The Golden U-Boat

Chapter Thirteen

Nothing filled Otto Koch’s heart with pride like watching his young men hard at work at their appointed tasks. This was especially the case this evening, as the septuagenarian stepped off the elevator to initiate his nightly tour of the sub pen.

With his trusty German shepherd Beowulf at his side, Koch momentarily halted at the top of the stairway that would lead him down to the cavern’s single dock. Only yesterday the penstocks had been opened to the sea, and at long last U-3313 floated on its intended medium. Lit by the dozens of powerful mercury-vapor flood lights, the U-boat’s gilded hull glistened like a jewel. Several seamen could be seen working in the sub’s sail, making some minor adjustments to the twin 30mm cannons that were set into each corner of the conning tower. Placed here to defend against attacking aircraft, the cannons would hopefully not see action during U-3313’s upcoming trip, but they were good to have around if needed.

The U-boat’s primary weapons system was its torpedoes.

Because of space limitations they would only be fitted with six of these lethal fish, one for each tube. The torpedoes themselves lay on the dock, having just been brought down from storage. Among those currently gathered around the pallets holding these weapons were two of the vessel’s senior officers.

Otto Koch had a particular liking for the sub’s captain, and he climbed down the steps to have a word with Charles Kromer as quickly as his arthritic limbs would allow.

Koch had just managed to reach the last step, and was in the process of planting his rubber-tipped walking stick firmly onto the concrete decking below, when Beowulf began barking madly. The dog’s spirited barks echoed through the cavernous pen until the reverberating sound reached almost unearthly proportions.

“Beowulf, stop that racket right now!” commanded Koch.

The dog reluctantly obeyed, and somewhat meekly rubbed up against his master’s side. Only then did Koch spot the reason for his dog’s unusual behavior.

Sitting on a crate less than ten meters from them was a large rat. Such vermin couldrft be tolerated, and Koch pointed at the rodent and cried out.

“Sic ‘em, Beowulf! Sic ‘em!”

The shepherd instantly lunged forward with a snarl.

The rat took one look at its attacker and leaped off the crate. As it hit the slippery decking the rat momentarily struggled to get its footing. This was all the time Beowulf needed to leap over the crate himself and crash down on the frantic rodent. Temporarily stunned, the rat now found itself totally at the mercy of his attacker, who batted it with his paw and then proceeded to snap its neck with a single bite of his vise-like jaws.

Otto Koch watched his dog stand triumphantly over its prey. Koch loudly snapped his fingers a single time and pointed toward the water. Without a second’s hesitation, Beowulf utilized his jaws to pick up the rat by its tail and unceremoniously drop it into the nearby water.

An echoing chorus of applause followed this act, and Otto Koch looked up and realized that the men who had been gathered around the torpedo had also watched his dog in action. As Beowulf returned to his side, Koch reached down and heartily scratched the shepherd’s head.

“Good dog, Beowulf,” he proudly added as he stiffly stood upright and began limping over to join his men.

“Beowulf would probably make an excellent lookout,” greeted Charles Kromer as the old man and his dog continued their approach.

“It looks like we’ll soon enough find out, won’t we, Captain?” returned Otto Koch, as he halted on the opposite side of the torpedo pallet.

“How do these fish look to you?”

Kromer kneeled down and patted the rounded gray nose of the torpedo nearest him.

“They appear to be in an excellent state of preservation, Herr Director. I personally supervised their unpacking, and like the rest of U-3313, they were stored away with great care.”

“You know, you’re looking at real museum pieces here, Captain,” said Koch as he pointed to the stern portion of one of the torpedoes with his walking stick.

“These fish were originally code named Lerche, and were the first operational, wire-guided torpedoes in existence.”

Kromer nodded.

“I realize that, Herr Director. It’s incredible, but here almost fifty years later, we’re still using the same basic principle of guiding a torpedo to its target by utilizing the acoustic information passed back along its wires.”

“I imagine then that these fish were responsible for their fair share of damage during the Great War,” offered Hans Kurtz, U-3313’s second in command, Otto Koch shook his head to the contrary.

“Unfortunately they were introduced too late to play a significant role in the war’s outcome. Just like the Type XXI U-boat, the wire-guided torpedo was just seeing action when the Reich collapsed. Now if Admiral Donitz only had these advanced weapon systems online a couple of years earlier, there’s no telling what may have happened.”

“I once heard that the plans for the Type XXI vessel were introduced as early as 1941, with the first prototype set to be launched less than a year later. Yet it wasn’t until 1944 that this prototype went to sea, and by then the war was already lost. What took so long?” asked Hans Kurtz.

“Senior Lieutenant Kurtz,” said Koch with the air of a strict school teacher.

“It’s obvious that you haven’t read your history books closely. Any real student of the war knows full well that it was because of one man alone that the Type XXI project was shelved. But now is not the time to get me started on the shortcomings of the Bavarian paperhanger who led the Fatherland astray with his blind ego and arrogant pomposity, for we still have much work to do down here.”

Taking this as his cue, Kromer interjected.

“We’ve completed the hull integrity test, Herr Director. U-3313 passed with flying colors.”

“Did you expect any differently?” retorted Koch.

Kromer stood firm.

“You never know for sure how a hull will hold up to a protracted state of dry-dock, Herr Director. We’ve also just finished tests of the boat’s electrical, hydraulics, and fire-control systems.

We’ve taken on a full load of diesel fuel and are close to a hundred percent charge on the batteries. Once these torpedoes are loaded, all we’ll need are the fresh foodstuffs and we’ll be ready to set sail.”

“But aren’t you forgetting one more critical item, Captain?” quizzed Otto Koch.

“And I can finally report that the thirty-three drums of heavy water are at long last on the final leg of their journey to Svalbard.

The trawler that’s carrying our treasure should be arriving at North Cape within the next twenty-four hours. Only after those drums are safely secured in U3313’s storage compartment will we be ready to set sail for the Rio de la Plata.”

