The Golden U-Boat

Chapter Eleven

Mikhail Kuznetsov chose a hotel room that directly overlooked Tromso’s main wharf area. From this vantage point he could see every single ship that entered the harbor. The docks themselves were right beneath him, four floors below. Tied up there were a number of rust-stained fishing vessels, several oceangoing trawlers, and a trio of Norwegian Navy patrol boats.

It was well past noon when he finally snapped awake. He was disoriented at first, and when he finally remembered where he was and saw the time he rushed to his room’s only window. It was a gray overcast day, and snow was falling. He intently scanned the dock area, and exhaled a breath of relief only after seeing that the ship he was waiting for had yet to arrive.

Only then was Mikhail conscious of the chill in his room. He went to the fireplace and filled it with dried kindling. With the aid of a rolled up newspaper and his trusty Zippo lighter, he soon had a roaring blaze going. The heat felt good on his old bones, and he warmed himself thoroughly before turning to do his toilet.

By the time he finished his shower, he felt like a new man. He had slept for over twelve hours straight, and this more than made up for the previous evening when he was forced to drive all through the night.

Mikhail dressed himself and returned to the window to continue his vigil. He knew that the trawler was not due to arrive for at least another hour.

Still, he couldn’t afford to get lax now.

He sat down on the leather chair and stared out to the harbor, reaching down for the loaf of rye bread he had purchased in town last night. This, together with a tart green apple and a wheel of goat cheese, provided his breakfast. Though he craved a cup of coffee, he contented himself with a long swig from a bottle of mineral water. With his stomach filled, he turned his stare back to the gray waters below.

The snow was falling steadily, and several centimeters had already accumulated on the decks of the docked boats. Even so, the visibility wasn’t that bad, and he could still see the opposite shoreline, where the rest of the sprawling city of Tromso extended well up into the snow-filled mountains. An immense, single-span suspension bridge connected this newly developed portion of the city with the older section where Mikhail was currently staying.

Occasionally, when the cloud layer lifted, he could see the ultra-modern cathedral that was the predominant landmark in this newer area of town.

From what little he had already seen of Tromso, it reminded him of similar outposts that dotted Soviet Siberia. Like them, it had a young frontier spirit. Situated well above the Arctic Circle, on Norway’s northern coast, Tromso was once known as the gateway to the Arctic, in reference to the many polar expeditions that used the city as their base camp on the way to the North Pole.

This was Mikhail’s first visit. He only learned that he’d be going to Tromso yesterday morning, while at the docks at Trondheim. Up until then, he had followed the heavy water all the way up from Lake Tinnsjo. As he watched the thirty-three cannisters being loaded into the hold of a trawler, he waited for the vessel to set sail so that he could question the freight agent and find out where the ship was bound. Mikhail was just about to get on with his interrogation when the blond Norwegian diver unexpectedly arrived on the wharf and beat him to it.

Cursing the big-shouldered Viking’s interference, Mikhail nervously waited for the diver to finish his business and leave. In actuality, he was only in the small, wooden building that acted as the freight office for a few minutes. Mikhail watched the Norwegian exit the hut and hurriedly rush off to his awaiting automobile.

Quickly now, Mikhail moved in himself. He found himself praying that the portly agent in the wrinkled blue suit would still be alive as he pushed open the door to the hut and entered. Inside, he found the room’s only occupant slumped down in a chair, taking long sips from a bottle of aquavit. His hair was tousled, his clothing disheveled, as he looked up with undisguised terror at Mikhail’s approach.

“Whatever do you want?” he asked anxiously.

Mikhail rounded his cluttered desk, and spotted hundreds of dollars in Norwegian kroners laying scattered on the floor.

“I want to know the destination of that trawler that just set sail from here,” stated Mikhail firmly.

The agent raised his eyes in panic and confusion.

“What in the world is so special about that damn trawler? All of a sudden it seems that everybody wants to know where the Elsie K is headed.”

Mikhail decided that a bluff would get him the quickest results.

“It seems that my excitable colleague has already beat me to it. Now are you going to share that destination with me, or am I going to have to call my coworker back here?”

“Please, I’ve seen enough of that brute for one day,” pleaded the frantic agent.

“The Elsie K is bound for Tromso. That’s as far as I booked her, I swear. From there her skipper can take those two who chartered her all the way to Siberia, for all I care.”

