A gust of rain and wind hit him full in the face, and as Mikhail wiped his eyes dry, he briefly massaged his throbbing scar. One step closer to finally bringing to justice the demon responsible for this wound, Mikhail anxiously readied himself for the next stage of his lifelong quest. For the place these thirty-three drums of heavy water were ultimately destined would be the place where he’d find Otto Koch, and destroy forever his twisted dreams of a reborn Reich.
Chapter Six
The Falcon’s main single lock living chamber was located on the ship’s upper ‘tween deck. It was here that David Lawton, Jon Huslid, Jakob Helgesen and Arne Lundstrom patiently waited for their decompression to be completed. This critical process actually began inside their diving bell, as they were slowly pulled up from the depths after their exploration of the German U-boat. It would continue for another seventy-two hours, inside the comfortable, but cramped, cylindrical structure that provided their current home.
The transfer from the bell took place without incident, and for the first couple of hours, the exhausted divers did nothing but sleep in their bunks.
As they began to awaken, they moved around a bit, and were even able to sit down and have a meal, especially prepared for them in the Falcon’s galley.
David Lawton had sampled this excellent chow before, and wasn’t the least bit disappointed as he wolfed down a tasty bowl of fish chowder and a delicious Caesar salad. Afterward, he went back to his cot to begin an ian Flemming book that one of the crew had surrendered. Though the well-written exploits of James Bond were thoroughly engrossing, the Texan couldn’t help but be distracted by the conversation of his diving companions.
“… then say that seal carved into the gold brick indeed turns out to be Russian in origin. What in the world would it be doing on a German U-boat?” quizzed Arne. He sat at the table, sipping a mug of hot chocolate.
“I’d like to know why that torpedo room was completely emptied out like it was,” added Jakob, who sat beside his bearded teammate.
Jon Huslid was propped up in his bunk reading a technical manual, which he put down to join this discussion.
“It’s only too obvious, Jakob. That compartment was cleared out so that it could hold something other than torpedoes.”
“Then you really think that there was more gold than that single brick?” asked Arne.
“You better believe it, my friend. Lots more,” offered Jon with confidence.
“That hole in the boat’s hull convinced me,” said Jakob.
“It was cut there only recently, and intended for a single purpose, namely to remove whatever was being stored inside that compartment. That brick was probably left behind by accident, when the rest of the cargo was carried out into the open seas.”
With this, Jon sat up and reflectively commented, “Then that leaves us with one question. Who in the hell was responsible for the heist?”
Before any of them could offer an answer, the chamber’s centrally mounted video monitor popped on. Magne could be seen seated at his console in the nearby diving control room.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” greeted the diving supervisor.
“I hope everyone slept soundly and ate well. Your decompression is continuing smoothly.
Right now, you have only seventy-one hours and
The phone inside the chamber began ringing, and it was Magne who explained the nature of this call.
“I believe your associate’s on the line for you from Rjukan, gentlemen.”
“Damn, it’s Knut!” exclaimed Jon as he sprang for the receiver.
Both Jakob and Arne anxiously gathered around the phone as Jon initiated an intense conversation.
“What do you mean, they’re both dead?” questioned the astounded photographer. “… Why that’s simply horrible, Knut. Are you going to be okay?. No, you shouldn’t leave until the doctors allow you. A concussion can be serious business … I understand, Knut. But your life is much more important than that damn heavy water. As soon as we’re out of this decompression chamber, we’ll be there, big fellow. That you can rely on. Just listen to those doctors and be cool. The police will find the bastards responsible, and then they’ll rot in jail for the rest of their lives … I will, Knut. You know where to find us. Take care, my friend.”
Jon thoughtfully hung up the receiver and looked up to meet the concerned stares of his teammates.
“My God, Knut’s in the hospital at Rjukan with a concussion, and both his cousin Lars and friend Thor have been found shot to death!”
This surprise revelation drew David Lawton from his bunk, as the shocked photographer continued.
“They had just finished bringing up the rest of the heavy water; and were waiting for morning to transfer the drums to the warehouse when a group of armed men broke into the trawler. Both Lars and Thor were apparently forced at gunpoint to load the heavy water onto a truck, while Knut was pistol-whipped inside the trawler’s auxiliary cabin. When he eventually snapped back to consciousness, not only did he find the thirty-three drums of heavy water gone, but the bodies of Lars and Thor as well.
Both had been shot a single time in the back of the head, and were long dead by the time the first ambulance got there.”
“Oh, that’s horrible!” managed Jakob.
“Will Knut be okay?” quizzed Arne.
Jon shook his head.
“I hope to God he will, Arne. Fortunately, the big guy’s tough, though he’s really taking the news of the shootings badly. He feels personally responsible, and was carrying on about sneaking out of the hospital and tracking down the murderers himself.”
“That would be a big mistake,” interjected David Lawton.
“The police are the ones that are best prepared to handle such a dangerous investigation.
Your friend will only be interfering, and also very possibly putting his life needlessly on the line.”
“Try to tell that to Knut,” retorted Jon.
“He’s already made some calls to his local network of friends and family in the Telemark region. If those coldblooded bastards are still anywhere in the area, Knut will soon know about it.”
A moment of thoughtful silence was broken by the return of Magne’s solemn image to the video monitor.
“I just heard what happened to Knut, gentlemen.
I want you to know that I’m deeply sorry, and that Noroil won’t rest until the ones responsible for this heinous crime are brought to justice. We’ll be sending in a specialist from Oslo shortly to have a personal look at Knut’s injuries. Since this is a company matter now, our internal security division will be getting involved. You can rest assured that once your decompression is completed, one of our choppers will be available to convey you to Rjukan if you so desire. Meanwhile, I’d better let you in on some other important news that just arrived. The Falcon has been ordered to proceed north with all due haste. It seems that the new Ice Field’s production rig, that was being towed to the waters off Svalbard, has hit some heavy seas. It’s in danger of capsizing, and the Falcon has been called in to stabilize it. So just hang in there, Gentlemen, while we pull anchor and get some steam up. We’ll be relaying to you position updates as they’re available.”
With this the monitor went blank, and for several seconds the group of divers continued staring at the empty screen, their shocked thoughts still focused on their wounded colleague, the senseless deaths of his friends, the stolen heavy water, and the type of sick individual that could be responsible for such a heinous thing.
Charles Kromer looked up expectantly from the book he had been reading when the Braathens Safe Boeing 737’s ‘fasten seat belt’ sign activated with a distinctive chime. The forty-six year old former West German naval officer was a veteran traveller, who long ago learned to always keep his seat belt fastened during a flight. Thus he only had to pull it a bit tighter around his lower waist as the plane began its descent into Svalbard’s Longyearben airport.