The sound of an engine starting up nearby interrupted the elder, who turned to see where this commotion was coming from. It was the truck that had just delivered the torpedoes. Koch watched as this vehicle began its way down a long asphalt driveway that was situated next to the narrow inlet of water that supported U-3313. The truck appeared to be headed straight for the side of the mountain itself, when a huge steel door that was set into the hollow rock here began lilting upward. The rumbling of the vehicle’s diesel engine soon faded when the truck passed under the cavern’s entrance and disappeared into the night beyond.

As the doorway began to close, Beowulf once again began barking. Otto Koch looked down to see what was bothering his dog this time, and found Beowulf pointed toward the submarine’s conning tower. Here, at the forward edge of the sail, a seaman had just climbed out of the hatchway. This individual was a hefty character, whose one distinguishing feature was the fact that he was covered from head to toe in black grease.

“Beowulf, mind your manners!” scolded Koch.

“Take it easy on him, Herr Director” advised Kromer lightly.

“Our chief engineer isn’t known as the king of rats for nothing. Just like a rat, Chief Dortmund seems to be perpetually covered in greasy slime, and we hardly ever let him up to see the light of day.”

Looking up to the conning tower, the Captain added, “Siggy, quit scaring this poor defenseless creature so!”

Chief Sigmund Dortmund stiffly saluted and proceeded to do his best to wipe the black grease off of his face with a stained rag. He only needed to expose his forehead and eyes for the German shepherd to finally stop his incessant yelping.

Kromer couldn’t help but laugh as he looked back to Otto Koch.

“I guess poor Beowulf didn’t know what to make of our esteemed chief engineer. I’ve got to admit that I sure was pleasantly surprised when I learned that Sigmund Dortmund had signed on with us. We sailed together on many a patrol, and they don’t come any better than good old Siggy.”

“I was hoping that you’d be satisfied with our selection,” said Koch.

“Actually, you can thank your senior lieutenant for going out and recruiting Chief Dortmund for us. He’s been a hard worker, and already seems to know every square inch ofU-3313, from her bow to her stern.”

Siggy managed to have his whole face wiped clean by the time he climbed off the gangplank and joined them beside the torpedoes. Even then, Beowulf snarled at the newcomer.

“Beowulf, behave!” chided the dog’s master.

Siggy wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the snarling German shepherd, and as he got within touching distance of the dog, he kneeled down and held out his hand. Beowulf cautiously sniffed the stranger’s skin, and after determining that this creature was human after all, returned to his master’s side and obediently sat down.

“I’m sorry to have scared your dog, Herr Director,” apologized Siggy.

“But in a way I can’t blame him.

Once after a hard day working in the bilges, I passed by a mirror and when I accidentally caught my reflection, I even managed to scare myself!”

The group laughed and even Otto Koch managed a grin, as Siggy continued.

“I was just coming up to get some fresh air after patching up that little hydraulics leak that we found during this afternoon’s test. As I was passing the radio room, I was asked to pass the following news to you, Herr Director. Several minutes ago, a helicopter belonging to the Norwegian state oil service contacted the harbormaster’s office requesting permission to land here at North Cape. Apparently they’re having some sort of engine trouble, and don’t have enough fuel to reach Longyearben.”

Otto Koch thought a moment before replying.

“Well, under the circumstances, I guess the only thing we can do is let them land here. After all, we can’t go and get the landlord mad at us, can we?”

“By all means not” concurred Kromer.

“To deny them access would immediately arouse their suspicions.

And before we knew it, they’d have that Coast Guard cutter that I saw back in Longyearben snooping around up here.”

“So get on with it, Chief,” ordered Koch.

“And make sure that the harbormaster treats our new guests cordially.”

As Siggy turned back for the sub to inform the radio operator of this directive, he asked one more question.

“What if the repairs on this helicopter require parts that are not available here?”

“Then those parts will just have to be flown up here as soon as they can be found,” returned Otto Koch.

“Meanwhile, the crew can have the services of one of our dormitories. But they’ll be under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, and under no circumstances will they be allowed near this mountain.”

“I understand, Herr Director,” said Chief Dortmund as he climbed up onto the sub’s deck and headed for its sail-mounted forward hatchway.

It was as Siggy disappeared inside the conning tower that Beowulf started barking again.

“Good heavens, Beowulf. What’s gotten into you this evening?” asked the dog’s irritated master.

“He probably just misses his new friend,” offered Charles Kromer.

“Or maybe he has something against our new Norwegian visitors,” joked Hans Kurtz, who eventually turned his attention back to the torpedoes, and the briefing their captain had been in the midst of when they were initially interrupted.

Noroil One swept in low over the waters that bordered Svalbard’s North Cape, its course rough and erratic.

“Hang on tight, guys!” warned Karl Skollevoll from the cockpit.

“I’m going to put us into a tailspin just as we cross over the coast. If they’re watching down below, that will really convince them that we’re in trouble”

Beside the pilot, Mikhail Kuznetsov warmly grinned.

“That was some idea that you came up with, Miss Skollevoll. And of course, this whole ride is most appreciated. Why I even enjoyed hearing Peer Gynt once again. It’s been much too long since I’ve sat back and really listened to a piece of music.”

“Well, after all this is over, you’ve got to make a promise to yourself to take some time out of each day just to sit down and listen to some music. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no better relaxation in all the world. And please, call me Karl.”

“Very well, Karl,” returned Mikhail with a smile.

“I promise to give your therapy a try. You know, when I was a boy growing up in Kirov, my father used to take me and my twin brother Alexander to the symphony, whenever his naval duty allowed. My, those were magical moments. I enjoyed the works of Tchaikovsky the best, though both Borodin and Rimsky Korsakoff were my second favorites.”

“Is your twin brother still alive?” asked Karl as she forcefully pushed the Bell’s control stick hard to the side, causing the helicopter to veer off abruptly to the left.