Mikhail had seen enough in his days to know that the terrified freight agent was telling the truth.

“How long will this voyage take?” he asked.

“At the very least, twenty-four hours. Though with the rough seas that have been reported to the north, it could take even longer.”

Mikhail had heard enough, and left the hut without so much as a thank you. He returned to his car, and studied the map of Norway that was spread out on the front seat. Tromso was a good eight hundred kilometers distant by car. In no condition to tackle such a trip after his long night on the road, he decided to take a plane.

He got to the Trondheim airport just as a Braathens Safe flight headed northward was preparing to take off. He made it with seconds to spare, and an hour later was touching down at Tromso.

Suddenly finding himself with twenty-four hours to spare, Mikhail took a taxi into the town itself.

When he mentioned that he had business down at the docks and was looking for the nearest hotel, his driver seemed to know the perfect place for him, and it was on his recommendation that Mikhail found his present lodging.

It was only when he finally got up to his room that he realized the state of his exhaustion. Without even bothering to kick off his shoes, he collapsed onto the bed, and slept straight through to dusk.

He awoke with a ravenous hunger. At the hotel’s cafe he wolfed down two orders of herring, a bowl of beets, and a double serving of boiled potatoes.

Afterward, he walked over to a small roadside market and purchased a bottle of mineral water and his breakfast, which he planned to eat in his room.

There was a frigid wind blowing out of the north as he hurriedly returned to the hotel. His old bones protested at the three flights of stairs that he was forced to climb, but soon enough he was back in his room. Quickly banking the fire, he pulled off his clothes and slipped between the sheets of his bed. And here it was twelve hours later, with Mikhail feeling warm, rested, and ready for action.

As he looked out to the harbor, he could see that the three navy patrol boats were preparing to put to sea. Each of these very capable-looking craft had large search radar domes topping their masts, and were heavily armed with a cannon on the foredeck and an assortment of torpedoes and depth charges stored on the stern. The Norwegian Navy took its job very seriously, and this was most evident as the first patrol boat smartly cast off. The two others followed close behind, the three vessels looking sleek and deadly as their angled hulls cut a frothing, v-shaped swath through the gray waters of the harbor.

Mikhail looked at his watch, and noted that he had several hours yet before the trawler was due.

Not daring to leave his current vantage point, he would continue this vigil as long as necessary.

The only thing that could go wrong now was if the trawler known as the Elsie K wasn’t headed to Tromso at all. Then his long wait would be in vain.

But he had been absolutely certain that the freight agent had been telling the truth back in Tronheim.

Mikhail had gambled that this was the most sensible course open to him, because it would have been virtually impossible to find another ship in time for him to shadow the trawler. Though it tore him apart to watch the two Nazis and their dangerous cargo slip through his hands like they did, Mikhail had no choice. If it was fated to be, he would meet with them once again in these next few hours.

Then, and only then, could he continue his quest, one step closer to fulfilling his lifetime goal.

There was close to a full gale blowing when No-oil One finally lifted off from the Falcon’s helipad.

Because of the worsening weather conditions, Karl Skollevoll had full authority to postpone the flight if she so desired, yet she didn’t dare disappoint the group of three young divers who were her anxious passengers.

The Bell 212 leaped off the deck and temporarily shuddered when a powerful gust of wind did its best to hurl the chopper back downward. Karl had been anticipating this downdraft, and countered it by pulling the throttle back and sending the helicopter spiralling upward.

Her crew was unusually quiet as she turned for Norway’s northern coastline. The members of NUEX remained huddled in the main cabin in the midst of a hushed conversation. Well accustomed to flying alone, she doublechecked her course, and then hit the ‘on’ switch to her cassette player. Once again it was Grieg’s Peer Gynt that provided the spirited accompaniment as she settled back for the long flight that followed.

The tape was well into Peer Gynt’s last act when Jon Huslid entered the cockpit and crawled into the copilot’s seat. Karl was in the process of reaching up to turn down the volume when the photographer stopped her.

“Leave it the way it is, Karl. If I knew that you had Grieg on up here, I would have joined you much earlier.”

Together they listened to Solvejg’s Song in the Hut, Song of the Churchgoers and Solvejg’s Lullaby before the tape came to an end.

“That was wonderful,” observed Jon.

“Do you mind playing the tape over again?”

