The ship was a dim silhouette in the pre-dawn darkness, but she was showing lights that revealed her outline. Todt, trembling all over, had the silhouette recognition chart open, his forefinger skimming along the list.
‘I have her,’ he whispered, as though the British crew could somehow hear him across two miles of sea. ‘She is the Duchess of Atholl.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as my life. Over twenty-four thousand tons gross. My God. Look at the size of her.’
Hufnagel knew that he was whispering partly because the prize was so great. It was the roll of the dice that recoups all the gambler’s losses. The stag that steps out of the woods just as the hunter shoulders his rifle to return home empty-handed. To go back with a bag like this was the dream of every U-boat captain. It would lead to commendations, medals, promotions, parades, the covers of magazines.
But there was no record of the Duchess of Atholl having been converted as a troop carrier. Hufnagel studied the silhouette chart with his pocket flashlight.
‘She’s a passenger vessel,’ he said quietly. ‘We can’t sink her without warning. There will be terrible loss of life.’
‘Causing loss of life to the enemy is the purpose of war,’ Todt retorted.
‘She isn’t armed. There will be women and children on board. The rules of war—’
‘Don’t lecture me about the rules of war,’ Todt said.
‘We must signal her to launch her lifeboats.’
‘You are mad.’
‘You are mad if you think sending hundreds of civilians to the bottom will do you or the Reich any good. For God’s sake, man. Think! Remember the Lusitania.’
‘Go below at once, Hufnagel. Or I will shoot you.’
Hufnagel waited, staring at the shadowy figure of his captain. He had the conviction that the man confronting him was a coward, whose will was weaker than Hufnagel’s own. When Todt’s hand made no move towards the pistol at his side, he turned to the rating who was standing nervously by the signal lamp. ‘Signal her to stop.’ He spelled out the English words for the signalman: STOP SHIP.
The frightened rating glanced at Todt. There was no response from him. The rating switched on the lamp. The dazzling beam speared through the darkness towards the ship. After waiting a few seconds for the ship to notice the light, the rating began to rattle the signal slats open and shut.
SS Manhattan
Commodore Randall had spent most of the night on the bridge. He had looked in on the talent show, but had not found anything very amusing to keep him. The feeling of anxiety would not leave him. He went back to the wheelhouse and made himself a nuisance there, keeping everyone on the qui vive. George Symonds persuaded him to turn in during the darkest hour before dawn, and he went along to his cabin, yawning.
He had just fallen asleep when he was awoken by the sensation of his ship’s engines powering down. He was already pulling his uniform over his pyjamas when a rating began pounding on his cabin door.
He reached the bridge a few minutes later to find George Symonds and his other officers staring at the flickering light of a communication lamp out in the darkness.
‘It’s a German submarine,’ Symonds said tersely. ‘She’s signalling us to stop the ship. I gave the “All Stop” order.’
‘You did the right thing. Signal back “American ship”. Keep signalling that at one-minute intervals. In the meantime, I want the radio completely silent. No transmissions at any cost. All watertight doors closed and all crew at action stations. Sound the general alarm and get all the passengers into the lifeboats.’
Symonds did not question his captain’s orders. The cadet in charge of the signal blinker relayed the message rapidly to the unknown submarine. Manhattan’s alarm bells began to ring throughout the ship, in the crew’s quarters, in the public areas where the cots were set out in rows, and in every passenger cabin.
Fanny Ward awoke in terror with a vision of the flames that had engulfed Dotty and Terence, hearing their dreadful screams in her ears. But the screams were the strident calls of an alarm that wouldn’t stop. She heaved off the heavy eiderdown and went to peer out of her door. The corridor was full of people in their nightclothes, and stewards shouting instructions about lifeboats.
‘Is it a drill?’ she asked of a man in uniform pushing past, her voice quavering.
‘No, Miss, it’s not a drill. Get your life jacket on and get to the lifeboats as quick as you can, and don’t take anything with you.’
She groped her way to the chest of drawers and took out her jewellery box. It was massive and heavy, far too massive and heavy for her to carry very far. She unlocked it with unsteady fingers and opened the lid. Inside, tucked into the satin-lined shelves and compartments, was the best of her jewellery. She stared at the glittering array with watery eyes. The rings, the brooches. The heavy bracelets, the necklaces and collarets, the tiaras. Such a mass of gold and platinum, of diamonds, rubies, emeralds. Which should she take? The most valuable? The ones with most sentimental value?
The shrilling of the alarm invaded her head. It wouldn’t let her think clearly. Blindly, she clutched at the glittering mass and pulled out two handfuls at random. She began thrusting bangles on to her wrists, rings on to her fingers.
Thomas König had awoken instantly, knowing exactly what he must do. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his clothes and his life jacket, pulling them on over his pyjamas. Ignoring the confused Stravinsky, who was querulously asking what was going on, he went out of the door and ran towards the Morgenstern girls’ cabin. People were starting to spill out of their doors, choking the passageways, but he lowered his hard head and butted his way through, giving no quarter and asking none.
Reaching their cabin, he hammered on the door, and then burst in. Less than three minutes had passed since the alarm had begun to sound, and the girls were still in their nightgowns, in a state of panic, pulling possessions out of their closets.
‘Leave all that,’ Thomas said sharply. ‘Get dressed quickly.’ They stared at him dazedly. ‘Get dressed,’ he commanded. ‘Leave everything. There may not be much time.’
His voice, suddenly that of a young man, rather than a boy, seemed to penetrate their confusion. They began to pull on their clothes.
‘What’s happening?’ Rachel demanded.
‘We have to get to the lifeboats. Get dressed. Warm things. Put on warm things. Quickly.’ Masha snatched up her precious red leather coat while Thomas reached under their bunks and hauled out the life jackets that were stowed there.
Toscanini had been dozing in a deckchair, wrapped up in three blankets against the biting Atlantic cold. He leaped to his feet, cursing, and hurried to the rail. Out in the blackness, a dazzling pinpoint of light was flickering. An enemy submarine! The ship was about to be torpedoed.
‘Carla!’ he exclaimed. He snatched up his cane and hurried off to find her. But he had no sooner reached the top of the companionway when a torrent of passengers emerged, driving him back. He tried to fight his way down through the throng, but he was far too frail to make any headway. He was pushed aside like a dry leaf, and found himself sitting on the deck, without his hat, his stick, or breath in his lungs.
U-113
U-113’s torpedoes had all been loaded into the launching tubes. The U-boat was now within two miles of the target. Since the ship had obligingly stopped, there could be no doubt about the bearing, speed or range. The vessel was the biggest and easiest target they had ever had.