Holding onto his harness for dear life, Mikhail held back his answer until the helicopter stabilized.

“Alexander is an Admiral in the People’s Navy. The ministry has been after him to retire for the past five years now, but he won’t even think about such a thing. His whole life’s been his work, and without it he’d probably shrivel up and die.”

“It sounds like you and your brother have a lot in common in that respect,” observed Karl, who sighted the flashing lights of the coastline up ahead, and proceeded to rock the helicopter back and forth with a wild, vibrating gyration.

“You are most observant,” managed Mikhail as he re gripped his harness and did his best to ride out the series of aerial acrobatics that soon followed.

For a sickening moment, the helicopter seemed to lose all power, and it plummeted downward. The flashing lights of the small Arctic outpost down below grew larger with an alarming swiftness, and Karl waited until the very last moment before engaging the throttle and regaining control.

Only when this maneuver succeeded in re stabilizing them did Mikhail manage to find his tongue once more.

“Not only are you observant and have excellent taste in music, but you are also one of the most daring pilots that I have ever met. And I’ve been up in MIG’s!”

“Hey hotshot, enough of the amateur theatrics!” cried a voice from the main cabin.

“Arne’s turned white as a ghost after that last maneuver, and even Knut’s starting to look a little pale.”

Karl recognized this voice as belonging to NUEX’s photographer.

“But I haven’t even attempted the tail spin yet, Jon,” returned the pilot.

“The hell with that tailspin, just get us down!” screamed the shaken photographer.

“You asked for it,” muttered Karl as she pushed down on the stick and sent the Bell 212 on its steepest dive yet.

Mikhail could actually feel the harness as it cut into his shoulders, so steep was their angle of descent. Just when he was about to call out to the young pilot to pull up, he spotted the bright circle of lights down below, belonging to the outpost’s helipad. A flashing strobe lay in the center of this circle, and Karl put the helicopter down squarely on top of it.

They landed with a jolt, and Karl quickly switched off the engines and then bent over to reach under the dashboard. Seconds later, she re-emerged with a tiny fuse in one hand and a devilish gleam in her eyes.

“This should keep those engines from turning over until I want them to,” said Karl as she securely buttoned away the fuse in the breast pocket of her jumpsuit.

“Jesus Karl, are you trying to get us all killed?”

rasped Jon Huslid as he poked his head into the cock Pit. Karl replied nonchalantly.

“Come off it, Jon. I was only trying to make that little air emergency look authentic.”

“Well, you did that all right,” returned the pale-faced photographer.

“And poor Arne’s still puking his guts out for the sake of authenticity.”

“I told him not to eat those two raw herring and onion sandwiches when we were leaving Tromso,” said Karl as she helped Mikhail unbuckle his harness.

Knut Haugen’s deep voice broke from the main cabin, “Hey Jon, our reception committee is on the way. Wait until you get a load of these goons. They look like a bunch of Swedish dockworkers with toothaches.”

“Now what?” asked Karl a bit apprehensively.

Mikhail Kuznetsov was quick to take over.

“We’ve accomplished our first goal, and we’ve made it to North Cape. Ifjakob’s source proves to be accurate, and I hope to God it does, the trawler with the heavy water on board will be docking here in another twenty-four hours. We’ve got to extend our welcome at least that long, so that we can follow those cannisters to their final destination.”

“Hopefully, this is it,” remarked the photographer.

“I’m not so sure of that, comrade,” returned the Russian.

“But I do think that we’re getting close.”

Jon shook his head.

“Well, you can’t go much further north than Svalbard. From here, practically everywhere’s south, even Siberia!”

Mikhail noted a little tension in the young Norwegian’s voice and he spoke compassionately.

“I owe all of you so much already. A few hours ago, we were total strangers. Now the hand of fate has brought us together, and our destinies are one. I can only hope that the black cloud that has followed me all of my life will spare you the bitter rains of sorrow.”

Karl already felt close to the white-haired Russian and softly caressed his weathered neck.

“Don’t worry about bringing down troubles with NUEX around.

They’re very adept at doing just that all on their own.”

Jon took a deep breath and squared back his shoulders.

“Here it goes, kids. I’ll go and see what our greeting party has to say and see about getting us some accommodations for the night. We can work on extending our stay tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Jon Huslid,” said the old Russian almost tenderly.

The photographer winked and turned for the main cabin. As it turned out, the reception committee that was waiting for Jon outside the helicopter proved to be most cooperative. A van and driver were provided for them and they were soon whisked off up into the black hills.

They spent the night in a cold, drab dormitory building. Constructed much like an Army barracks, the structure had a large common room filled with dozens of empty bunks. Adjoining this area was a communal bathroom. For safety concerns, a guard was stationed in the hallway that led to the building’s only exit. This individual curtly explained that lights out was at ten p.m. sharp, then left them alone to get settled.

It was Arne who pointed out the large black and white pennant that was mounted on the wall at the head of the room. It showed the earth with a golden star crowning the North Pole.

Karl did a swift inspection of the barracks, and mentioned that from the dust that had accumulated inside, the room hadn’t been occupied for quite sometime.

Because of the late hour, and the sentry that remained stationed outside, they decided to wait until morning to initiate their investigation. The bunks were cramped and far from comfortable, but they were tired after their long day of travelling and all slept soundly.

The group awoke at seven a.m. when the sentry came into the room, turned on the lights, and blew loudly on a small plastic whistle. This shrill blast served to get everyone’s attention, and as they groggily stirred, the guard announced that breakfast would be served in the mess hall in one-half hour. This left them little time to tarry, and as they slowly climbed out from under their blankets, they graciously allowed Karl the first use of the bathroom.