“Not at all, Jon. There’s so much varied music in the piece that I can never hear it enough.”

“I know what you mean, Karl. I started listening to Peer Gynt as a kid. The music never failed to bring forth visions of trolls and fantastic forest creatures.

I used to hum the melodies to myself when I was out on the fjords, with my very favorite being In the Hall of the Mountain King.”

“It’s funny, but I always associated that particular piece with witches, warlocks and Halloween,” commented Karl.

“From what I understand, those are the exact images that Grieg wanted to convey in that segment,” returned Jon.

Barely aware of the constant background whine of the Bell 212’s rotors the two continued listening to the unfolding music. It was just after the haunting violin solo in the Spring Dance was concluding that Jakob Helgesen poked his head into the cockpit.

“It sounds pretty good up here,” said Jakob.

“Of course, practically anything would sound better than having to hear Arne go on about why he’s the better chess player. How much longer until we touch down, Karl?”

The pilot looked up to check the clock.

“We should be landing in Tromso in another half hour.

Luckily, we’ve got a hell of a tailwind.”

Jakob peered out the plexiglass windshield and could see nothing but clouds.

“I wonder what the ceiling is like in Tromso?” asked the Lapp.

Karl delicately adjusted the fuel mixture and answered.

“The last I heard, visibility at the Tromso airport was down to three kilometers. They’ve also got some pretty strong wind gusts coming in from the west, and at last report it was snowing. But its certainly nothing that I can’t handle.”

“Compared to that weather that we had during take off, Tromso sounds pretty tame,” said the photographer.

“You certainly did one fine job back there, little lady,” added Jakob.

“When that downdraft hit us, I could have sworn that Arne was going to wet his shorts.”

Karl laughed.

“Thanks, Jakob. Coming from you, that’s a real compliment. I take pride in my job.

But I still think that the work that you guys do is far more difficult.”

“Perhaps you mean dangerous,” said the Lapp.

“It takes a real skill to fly this chopper. What do we have to know but to watch our decompression tables and swim?”

“Come on, Jakob. Don’t give me any of that,” returned the pilot.

“Nobody goes down to the depths that you guys work at without plenty of hard-earned experience. Diving might not be as technically challenging as flying, but it’s a complicated endeavor all the same, that nobody walks into overnight.”

“She’s got you on that one, Jakob,” said Jon Huslid.

The Lapp shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you what, Karl. I’ll swap you diving lessons if you teach me to fly.”

“That’s a deal,” shot back the pilot.

“But only if those lessons take place someplace warm, like the Caribbean.”

“You fly us there, and you’re on,” replied Jakob.

By the time Act III of Peer Gynt was ending, the helicopter had completed its transit of the Norwegian Sea and was flying over the rugged, fjord-filled Kvaloy peninsula. Minutes later, they were landing at the Tromso airport.

Because of the continued high winds and falling snow, Karl decided to remain in Tromso for the night. This was fine with the members of NUEX, who flagged down a cab and instructed its driver to convey them to town.

The team had been to Tromso before, while doing a preliminary salvage survey on the wreck of the German battleship, Tirpitz. This vessel lay on the bottom of a nearby fiord, and provided them with hours of fascinating exploration.

Since Jakob was from this region, he provided a running commentary as they approached the city center. Karl’s previous visits to Tromso had been limited to the airport, and she enjoyed seeing such sights as the city’s new planetarium, its bustling streets, and the famous Polar museum. When they passed a statue of Roald Amundsen, Karl asked the taxi driver to stop, and she ran out in the snow to have a closer look at it. As it turned out, Karl’s grandfather had once helped outfit the famous Arctic explorer, who was like a god to the people of Norway.

Leaving the statue behind, the cab headed for the nearby docks. The driver had no trouble at all conveying them to the Northern Lights Cafe, located on the bottom floor of a converted four-story warehouse.

The cafe itself directly faced the harbor. In fact, Tromso’s fishing fleet was docked almost right in front of the cafe’s large picture window.

The raucous, electric sounds of a live rock band practicing upstairs could be clearly heard as they entered the cafe. Inside, it was warm and cozy. The majority of the clientele was students, and Jon instantly scanned this crowd for any sign of Knut Haugen. The big blond was nowhere in sight, and after choosing a round table that stood right beside the picture window, they went up to the counter to order.

“I wonder where the big fellow is?” asked Arne.

