But first, of course, one had to be sure. With the arrival of their coffee and brandy, Count Lindgren looked at Ruth. “You were saying I could help you? In what way?”
Ruth put down her demitasse. “Do you know anyone at the Admiralty?”
Lindgren frowned. He failed to understand the question in relation to the problem, but the one way to find out was to go along and see where it led. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “He’s head of Naval Intelligence. We were close friends when he was Naval Attaché in Lisbon and I was posted there. What would you want from him?”
“There must be records somewhere in Copenhagen, probably in the Admiralty, of storms and shipwrecks in the Baltic, aren’t there?”
Lindgren thought, and what on earth was that all about? “Well,” he said, “he may not have the information himself, but I’m sure he can get it for you. Why would you want it?”
Ruth smiled. “That’s a secret, at least until I get the verification I want.” She glanced at her watch and then at Lindgren, putting appeal into her voice. “Would it be possible to get hold of him now?”
Lindgren forced a laugh. “Impatient as ever! I’ll see what I can do.” He came to his feet, put down his napkin, and disappeared in the direction of the maître d’s desk and the telephone there, as anxious as Ruth to move on the matter. He returned shortly, smiling. “He’s in his office now. I can take you there, if you care to come now.” He signaled Sture for the check.
As he led the way from the restaurant to his car, Count Lindgren hoped he would have an answer soon to the burning question of how much Ruth knew or suspected. He waited while Wilten sprang from the driver’s seat to open the car doors and then close them behind the three of them. He hoped the answer would come soon, because he had an appointment later with Professor Nordberg...
The young ensign was determined to give the lady all the help he could, not just because those were his orders from the admiral, nor even because the lady was accompanied by the fabled Count Axel Lindgren, but simply because she was as beautiful a lady as the ensign could recall ever having visited the Naval Station, which was one of the problems of the naval service, the ensign thought, and laid the ledger he had procured from weather archives on his desk. He opened it and began leafing through the pages.
“May 22 and 23, 1945, I believe you said,” he said briskly, as if such inquiries were routine. “Ah, here we are.” He looked up, smiling brightly. “Good weather both days. A high-pressure system over the entire western Baltic.”
To his surprise the beautiful lady did not seem to be pleased with the information. “Good weather? You’re sure? No storms?”
The ensign checked the reports again and then looked up, slightly puzzled by the lovely lady’s reaction. “No, ma’am. Excellent weather around Falster and the western end of the Baltic both days. Full moon, only scattered clouds, calm sea.”
Again the lady seemed perturbed. The young ensign could not know, of course, that the lady was trying to picture a large ship running down a small fishing vessel à la some romantic sea story under a full moon that allowed perfect visibility. “Full moon, no cloud cover, calm sea,” the ensign repeated and pointed to the entries, as if to remove any responsibility for the bad news from his shoulders, although why no storms and a full moon under clear skies should be bad news, was beyond him.
Count Lindgren was waiting patiently, watchfully. So far whatever Ruth McVeigh’s theory was, it seemed to be lacking support, but Count Lindgren was a man who could be most patient in checking out every angle of any situation that might be threatening. Ruth looked at Gregor disconsolately, and then smiled faintly.
“It looks as if I might be wrong,” she said. “Do you think that’s at all possible?” She suddenly turned to the ensign, still not ready to accept the fact. “Does the naval station keep information on reported wrecks, or ships asking for assistance, or things like that? As far back as 1945?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.” While they waited Ruth and Gregor wandered to the window, staring across the water from where the Naval Station was located. They could see tourist buses lined up along the embankment while their passengers took photographs of the Little Maiden, the famed statue in the harbor from the Hans Christian Andersen story that symbolized Copenhagen for most people. A hydrofoil came into the harbor, slowing down, settling back into the water like some huge bird. In the background the spires of Copenhagen’s churches could be seen outlined against the early-afternoon sky. Gregor suddenly turned from the window, lowering his voice.
“Ruth—”
“Yes, darling?”
“Look, this is all very foolish. Why don’t we forget the Schliemann treasure and simply enjoy ourselves? We’re wasting our time and the time of your friend, Count Lindgren. Copenhagen is beautiful. Look at all those tourists over there having a good time. Why don’t we forget all this and begin to enjoy—”
He broke off as the ensign came back with another ledger, placing it on his desk. He had already checked it but had brought the ledger along for verification should the lady not be pleased with his report. Ruth, Gregor, and Axel Lindgren drew close. The ensign sighed. “There were no wrecks or ships asking assistance on those two days, ma’am.” He looked unhappy that he could not satisfy the beautiful lady who somehow seemed to want storms and shipwrecks, although why she desired these unpleasant things was a mystery. He pointed to the ledger as if to ask her to check for herself if she didn’t believe him. He paused. “Ma’am, if you told me exactly what you’re looking for, maybe I’d know better what files to consult.”
Count Lindgren drew closer, not wanting to miss a word. Gregor smiled, a sad smile.
“We’re looking for a boat that my friend thinks left Warnemünde in Germany the night of May 22, 1945, or early the next morning, and that my friend believes never arrived.” Gregor was getting tired of the entire affair. He wanted to be with Ruth in a more romantic setting than this dingy office searching through dusty files for things that were not there. He knew they had little time together, and he hated to waste those precious hours in this silly game. “Of course,” he added, not attempting to keep the sarcasm from his voice, “we don’t know that the boat never arrived, since we have no idea where it was heading.”
Lindgren refused to allow himself to feel sanguine by the sketchiness of the information he was gathering. If Ruth McVeigh put importance on a boat she felt had left Warnemünde and never arrived in Denmark, then it had importance. And if Kovpak didn’t think so, then Ruth McVeigh had simply not confided everything to him, lovers or not. He continued to watch and listen, his expression one of polite interest, but nothing more.
“There is one more possibility,” the ensign said hurriedly. He hated to see the lovely lady go; his small office would seem even less attractive with her departure. Besides, he honestly wanted to help her. “Wait here a minute,” he said, and dashed off. He came back in a few minutes with a further file. He opened it and leafed through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He looked up. “I don’t know if this is any help, but it’s for that date. These are copies of the ships’ logs for our patrol boats for those years. They’re from the Coast Guard files. This one is from a ship named the Elritse. At least it’s a possibility.”
Ruth, Gregor, and Lindgren read the entry over the ensign’s shoulder. The log had been entered in a spidery hand that seemed to be common to ships’ logs. They stared at the page and then Ruth and Gregor looked at the ensign, frowning.