The mess hall turned out to be in a large wooden building directly across from their barracks. As they were escorted to it, they were greeted by a frigid gust of Arctic air. It was a gray, overcast morning, that fit in well with the bleak range of black mountains that encircled them. As they crossed the narrow asphalt roadway, each of them got a brief glimpse of the bay that the outpost was built around. It lay to their right, approximately three kilometers distant.

The bay was a desolate body of water that was ringed by a collection of glacial mountains. A small wharf could be seen on the shoreline, along with several other lowlying structures. The helipad was also situated here, and Karl could just view the array of antennaes that she had spotted last night as she was preparing to put the chopper down.

Except for their escort, who remained with them while they ate, the mess hall was completely vacant. A cold buffet table had been set up inside this barn-like room that was filled with several rows of spartan wooden tables and chairs. Their meal was as simple as the furnishings that surrounded them — cheese, bread, liver spread and tea, yet they were hungry and ate heartily.

Exactly a quarter of an hour after they had sat down to eat, a tall, middle-aged, blond man dressed in a brown suit entered the mess hall. He carried an air of military authority that caused their sentry to stand stiffly at attention as the newcomer stood before the buffet table and addressed them.

“On behalf of the Rio de la Plata consortium, welcome to North Cape. I am Klaus Dietricht, the settlement’s associate director. I was informed last evening of your arrival, and regret that business matters kept me from paying my respects until now. Please excuse these humble facilities. As you can imagine, we have few guests, and we are not usually accustomed to uninvited visitors. I have made a van available to convey you down to the helipad so that you can initiate repairs on your helicopter. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll accompany you to this vehicle.”

Before any of the group stood up to obey this directive, Jon Huslid spoke up.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dietricht. Would it be possible if four of us have a look around the settlement while our pilot and chief engineer work on the chopper? I’m afraid that all we’d do down there is get in the way.”

The outpost’s associate director carefully studied the individual who made this request and replied.

“To whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m Jon Huslid. I’m employed with Noroil as an underwater photographer.”

“Mr. Huslid” returned Klaus Dietricht coldly.

“Unfortunately, insurance concerns force me to deny this request. Because of the dangerous state of the coal reserves we are presently working, you are confined to either the helipad or your barracks.”

“But we won’t be going into the mines, sir,” responded Jon.

“Actually, we’re much more interested in just seeing how your settlement operates.”

The associate director impatiently looked at his watch.

“I would love to give you such a tour, Mr. Huslid. But today I just can’t spare the time.

So if you’ll just follow me, you can either accept a ride down to the helipad or remain here at the barracks under the watchful eye of Karl here.”

The sentry alertly nodded in acknowledgement of this mention and Jon could only shrug his shoulders.

“Come on, gang,” said the irritated photographer.

“Let’s all get down to the helipad and see what we can do to patch up the chopper and get to someplace a bit more hospitable.”

Seemingly ignoring this hostile comment, Klaus Dietricht led the group outside. The van was a nine seater. Dietricht and a driver sat in the front, while the members of NUEX, Karl Skollevoll and Mikhail Kuznetsov piled into the back.

The road that they were soon travelling followed the floor of the valley. On both sides of the narrow thoroughfare rose a desolate, mountainous plateau, whose black basalt rock was streaked with snow. They passed by several more dormitories that were conspicuously empty of any occupants. It was only as they got closer to the shoreline that they spotted several men gathered before a small corrugated steel warehouse, in the process of loading what appeared to be food into a compact delivery van.

The helipad lay on an isolated clearing near the wharf area. As they exited the vehicle, two large panel trucks whizzed past them, headed toward the road that followed the coastline up ahead. Curious as to where these vehicles were headed, Jon tapped Dietricht on the shoulder and pointed.

“Mr. Dietricht, where are those two trucks off to in such a hurry?”

“To the mines,” spat the associate director, who was obviously pressed for time himself.

“I’ve got to go now,” he added.

“Two of my men are waiting for you down at the helicopter. Consider them at your disposal.

They have been instructed to do whatever is necessary to help you get airborne once again. With that, I wish you good luck and good flying.”

Klaus Dietricht turned back for the van, which wasted no time speeding off in the same direction as the two trucks. This left the group temporarily alone on the clearing.

“General Kuznetsov, do you think he’s one of your Nazis?” asked Arne.

The Russian thoughtfully replied.

“It’s obvious he’s been trained in the military. And of course, there’s no doubt that he’s a German. As to being a Nazi…”

Mikhail was cut short by Knut Huagen.

“Excuse me, sir, but we’ve got visitors coming our way.”

The two dour looking brutes who had originally greeted them last night could be seen quickly approaching.

“Damn!” cursed the photographer.

“We’ve got to find someplace where we can talk.”

Karl pointed toward the nearby helicopter.

“I happen to know the perfect place to hold a private conversation.

Follow me, gentlemen.”

The pilot led them into the main cabin of the Bell 212. Since their two escorts remained right outside, Karl turned on the cassette player, and soon the rousing refrains of Grieg’s Peer Gynt all but guaranteed their privacy.

“All that you need up here is barbed wire and this place would be the perfect prison camp,” observed Arne.

“Who needs barbed wire on Svalbard?” returned Knut.

“It’s not as if there were anywhere close by to escape to up here.”

“I think that you’re being too critical of the place,” interjected Jakob.

“Don’t forget where we are. The nearest settlement is Longyearben, and that’s not saying much. Svalbard’s coal outposts are notorious for being among the most isolated in all the world. These people up here are not used to strangers, especially uninvited ones. Why the only visitors they get are coal ships in the summer, and themselves in the winter.”

“I’m not so sure that the coal mines up here in North Cape are even active anymore,” offered Jon.

“Did any of you see any miners or their families around? And where’s all their equipment?”

“We did see those two trucks, that Dietricht said were going to the mines,” answered Arne.

“I’ve been around long enough to know that those vehicles certainly weren’t coal trucks,” said Jon.

“Around Oslo, panel trucks like that are used for light delivery purposes.”

“What do you think is going on up here, General?” asked Arne.