They returned to the table to await their food.

“He’ll show up eventually,” said Jakob, who picked a chair affording him a clear view of the snow-covered wharf outside.

“You know Knut when it comes to getting anywhere on time. That one’s going to be late to his own funeral.”

Their drinks arrived, as music blared from the cafe’s p. a. system. The three divers sipped on their bug juices, while Karl contented herself with a cup of herb tea.

“You never did explain what Knut was doing here in Tromso,” observed the pilot.

“The last I heard, he was still hospitalized with a concussion back in Rjukan.”

Jon took his time answering her.

“Our hardheaded colleague decided to check out of that clinic early. It seems he took it upon himself to go after the men who killed his cousin and friend.”

Karl winced in disgust.

“I find it hard to believe that someone would actually commit homicide for a bunch of rusty drums.”

“That bunch of rusty drums, as you call them, is worth its weight in gold,” returned the photographer.

“I still don’t understand why Knut just didn’t wait for the police to find the murderers,” continued Karl.

This time it was Arne who broke in.

“You don’t know Knut very well, Karl. We were both brought up in Telemark, where a fellow learns to take care of himself. Why, my father would never think of calling the police if there was a prowler outside. He would merely get out his shotgun and eliminate the problem himself. Knut’s upbringing was no different.

The big fellow’s not about to just kick back and wait for the authorities to get some results. No way.”

The waiter arrived with their food. Each of them had picked the daily special, which was steamed cod, boiled potatoes and peas. They were hungry after their long flight, and ate with a minimum of conversation. The food was delicious, and as they ate, a tall blond with a bandage wrapped around his head entered the cafe. He proceeded straight toward the circular table that was positioned beside the cafe’s picture window.

“Hello, friends,” greeted this individual casually.

“Knut!” cried Arne, who almost fell over his chair as he stood up to hug his old friend.

Jon and Jakob also stood. Each one in turn embraced the giant, whose vice-like grasp had certainly not weakened any.

“Knut, you remember Karl Skollevoll, don’t you?” inquired the photographer.

“Of course I do. Although I almost didn’t recognize her without the helicopter.”

Karl smiled and pulled over a vacant chair. Knut seated himself in between the pilot and Arne. Their alert waiter had also spotted this newcomer, and as he came over to the table, Knut ordered the special and some bug juice. Only when the waiter turned back for the kitchen did Jon begin his questions.

“When did you get up here, Knut?”

“About ten minutes ago,” replied NUEX’s chief engineer.

“I would have been here waiting for you, but my Uncle Karl’s car had a flat outside of Narvik and I had to stop and change it.”

“That’s quite a drive,” observed Karl.

Knut shook his head.

“You don’t know the half of it, Karl. In the last couple of days I’ve driven almost the length of this country. And I can’t even tell you when I slept last.”

“Well, NUEX is all together again,” offered Jon.

“And now we can take care of you. How’s that head wound?”

Knut pointed to the bandage that encircled his skull and just covered his upper forehead.

“You mean this little scratch? It’s nothing. I’ve had hangovers that have given me worse headaches.”

“A concussion is nothing to take lightly,” warned Karl.

“Company regulations won’t even allow you to fly for an entire two weeks after a serious head wound.”

“Who’s flying?” retorted Knut, who smiled as his food was served.

His colleagues watched as he proceeded to shovel this chow down. He stopped only to take a drink of juice and belch loudly.

“This is pretty good stuff for being only a couple of thousand klicks away from the North Pole,” said Knut after cleaning up the last remaining pea.

“Now, what’s for dessert?”

Jon was bursting with curiosity and he sat forward to voice himself in a whisper.

“To hell with dessert. What in the world are we all doing up here?”

“Why I thought that’s obvious,” answered Knut.

“We’re here to collar those bastards responsible for blowing away my cousin Lars and his friend Thor.

And while we’re at it, there’s the little matter of those thirty-three cannisters of heavy water that they stole from us.”

“But why Tromso?” asked Jakob.

“Why not?” snapped Knut.

“After all, you do want to be around when the trawler holding those bastards and our treasure arrives, don’t you?”

“Knut, are you saying that the ones responsible for killing Lars and Thor, and almost you as well, are on their way to Tromso?” asked Jon.

Knut nodded and pointed out the window to the snow-covered wharf beyond.

