setup, same type of target. But set it to go off so people will be killed. Not a lot, but enough to raise the stakes, get more workers beginning to wonder.”

They came out of the city on President Street. “Okay, Ben,” Hammond said. “Where to?”

“Turn left down this dirt road that runs along the outer fence.”

“You don’t think they’ll just go through the gate? He’s got clearance.”

“Just Kittel does,” Ben said. “The lady didn’t mention them both working here, and I only saw Kittel this afternoon.”

“So why bring the hard hat?” Nate said.

“I’m guessing it’s a costume, in case someone spots them. Hope no one does.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’d slit his throat without batting an eye.”

“And leave a murder scene? Won’t that draw all kinds of attention?”

“You wouldn’t find the body,” Ben said. “Not until they were through with this target anyway. Hold on, could you stop right here?” The road and the fence dipped up ahead.

“Railroad tracks,” Hammond said.

Ben saw a guardhouse next to a gate, two soldiers standing inside.

“The road doesn’t turn in here,” Nate said. “It’s just for the trains.”

“Drive a little farther,” Ben said, “until we’re completely in the dark. Got a flashlight?”

“In the trunk,” Nate said.

“Can we stop the car and get it? I should have mentioned it before we got started.”

Hammond stopped. Nate hopped out, came back a moment later. “Here. Brand-new batteries.”

Hammond drove forward, over the railroad tracks. “You think they came in through here?”

“It’s what I’d do,” Ben said. He aimed the flashlight along the bottom of the fence. “Could you go slower?”

After they’d gone about seventy-five yards, Ben saw something. “Stop!”

“What is it?”

“There, look where I’m holding the light.”

“I see more fence,” Nate said.

“Let’s get out here,” Ben said.

Hammond nodded, then he and Nate followed Ben through a patch of dirt and grass. As they got closer, all three could easily see that a section of the metal fence had been cut, a clean slice about two feet high. It had been put back together and held in place by rocks lining either side. “They came in here.”

“Then let’s follow,” Hammond said.

They kicked the rocks out of the way. Nate pulled it open and held it for the others to crawl through. When they stood on the other side, he said, “Maybe we should call this in, Vic. If these guys are in there somewhere setting up a bomb . . .”

“We do that, we’ll lose them for sure,” Hammond said.

“But look at all these buildings. How are the three of us going to cover ’em all? I don’t think we’ve got much time.”

Ben bent low to the ground, panned the flashlight a few inches above the grass. “They went this way. Look.” The agents bent down to see. As Ben went back and forth across a certain section with the light, you could easily see a trail where their footprints had bent the grass down.

“That works,” Hammond said. “Let’s go.” Both men pulled out their guns. All three ran diagonally across the field toward the river, then angled in toward a long metal building. The trail died where the grass ended.

Ben looked across the asphalt. “What’s in that building? Either of you know?”

Hammond shook his head no. “Don’t know exactly,” Nate said. “But I do remember seeing a group of large propane tanks at that end.” He pointed left, toward the far end.

“Any people work nearby?” Ben asked.

“Lots,” Nate said. “On the first shift anyway.”

“Let’s start there,” he said. The three men ran across the paved area to the back of the building, hidden in shadows.

One thing they didn’t have to worry about, Ben thought, was making noise. The sounds of huge steel plates being hammered, riveted, and welded together was almost deafening. They walked around the corner into a well-lit open area. Toward the river, Ben could see the hull of three ships being assembled by dozens of workers.

“Think they might be down there?” Nate asked. “Those are some pretty big targets.”

“I think we should go in here,” Ben said, pointing to the building they stood next to.

“He’s been right so far,” Hammond said.

Nate checked the doorknob to a set of double doors. “It’s unlocked.”

He opened it, and they stepped inside. The area they entered was dimly lit. It had a high ceiling. Webs of metal trusses and pipes crisscrossed the span, as far down as Ben could see. Looked like a typical factory setting. But Nate was right, the area back here contained four large propane tanks, in rows of two each. The three men stood in shadows created by the nearest pair. Ben instantly tensed up. “Guys, this is where I’d set the charge, in here.” The men lifted their guns.

“Careful when you shoot, Nate. Don’t want to hit these tanks.”

“We see them, we take them out?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” Hammond said. “Shoot to kill. Ben, you see them, you . . .”

Ben barely heard him. He had walked a few steps ahead and bent down, his eyes searching for the spies. He didn’t see Graf or Kittel yet, but he was sure they were here. His eyes shifted to the two tanks on the other side of the building. It cast the entire area in shadows. But in front of the tanks, a group of twenty machinists worked on a variety of drills, grinders, and lathes. Ben lay down on the cement and looked at the space between the tanks and the floor.

There they were.

Two sets of legs, huddled close together in the shadows. One of the men was on his knees. Ben looked up at Hammond. “That’s them. I’m sure of it.” He pointed to where they stood. Hammond motioned to Nate to start walking along the back wall, across to the other side of the building. Ben got up and hurried to stop them.

“What’s the matter?” Hammond whispered. “If we shoot them, will we set off the bomb?”

“Possibly. Not sure. They’d be setting it to go off by a timer. Depends how far along they are. Thought if I went over there, stood by the back wall, and called out to them, they might step away long enough to give you a decent shot. If it’s not them, you don’t want to shoot shipyard workers.”

“All right, let’s do it,” Hammond said.

“How will we know it’s them?” Nate said. “We’ll only get a second. Pretty dark over there.”

“How about this,” Hammond said. “Speak to them in German. They answer in German, either one of them, we start shooting.”

“All right,” Ben said.

“Head shots,” Hammond said to Nate. “Don’t want to get anywhere near that bomb.”

Ben led them across the cement floor and into the shadows cast by the second set of tanks. They walked behind the first one and paused. He felt panic rising up from his chest. His face became hot.
Stop this
. He took a deep breath.
Give me courage
.

He stepped out from behind the tank and looked down a dark aisle. Two silhouettes. One standing, facing the machinists, the other kneeling.
“Graf, Kittel . . . Ist das Sie? Es bin ich, Gerhard.”

The man standing turned. Ben still couldn’t see his face. The kneeling man stopped what he was doing and stood also. He said,
“Gerhard, was tun Sie hier?”
Ben recognized Graf’s voice.

“It’s them,” Ben said. He stepped to the left, against the metal wall.

“Speak English, fools,” Kittel said.

A shot rang out, Kittel fell to the ground. Graf dropped to his knees, as a second shot flew over his head. “Traitor!” he screamed.

“I can’t see him,” Nate said.

“He’s setting off the bomb,” Ben yelled and ran down the aisle toward Graf.

“Ben, get out of the way,” Nate said.

“Ben, stop!” shouted Hammond.

A brilliant flash. A loud roar. Ben felt himself flying back. He slammed against the metal wall.

Everything went black.