Mikhail leaned up against the cabin’s forward bulkhead and thoughtfully answered.

“I agree with Jon that coal is not the purpose of this settlement’s current existence, though it most probably was at one time.

As I was saying before, the few individuals that we’ve managed to meet have all the trappings of being military trained. And of course, then there’s the matter of that pennant that was hung on our barracks’ wall. A similar one flew from a flagpole outside that warehouse we passed. I have seen this design before, in Argentina.

The black and white globe with the gold star above the North Pole is the standard of the Rio de la Plata coal company. I know for a fact that this supposed consortium of German and South American investors is nothing but a front for the Neo-Nazi organization I have spent the better part of my life trying to destroy — Werewolf!”

“But if that’s the case, why bother shipping the heavy water up here?” asked Karl.

“Svalbard is hardly a practical place to start a Fascist revolution.”

“Right now, I’m just as perplexed as you are, my dear,” replied the Russian.

“If only we could remain here long enough to do some further investigation and monitor the heavy water once the trawler arrives.”

“I believe we can arrange that,” said Karl, who reached into the breast pocket of her jumpsuit and pulled out a single fuse.

“This chopper’s not going anyplace until this fuse goes back in place.”

“Then all we have to do is figure out a way to stall for some more time,” added Arne.

“That shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish,” said Knut.

“Karl and I will start stripping down the engines.

And we’ll make such a mess out of things that it will take a good twenty-four hours to put it back together again.”

“That should give us plenty of time to do some snooping,” remarked the photographer.

“And I think that the perfect time to get on with it will be this evening.”

“I’d like to have a closer look at where those two panel trucks were off to in such a hurry,” offered Jakob.

Mikhail added.

“That sounds like a good place to get started. But how will we manage to do all this exploring on foot?”

The photographer’s face broke out in a sardonic smile.

“Who says anything about travelling on foot? We’ll figure out a way to get us some wheels. Don’t forget, General. You’re in the capable hands of NUEX now.”

Much to the consternation of the two men that had been assigned to assist them with the repairs, Karl and Knut spent the day tearing down the Bell’s engines.

It was evident that the helicopter would never get off the ground in the immediate future, and one of the sentries left to inform the associate director of this fact.

Klaus Dietricht paid them a visit soon afterward.

He was noticeably upset when he saw for himself the work that yet had to be done on the helicopter, and pressed them for a completion time. Karl casually mentioned that twenty-four hours seemed like a reasonable estimate. Only after getting her to definitely commit to this time frame did Dietricht reluctantly offer them the use of their dormitory for yet one more night. He left them with an angry scowl, and a warning that if they weren’t ready to go as promised, a helicopter would be chartered at their expense to convey them out of North Cape by the next sunset.

It was pitch black outside by the time they returned to the dormitory. Before even having the opportunity to properly wash up, they were rushed off to the mess hall where a meal of canned sardines, cheese, stale bread, and liver spread was served. Their guard watched them poke at this food somewhat amusedly before escorting them back to the dormitory.

Karl and Knut had formulated a plan to effect their escape while working on the engine. The success of this scheme all depended upon how much sex appeal the pilot could summon, and just how amorous their young guard was at the moment.

It was well past lights out, when Karl climbed from her bed and slunk out into the hallway. Fortune was with her as she caught the wide-eyed sentry immersed in a dog-eared copy of Playboy. He did a double-take when Karl seductively smiled, pulled down the shoulder of her blouse, and beckoned him to come closer.

He swallowed heavily, stood, and almost tripped over his feet as he moved forward to obey her silent command.

Karl was enjoying the role of a seductress. Besides, her young victim wasn’t all that bad looking, though he was at that age when his complexion was giving him problems. Thankful that he was a man of a few words, she easily lured him away from the entrance to the bunk room She didn’t even have to make skin contact with him as she stepped aside, forcing him to turn along with her. No sooner was his back toward the doorway when Knut appeared in the shadows behind him. Knut innocently tapped the young guard on the shoulder. He obediently turned his head and was met by a hammer-like fist blow directly on his jaw. This was the only punch needed to send him to the floor for a ten count and much more.

From the same shadows that Knut had come from, the other members of NUEX emerged, along with Mikhail Kuznetsov. They were fully dressed and even had the pilot’s parka in hand as they proceeded straight to the dormitories exit.

“Nice job, Karl,” complimented Jon.

“Now let’s see about getting those wheels.”

Outside, the intense cold hit them like Knut’s fist on the young guard’s jaw. Luck was once more with them as their desired course put the biting wind at their backs. They walked quickly and silently, their way lit solely by the waning moon.

When they finally spotted the corrugated steel warehouse that they had seen from the road earlier, Knut and Arne broke out into a trot. By the time the rest of the group caught up with them, Knut had succeeded in forcing the lock to the structure’s garage with a tool he had brought from the helipad for just this purpose.

As Arne slid the garage door upward, a relieved sigh was shared by all as they set their eyes on a mud stained compact delivery van. Not only was this vehicle unlocked, but the keys were still dangling from the ignition.

“Get in,” commanded Knut.

“I’ll drive.”

Both Karl and Mikhail scooted in next to him on the front seat, while the other members of NUEX climbed into the back where they sat on the cold steel floor alongside several shrink-wrapped cases of canned goods. It proved to be Arne who identified the contents of these cans.

“Somebody sure must like their beans. There’s got to be well over five hundred cans of the stuff packed back here. Anyone hungry?”

No one took up his offer, and Knut turned over the ignition and rammed the gears into reverse. They transit ted the road down to the bay in a matter of minutes, and were soon speeding over the narrow asphalt thoroughfare that followed the coastline for the first couple of kilometers. At no time during this entire journey did they pass another moving vehicle.