“If they were able to make any time at all on the way up from Trondheim, the vessel carrying those bloodthirsty maniacs and our heavy water is due in here within the hour.”

“Why that’s incredible!” exclaimed the photographer.

“Do the authorities know about this, Knut?” asked Karl.

“The authorities! That’s a joke if I ever heard it,” spat the engineer disgustedly.

“Those clowns are probably still tripping over themselves while they comb the shoreline back at Lake Tinnsjo looking for evidence. And the only way we’re going to get back what’s rightfully ours, and bring those murdering crooks to justice along the way, is to apprehend them ourselves.

“Now I personally saw our heavy water being loaded into the hold of a trawler by the name of the Elsie K back in Trondheim. The bastards who stole it from us also boarded this ship. I have it from a most reliable source that the Elsie K is bound for this very harbor, and is due to arrive here sometime this afternoon.

“If we go to the cops now, they’re only going to screw the whole thing up. I tracked the bastards down on my own, and with your help we can collar them with the least bit of risk.”

“Don’t forget that you’re dealing with murderers here, Knut,” reminded the helicopter pilot.

“This isn’t some television show with a guaranteed happy ending. Most likely these guys that you’re after are armed and dangerous. They’ve already killed once.

What’s going to stop them from doing it again?”

Knut raised one of his massive fists up in front of his jaw.

“Those sons of bitches are going to have to get around this first.”

Jon cleared his throat.

“I’ve got to admit that I agree with Karl. This is a criminal matter now, and we should let the police handle it. After all, that’s what we pay them for. What do you think, Arne?”

The Telemark native thoughtfully scratched his bearded chin and replied.

“Hell, since we’ve come this far already, why don’t we at least first see what it’s all about before calling in the cops. I’ve seen them blow more than one bust, and this collar’s much too important for us to trust to strangers.”

“I agree,” said Jakob.

“Now if we were down in Oslo, I’d say that it would be different. But this is Tromso. The authorities up here have a whole different attitude about things. Don’t forget that I grew up in these parts. Strangers from the south are looked upon with suspicion up here, and that’s just who you’ll be when you go marching into the local constabulary with this fantastic story. They’ll never believe it. And even if they did, it would take them all day to call in the necessary backup.”

“Looks like that’s three against two,” observed Knut calmly.

“Are you with us Jon, or not?”

“Damn, somebody’s going to have to be around to keep you guys out of trouble, and I guess that somebody is me,” said the photographer.

“But I see no reason why Karl should be dragged in on this.”

“Hold on, partner!” interjected the pilot.

“The way I see it, we all get our paychecks signed by the same person, and that makes me a part of this outfit too. And you’re forgetting that I also have my black belt in akido.”

“Then I guess it’s settled,” said Knut.

“I think our first job should be to completely scope out the dock area. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out what pier that trawler will be docking at. Then all we have to do is be waiting for them when they tie up, and surprise those bastards at the first opportunity.”

There was an alien tightness in Jon Huslid’s gut as he scanned the faces of his teammates, his line of sight finally coming to a halt on the picture window.

Outside the snows were continuing to fall with a vengeance, and he could see a moored fishing boat, its deck completely covered in a white shroud.

It was then he heard the ominous lyrics of Jim Morrison’s The End filtering down from the cafe’s stereo speakers, and the photographer knew that this dangerous game had a long way to go yet until its conclusion.

As the day continued to wear on, Mikhail Kuznetsov found it more and more difficult to stay awake. Even with his sound rest of the previous night, his eyelids were heavy as he sat beside the window looking out to the wharf below.

Since the trawler was due in any moment now, falling asleep now could be disastrous. Since he couldn’t spare the time to go down and get some coffee, he decided to wash his face with cold water, and for a while, this indeed revived him. Yet all so gradually his lids once more began to fall. This time he actually drifted off into the briefest of catnaps.

He awoke with a start several seconds later, and not really knowing how long he had been out, scanned the wharf with renewed intensity. His pulse calmed down only after seeing the same collection of snow-covered vessels that had been down there all day.

Inwardly chastising himself for losing control, Mikhail yanked open the window, causing a frigid blast of Arctic air to stream inside. There’d be no sleeping on the job now, he said to himself as he slipped into his woolen overcoat and sat down to continue his vigil.

The fresh air revitalized him completely. Wide awake now, he peered down to the gray waters of the harbor, paying particular attention to the channel that led beneath the massive suspension bridge, for this was the outlet to the open sea.

Almost like a fog, the snow-laden clouds hung low, partially veiling the upper span of the bridge itself. But the visibility was still good enough for him to spot the familiar orange hull of a battered trawler headed down the channel. As this vessel passed beneath the bridge, Mikhail’s pulse again quickened, and he stood, fighting the impulse to cry out in joy. Only when the ship turned for the docks was he one hundred percent positive that this was the Elsie K. As he grabbed for his hat, gloves and muffler, he took one last look at the wharf to determine exactly which pier the trawler would be docking at. The Elsie K appeared to be headed toward the marina’s central pier, where a petrol station and a small store was situated for the boaters’ convenience. This portion of the pier was also accessible by automobile, and there was a parking lot beside it filled with several vehicles.

It was as Mikhail carefully examined this lot that his practiced eye picked out a group of individuals gathered behind a large van. One of these figures was a tall, well-built blond man, with a bandage peeking out from under his hat. Seeing him caused Mikhail to gasp and angrily curse.

“Oh, for the sake of Lenin, not again!”

But Mikhail knew deep inside that he was only fooling himself if he expected to be the only one here to meet the Elsie K. Hadn’t the Norwegian diver been there at the pier at Trondheim also? And hadn’t the Viking beaten him to the freight agent, who was only too willing to tell Mikhail where the trawler had been bound?

The young Norwegian had every right to be here.

After all, he had the deaths of his comrades to revenge.

But this act would be inconsequential when compared to the type of vindication that Mikhail had in mind. Before the Norwegian and his group of cohorts moved in prematurely and spoiled the trap, Mikhail had to act quickly. Or everything would be ruined!

Knut Haugen cautiously peeked around the back end of the Volkswagen van that they were using for cover, and watched as a deckhand jumped off the orange-hulled trawler to secure the mooring lines.

“That’s the vessel alright,” observed Knut to his group of coworkers huddled behind the van itself.

An angry sharpness flavored his tone when two blond men dressed in black oilskins climbed onto the ship’s deck from a hatchway.

“And there’s the bastards who killed Lars and Thor!”

The other members of NUEX were quick to peek out at these individuals themselves.

“They don’t look that tough,” remarked Arne.

“And since there’s only the two of ‘em, we shouldn’t have any trouble at all apprehending them.”

“What’s the game plan?” asked Jakob.

Knut watched as the two men he had trailed all the way from Lake Tinnsjo climbed off the trawler and disappeared inside the small dockside convenience store.

“This seems like it will be our best opportunity to get them alone,” said Knut.

“All we have to do is wait for them outside that store, and when they come outside again, grab them.”

“What if they’re carrying guns?” quizzed the ever cautious Karl Skollevoll.

“Me and Arne will grab each one of them from behind,” returned Knut.

“Then once we have their arms pinned back in a firm hammer lock, all you guys have to do is frisk them real good like they do on TV. and remove any weapons that you might find.”

“Then what?” questioned Jon Huslid.

Knut looked up to meet the photographer’s glance.

“I guess then it will be time to call in the cops. But only after we’re certain that the heavy water is all there. So if there are no more questions, let’s do it.”

Just as the group was about to leave the cover of the van, a deep, bass voice spoke out in broken Norwegian from behind them.

“Comrades, before you go and do something that you might later regret, may I have a brief word with you?”

Surprised by this interruption, the Norwegians turned and set their eyes on the man responsible for these words. He proved to be a tall, white-haired old man, dressed in a brown woolen overcoat and a matching fedora. There was a certain intensity in his dull blue eyes that was accented by the jagged scar that lined the entire left side of his wrinkled face.

“I know that this will come as a shock to you,” added the stranger.

“But I too have been waiting for this trawler to arrive from Trondheim. You see, I have a personal interest in not only the cargo this vessel is carrying in its hold, but the two men who are accompanying it also” “Look Mister, I don’t know who the hell you are, and couldn’t really give a damn about your interests” replied Knut: “So if you’ll just leave us alone, we’ve got business to get on with here.”

“Please, comrade,” implored the old man.

“You must hear me out before interceding at this moment, or my entire lifetime’s work will be wasted!”

This plea was delivered with such honesty and straightforwardness that Karl dared to voice herself.

“Come on, Knut. Listen to what he has to say.”