With the flickering lights of North Cape now well behind them, the road began gradually turning away from the water. Slowly they began gaining elevation, the black mountains looming before them like giants from another realm. Knut downshifted as the road began snaking up a series of switchbacks. He was in the process of steering the van around a tight corner, and was reaching over to downshift, when he suddenly slammed on the brakes. Everyone in the van was thrown violently forward by this unexpected stop.

“Hey, Knut! What the hell’s going on up there?” quizzed Arne angrily.”

This question was met by a moment of silence that was broken only by the confounded voice of Karl Skollevoll.

“What in the world happened to the road? It couldn’t just end here.”

Arne, Jakob and Jon peeked over her shoulder to see what she was carrying on about, and set their combined gazes on a confusing sight. Only a few meters away from their current location, the asphalt pavement terminated in an abrupt dead end, replaced by the sheer rock face of a mountain.

“Now hold on a minute,” remarked Jon.

“Knut, did you see any turnoffs on the way up from the coast?”

As NUEX’s chief engineer shook his head that he hadn’t, Jon continued.

“Then where did those trucks that we saw this morning end up?”

On pure impulse, Karl snapped open the van’s glove compartment and removed a plastic garage door opener. She held it up before her and depressed its trigger mechanism. Slowly, the unthinkable started to happen — the solid rock face that lay before them started to slide upward! In its place shined a blindingly bright bank of flood lights.

A voice cried out from this void.

“Hey, you! Quit sleeping and get that crate inside. You know the Director’s rule about leaving the entryway open.”

Spurred into action by these words, Knut started up the van and drove cautiously forward.

“Get a load of this place!” exclaimed Arne as he wondrously peered out the van’s side window.

The immense cavern which they now entered seemed dimensionless, especially since the majority of the flood lights were focused downward, toward the cave’s floor. Before being allowed further access, a burly guard sauntered up to the driver’s window and peeked inside.

“Kind of late for a delivery, isn’t it fellow?” he questioned.

Knut’s ad-lib skills were put to the test as he calmly answered.

“I guess that depends on who you’re working for. When the associate director found out that these supplies hadn’t been delivered he threw a fit and sent us, his very own staff, to complete the job.”

The guard snickered and examined the van’s passengers with the help of his flashlight.

“Well I’ll be. Herr Dietricht’s really getting everyone involved now. Why I’ve never seen any one of you around here before.”

“You should come visit us over in administration someday” offered Karl with her sexiest smile.

“It can get awfully lonely over there.”

“I wish I had the time,” replied the guard.

“But like everyone else, they’ve got me working double shifts. It seems I never get out of this damn pen.”

Deciding that they had exchanged enough small talk, Knut got down to business.

“Where do we drop off our load, my friend? This delivery stuffs a little new to us.”

The guard grinned.

“It’s about time you pencil pushers saw the operational end of our little project. Have you gotten a chance to see the boat as yet?”

Not having any idea what he was talking about, Knut shook his head.

“Like yourself, we’ve been chained to the office. This will be the first time for all of us.”

“Prepare yourselves, then, for the thrill of a lifetime.

Just follow the yellow line that’s painted on the cavern’s floor to the pen area. You can park in front of the forward gangway, but for only as long as it takes to carry the supplies into the boat. What are you delivering anyway?”

“Beans,” revealed Jon from the back of the van.

“I should have known it,” returned the guard.

“No wonder Herr Dietricht sent you out here at this late hour. How can we send our brave sailors to sea without their precious beans!”

The van filled with forced laughter, and Knut saluted and put the vehicle into gear. The yellow line led them up a ramp and then down onto the floor of the cavern itself. And it was then that they saw it. Floating on a pool of water, and glistening under the glare of the overhead flood lights, was a golden submarine!

“As Lenin is my witness, it’s a German Type XXI U-boat!” exclaimed Mikhail Kuznetsov.

With a reverent slowness, Knut guided the van closer to the gilded vessel. The Norwegians were stunned into silence, and had to rely on the white-haired Russian to make some sense out of this surprise discovery.

“So this is the real purpose of this settlement. I bet this vessel was purposely mothballed in this hollowed-out mountain at the war’s conclusion. And all these years Werewolf was just waiting for the need to deploy it” “And what need is that?” asked Karl.

“Why the heavy water, my dear child!” revealed the enlightened veteran.

“What better vessel to utilize to convey this priceless treasure to the Rio de la Plata.

From here, the cannisters will most likely be shipped up the Parana River by freighter to the lab where the bombs will be assembled. And God only help us if they succeed in this endeavor!”

The gangway that the guard had mentioned came into view, and Knut slowly continued their approach.

“What do we do now?” asked Arne.

“Right now, I’d say that our best bet is to complete the delivery and get the hell out of here,” said Jon, who continued looking at the submarine and softly mumbled.

“You know, that sub looks awfully familiar.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” remarked Jakob, whose eyes opened wide with astonishment upon viewing the white numerals now visible on the vessel’s sail.

“Jon, do you see what I see?”

The photographer gasped in wonder.

“Oh my God, Jakob! It’s the sister ship of the one we boarded off of Utisra!”

“Do you mean the sub where you found the gold brick?” queried Karl.

“What gold brick is that?” questioned Mikhail as he turned his head to await a reply.

“It’s a long story, General,” returned Jon.

“While surveying the projected route of an undersea gas pipeline, the company we work for discovered a sunken submarine. We were called off of Lake Tinnsjo to take a closer look at it, and as we entered its rusted hull, Jakob found the gold bar. You know, come to think of it, didn’t Magne say something about it being Russian, from the time of the Czars?”

This revelation caused Mikhail to sway back dizzily, and for a few seconds he thought that he might actually faint. A thousand questions came into his mind.

But before he could express himself, Knut pulled up to the gangway.

“Here we are, ladies and gentlemen,” he said lightly.

“The faster we get this over with, the quicker we can get out of here. So I don’t want any shirkers.”