Knut peeked around the van to the dockside store.

“But this is the perfect opportunity to nab those two,” he said impatiently.

“Those two scum mean absolutely nothing!” spat the stranger.

“I know that you have personal reasons for wanting to apprehend them, and if you’ll just hear me out, I guarantee you that you can have them in the end.”

His tone softened as he added.

“Look, it appears as if they’ve only stopped in Tromso for fuel and supplies. My hotel room is close by. We can talk in comfort there. From my window you’ll have an unobstructed view of this wharf. If it turns out that you have no interest in the story that I’m about to share with you, then so be it. You can leave at any time and return here to get on with your little escapade.”

“Come on, Knut. Let’s hear what he has to say,” urged Karl.

The muscular engineer looked up to get the opinions of his teammates. It proved to be Jon Huslid who was the first to speak.

“I agree with Karl. It would be different if we were under a time constraint. But so far, they’ve made no effort to unload the cannisters. It’s obvious that the two men that we’re after will stick close to this cargo, and since we’ll be close by and in a good position to monitor any changes that might take place down here, I say let’s give our friend here a chance to properly express himself. What do you think, Jakob?”

The Lapp shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m certainly in no hurry to rush into this thing. Let’s hear what he’s got to say and go from there.”

Arne Lundstrom concurred.

“I’m kind of curious to know what the hell he’s doing here. And if he does turn out to be a fruitcake, there will always be another opportunity to nab those two.”

It was with great reluctance that Knut backed down.

“Mister, this better be good.”

Mikhail Kuznetsov grinned.

“Lad, the story that I’m about to share with you is way beyond good.

It’s amazing! So if you’ll just follow me, we’ll get on with it.”

The trip up to the Russian’s room took less than five minutes to complete. While Mikhail hastily packed the fireplace, Knut went straight to the window.

The trawler was clearly in sight down below. A long black hose extended from the dockside fuel pump to the ship’s engine room. Several deckhands could be seen milling around topside, shovelling snow and chipping off the heavy accumulation of ice that coated the deck.

“Well, are you satisfied that they’re only using Tromso as a stopover?” asked Mikhail, putting a match to the kindling and walking over to the window himself.

“It sure looks that way,” said Knut with a grunt.

“But I’d still feel a lot better if we had those two in custody right now.”

“Patience, lad,” advised the old-timer as he sat down heavily on the chair that was positioned at the window’s side.

“Their time is rapidly coming. That I can assure you.”

Mikhail turned his head to check on his other guests and saw that the woman was seated on his bed. The other three had seated themselves on the small sofa that was placed next to the fireplace. Beside them, the dry kindling readily took, the flames crackling and hissing. With the blond giant still standing in front of the window, the old man cleared his throat and continued.

“My name is Mikhail Kuznetsov. I am a citizen of the Soviet Union, where I hold the honorary rank of General in the People’s Army. For the past forty-four years I have devoted my life entirely to tracking down and bringing to justice escaped Nazi war criminals. I have reason to believe that the two men that you were about to attempt to apprehend are members of a dangerous neo-Nazi group known as Werewolf. To the members of Werewolf, murder and theft are but a means to an end, their goal being the ultimate rebirth of the German Reich.

“As young Norwegians, you have no doubt heard the horror-filled tales of your elders as they described the Nazi occupation of your country. I personally lived through this nightmare as an occupant of a German death camp. For four long years I lived in a hell beyond description. I saw tens of thousands of innocent men, women and children tortured, starved and put to death for the mere fact that their birthright didn’t fit in with the Aryan master plan. I swore to myself then that if I ever survived my incarceration, I would dedicate the rest of my life to making sure that such an evil never again walked the face of this earth.

“Over four decades have passed since then. And in that time I have watched with horror as Werewolf grew stronger and stronger, until today they are but one small step away from consolidating their power and seriously challenging the world’s superpowers for control of the planet.

“You are probably asking yourselves what this has to do with the men that killed your two friends, and stole the shipment of heavy water that you worked so hard to salvage.”

This comment drew Knut’s immediate attention, and the engineer turned from the window to query, “How did you know about those deaths? And who told you about the heavy water?”

Mikhail looked up into the Viking’s intense stare and answered him directly.

“NUEX’s salvage of the Hydro ferry and her cargo was common knowledge which I learned about in the newspapers. But I was hiding in the woods that lay near your salvage vessel on the night that the heavy water was stolen.