As the Norwegians assembled outside the van, Mikhail remained seated to sort through his reeling thoughts. So much had happened in so little time that he had temporarily lost his objectivity. But it only took one look at the streamlined vessel that lay floating beside him to fine-tune his focus. And in that instant he knew what had to be done. The time of waiting was over. The time for action was at long last upon him!

Somehow, someway, the U-boat had to be stopped before it completed its mission. He could think of but one individual to accomplish this task — his twin brother, Alexander.

“Come on, General. I said there’d be no shirkers in this outfit,” prompted Knut from outside.

“Very well, comrade,” replied the veteran as he stepped out of the van.

Their cargo turned out to be twenty-five cases of Heinz pork and beans, packed twenty-five cans to the case. Knut managed to lift three of these shrink-wrapped cases at one time, while his teammates attempted only two. Both Karl and Mikhail were content to carry one apiece.

As they made their way up the gangway they were intercepted by a sailor who had just emerged from the aft hatch. This hefty individual was completely covered in grease and he spoke out with a friendly tone.

“Ah, now we’re truly ready to go to sea. Every sailor’s best friend has finally arrived. I was wondering when our beans would get here. Like I once told Captain Kromer, there’s more power packed in those cans than a hundred liters of prime diesel fuel. To hell with uranium235. Somebody should attempt tapping the power of the bean!”

Knut made a feeble attempt at laughing, yet the load he was carrying diverted his thoughts elsewhere.

“Where shall we store these?” he asked, his face red with strain.

The grease stained seaman answered apologetically.

“I’m sorry, my friend. Here I am spouting my big mouth off while you’re earning yourself a hernia. If you’d like, you can convey them through the forward hatchway. Be careful going down that ladder. Once you’re below deck, just tell the first sailor that you see that Siggy instructed you to store these precious valuables in the safest portion of the boat. He’ll know what I’m talking about, and will show you the way.”

“And make certain that none of those rascals try to talk you into giving them some free samples,” added Chief Sigmund Dortmund as he watched the motley assortment of workers head toward the forward portion of the sail.

Mikhail Kuznetsov was last in line. With Karl’s assistance, he passed on the carton that he had been carrying and began his way below deck. The scent of diesel fuel and machine oil met his nostrils as he climbed down into the sub’s control room. This compartment was in an unbelievably superb state of preservation. The dozens of pipes, gauges, wheels and levers looked as if they were brand new. And even the brass fittings shined as if they had been installed just yesterday.

Having only seen such a vessel in books before, Mikhail knew that the Type XXI was a revolutionary breakthrough in submarine design. Produced by the Germans in the closing days of World War II, it was the world’s first real submersible warship. As such, it could operate beneath the sea’s surface for extended periods of time, allowing it to avoid detection by spotter planes, surface ships, and radar. It was the same model that the present batch of diesel-electric powered submarines were patterned after, and if properly crewed could hold its own even in today’s high-tech battlefield.

Mikhail shuddered to think what Werewolf could do with this boat. It could be quite an effective pirate, and haunt commercial shipping worldwide. Even more frightening was that scenario in which Otto Koch and his band of demented fanatics used this platform to deliver an atomic weapon. Able to silently penetrate even the most sophisticated harbor defenses, this U-boat could deposit a nuclear device in places such as Upper New York Bay and hold the entire island of Manhattan hostage!

Knowing full well that he had to do everything with in his power to stop this machine, Mikhail listened as Knut began conversing with one of the vessel’s crew members. It was this same sailor who volunteered to lead them to the storage compartment.

With his case of beans in hand, the white-haired Russian followed his

Norwegian friends down a narrow, cable-lined passageway. There were several compartments adjoining this corridor and one of them had its door open. As he walked by, Mikhail peered into this vacant room and viewed the bank of equipment belonging to the U-boat’s radio compartment. He spotted an old-fashioned Morse code transmitter on the counter and could visualize the dispatches already relayed to South America on this ancient, yet still effective, set.

They continued down the main passageway until it ended at a sealed hatch. Their guide opened the steel dogs that would keep this hatch watertight in the event of flooding, and pointed inside.

“You can stack the cases on the left side of the room, next to the other canned goods.”

Anxious to get rid of his load, Mikhail followed the group inside. He handed his case to Arne, and was just about to return to the passageway when the glint of a light on shiny metal caught his eye from the room’s opposite corner. Whatever was responsible for this reflection was locked behind a sturdy wire mesh cage and Mikhail walked over the investigate.

The old-timer almost fell to his knees. Not knowing if this all was but a cruel hallucination, he looked on with unbelieving eyes at the stack of rect angularly shaped, golden bricks that were clearly lit by several overhead flood lights. He saw the distinctive Romanoff Imperial crest that was carved into the surface of each bar, and knew that there were most likely five hundred of them locked away here. Tears began falling down his leathery cheeks. After a half century, he had been strangely reunited with the treasure that had been stolen from him soon after the Nazi invasion of the Motherland!

Mikhail hardly noticed it when this glittering stash drew his companion’s attention as well.

“Oh my God, Jon!” whispered Jakob.

“These bricks appear to be identical to the one that I picked out of the pressure hull of U-3312.”

“I can see that” responded the astonished photographer.

“Magne’s never going to believe it!”

The stern voice of their escort interrupted them.

“Hey you, get away from there! That portion of the ship is off limits per express orders of the Director.”

Though Karl and Knut were dying to find out more about what Jon and Jakob were talking about, they wisely held their tongues. The group reluctantly returned to the passageway to retrieve the rest of the cases. Tailing behind them, Mikhail shivered with heightened awareness. U-3313 would not only be carrying the precious heavy water southward, but a fortune in gold also! Werewolf would be virtually unstoppable once this cargo reached the Rio de la Plata. Now, it was solely up to him to insure that it didn’t.

To call in his brother at once, he slipped into the still vacant radio room. His heart was pounding madly in his chest as he scanned the collection of vacuum-tube operated transmitters and receivers that now lay before him. Thankful for his previous military training on just such gear, Mikhail Kuznetsov switched on the transmitter. While he waited for it to warm up, he located the transmitter’s frequency knob.

This would allow him to isolate a channel that would convey his signal directly to KGB headquarters. Then it would be up to his comrades in Red Square to pass this urgent message on to his twin brother.

Otto Koch was having after dinner drinks with U3313’s two senior-most officers, when he received the emergency call from security informing him that something was seriously wrong down in the sub pen.

The Director immediately passed on this upsetting news to his guests, and they headed quickly for the elevator.

The ride downward seemed to be taking unusually long, and even Beowulf sensed his master’s relief when the doors finally slid open.

Waiting for them on the landing was Koch’s assistant, Klaus Dietricht. A young, blond security guard stood beside Dietricht, and one didn’t have to look very close to see that his jaw was broken.

Dietricht’s tone was urgent as he initiated a rushed briefing.

“Herr Director, the Norwegians who landed here by helicopter yesterday have broken out of their dormitory. We believe they have stolen a van and have succeeded in penetrating the pen.”

“And where are they now?” asked Koch impatiently.

Dietricht turned around and pointed toward U-3313.

“Oh, no!” cried out the furious Director.

“Captain Kromer, we must act to protect the ship at once!”

Already well on his way to doing just that, Charles Kromer and his senior lieutenant sprinted toward their threatened command. An empty van with its cargo door wide open lay parked beside the sub’s forward gangway. Strangely enough, their grease-stained chief engineer could be seen sitting on the deck before this ramp, calmly puffing away on a cigarette.

“Siggy!” shouted Charles Kromer.

“Where are the individuals who belong to that van?”

“Oh, you mean the delivery crew,” returned the Chief, who was puzzled by his captain’s frantic state.

“There’s no need to get upset, Skipper. They’re securely storing away the last of the beans in the forward storage compartment.”

Kromer raced up the gangway and cursed.

“Damn it, Siggy! We must get down there and round them up at once!

“Yes, sir!” snapped the confused engineer as he stood and looked on as Senior Lieutenant Kurtz followed the captain up the ramp.

It was the sudden barking of a dog that drew the chiefs attention back down to the dock. And he knew then that something was seriously wrong, for even the Director himself was headed toward the boat with a bone in his teeth.

Otto Koch accepted the chiefs grease-stained hand as he hurriedly stepped off the boarding ramp.

“Where’s the captain?” breathlessly quizzed the old-timer.

As coolly as possible, Siggy replied.

“The last I saw he was running for the forward hatchway. If you’ll just come with me, I’ll escort you, Herr Director.”

Otto Koch anxiously beckoned the chief to lead on.

Siggy did so, and was genuinely surprised when the Director ordered him to carry the snarling German shepherd below deck with them. Somehow the chief managed this task without falling off the ladder or having the dog bite him.

Once in the control room, Beowulf continued his incessant barking as he took off running for the forward passageway.

“Beowulf, where in the hell do you think you’re going?” shouted Otto Koch, who scrambled after his dog as fast as he could manage.

Siggy was totally confused by the turn of events and took off in the Director’s wake. It was the angry growl of the German shepherd that drew him into the radio room. As Siggy cautiously poked his head inside this compartment, he witnessed a bewildering tableau.

Standing in the middle of the room was the Director, his hard gaze locked on the dull blue eyes of a white-haired old man, who was seated in front of the radio transmitter. This same stranger had a long scar lining the entire left side of his wrinkled face, and looked at the Director as if he were seeing a ghost.

With Beowulf still snarling away at his side, Otto Koch’s face lit up with a wicked grin as he spoke.

“So we meet again, Mikhail Kuznetsov. Don’t think that I haven’t been following your exploits these last fifty years. For an old man, your resiliency astounds me.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” returned the intruder, who bitterly added.

“I’ve been praying for this day to come, Koch, and by the grace of God, I’ve managed to find you before you were able to launch yet more evil into the world.”

The Director stifled a laugh.

“Ah, that’s a good one. General Mikhail Kuznetsov, the faithful Party watchdog, imploring the divine assistance of a God his Communist forefathers long ago refuted. The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you go to church on Sundays.”

“Shut up, Koch!” spat the stranger, who struggled to stand on his trembling limbs.

Beowulf reacted to this movement with a renewed fit of angry barking, that was only interrupted by the sudden reappearance ofU-3313’s Captain.

“It looks like we’ve got all of them, Herr Director,” revealed Charles Kromer.

“There were five of them altogether, four men and a woman. They all appear to be Norwegians, and I don’t think they were able to do any damage to the ship. We’ve got them confined in the forward storage compartment.”

“Here’s one more for you, Captain,” said Koch triumphantly.

“You can go ahead and lock up this old bag of wind with the others.”

As Kromer beckoned his Chief Engineer to carry out this directive, the radio room’s intercom activated with a loud buzz. It was U-3313’s C.O. who answered it.

“Captain here.”

“Captain,” broke a hoarse voice from the wall-mounted speaker.

“This is Seaman Frank in radar. I’ve got the Elsie K on the screen, Sir. The trawler’s approximately ten kilometers out of North Cape, and should be arriving within the half hour.”

“Thank you, Seaman Frank,” said Kromer as he switched off the transmitter and looked at the bald figure who still stood in the center of the room.

“That’s wonderful news, Captain,” observed Otto Koch, who noted that the Chief had yet to remove Mikhail Kuznetsov as ordered.

“Chief Dortmund, are you going to stand there all night? Remove the prisoner at once! And when he’s securely locked away with the rest of his pathetic comrades, perhaps you’ll join us at the wharf, so that we can get on with transferring the liquid treasure that awaits us there.”

As Siggy reached out to take the thin arm of his white-haired prisoner, he momentarily caught this stranger’s icy glance as he stared at the Director. If pure hatred had a look, the chief knew that this was it.