And I saw with my own eyes as that Nazi scum ordered your friends to kneel down in the mud and then proceeded to blow their brains out.”

“Do you mean to say that you just sat out there and watched my friends be murdered in cold blood?” questioned Knut passionately.

“Why the hell didn’t you try to save them?”

Fearing for a second that the red-faced giant might get violent, Mikhail replied firmly.

“And just what did you want me to do, Comrade? It happened so fast that I hardly realized what had occurred until it was all over with. By that time it was too late.”

Jon Huslid broke in at this point to diffuse this emotional confrontation.

“General Kuznetsov, what do these two murders have to do with Werewolf?

And what led you here to Tromso?”

Mikhail took a series of deep calming breaths before responding.

“The two who are responsible for the deaths of your colleagues and the theft of your heavy water are known sub-agents of the group. I followed them all the way from Paraguay, where Werewolf has its headquarters. After they left Lake Tinnsjo, I trailed them by car to Trondheim. Knut here beat me to the agent who rented the trawler to them. It was this same agent who told me that the vessel was bound for Tromso. And here I am.”

“What’s so special about that heavy water?” asked Arne.

“It seems that’s the key to this whole thing.”

Mikhail’s eyes gleamed as he answered.

“You are very perceptive, Comrade. Surely you know where the Hydro’s cargo was headed when the saboteur’s explosives sent it sinking to the fjord’s icy bottom.”

“The heavy water was bound for Germany, where the Nazis were going to use it to develop an atomic bomb,” returned Arne, who suddenly knew the answer to his original question.

Seeing this realization dawn in the bearded diver’s eyes, Mikhail nodded.

“Yes, Comrade. And just like fifty years ago, today Werewolf is hoping to use this very same shipment to develop their own bomb.”

“Holy Mother Mary!” exclaimed Arne.

“And to think that we could be indirectly responsible for putting that heavy water right in their hands.”

“So just what is it that you’re asking of us?” questioned Knut, who was just as affected by this shocking revelation as anyone else in the room.

Sensing that he had succeeded in swaying the young group of headstrong Norwegians to his side, Mikhail decided then that they would make excellent allies, and he replied accordingly.

“It’s obvious that the trawler will be leaving shortly for the next leg of its voyage. I plan to follow it all the way to the nest of vipers that ordered its theft in the first place. Only when I have rooted out the entire organization will I act to crush it for all eternity.”

“Well, I doubt if that trawler’s bound for South America from here,” offered Jon.

“If that had been the case, they would have left straight from Trondheim.”

“That could only mean that they’re headed further north,” suggested Jakob.

This time it was Karl who interjected.

“There’s not much further north than Tromso, gentlemen.”

“Should we try to get hold of a boat and trail them?” asked Arne.

The Lapp shook his head.

“Why go to all that trouble? The Tromso harbormaster is a good friend of my father’s. Since no vessel is allowed out of this port without posting its intended destination before hand, why don’t I just go up there and ask where the trawler’s bound for?”

“That’s an excellent idea,” returned Mikahil Kuznetsov.

“But we’re still going to have to come up with a means of transportation once we learn exactly where the Elsie K is next headed.”

A widely grinning Karl Skollevoll was quick to reply.

“How do the services of an extended range, Bell 212 helicopter sound to you, General?”

Already certain that he had made a wise choice in taking these Norwegians into his trust, Mikhail answered.

“My dear, such a capable vehicle would be a blessing from heaven.”

“I don’t know if my boss Magne would agree to that,” said Karl with a wink.

“But I’m already in this far, and if you just give me a solid place to put my chopper down, you’ve got yourself a ride on Noroil One.”

“Then I guess I’d better be off to the harbormaster,” said Jakob.

“I’ll meet you back here as soon as I have an answer.”

The Lapp stood and turned for the door. Meanwhile Knut remained at the window, punching his balled fist into his open hand.

“I hope this still means that I get first crack at the bastards who shot Lars and Thor,” asked the engineer.

Mikhail looked up to the Viking and replied.

“Lad, you just help me get to where that heavy water’s headed, and I swear to you that they’re yours to do with as you please.”

“That’s all I ask,” returned Knut, as he glanced down to the snow-covered wharf and pounded his fist into the flat, wooden window sill.