The Golden U-Boat

Chapter Six

The Falcon’s main single lock living chamber was located on the ship’s upper ‘tween deck. It was here that David Lawton, Jon Huslid, Jakob Helgesen and Arne Lundstrom patiently waited for their decompression to be completed. This critical process actually began inside their diving bell, as they were slowly pulled up from the depths after their exploration of the German U-boat. It would continue for another seventy-two hours, inside the comfortable, but cramped, cylindrical structure that provided their current home.

The transfer from the bell took place without incident, and for the first couple of hours, the exhausted divers did nothing but sleep in their bunks.

As they began to awaken, they moved around a bit, and were even able to sit down and have a meal, especially prepared for them in the Falcon’s galley.

David Lawton had sampled this excellent chow before, and wasn’t the least bit disappointed as he wolfed down a tasty bowl of fish chowder and a delicious Caesar salad. Afterward, he went back to his cot to begin an ian Flemming book that one of the crew had surrendered. Though the well-written exploits of James Bond were thoroughly engrossing, the Texan couldn’t help but be distracted by the conversation of his diving companions.

“… then say that seal carved into the gold brick indeed turns out to be Russian in origin. What in the world would it be doing on a German U-boat?” quizzed Arne. He sat at the table, sipping a mug of hot chocolate.

“I’d like to know why that torpedo room was completely emptied out like it was,” added Jakob, who sat beside his bearded teammate.

Jon Huslid was propped up in his bunk reading a technical manual, which he put down to join this discussion.

“It’s only too obvious, Jakob. That compartment was cleared out so that it could hold something other than torpedoes.”

“Then you really think that there was more gold than that single brick?” asked Arne.

“You better believe it, my friend. Lots more,” offered Jon with confidence.

“That hole in the boat’s hull convinced me,” said Jakob.

“It was cut there only recently, and intended for a single purpose, namely to remove whatever was being stored inside that compartment. That brick was probably left behind by accident, when the rest of the cargo was carried out into the open seas.”

With this, Jon sat up and reflectively commented, “Then that leaves us with one question. Who in the hell was responsible for the heist?”

Before any of them could offer an answer, the chamber’s centrally mounted video monitor popped on. Magne could be seen seated at his console in the nearby diving control room.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” greeted the diving supervisor.

“I hope everyone slept soundly and ate well. Your decompression is continuing smoothly.

Right now, you have only seventy-one hours and

The phone inside the chamber began ringing, and it was Magne who explained the nature of this call.

“I believe your associate’s on the line for you from Rjukan, gentlemen.”

“Damn, it’s Knut!” exclaimed Jon as he sprang for the receiver.

Both Jakob and Arne anxiously gathered around the phone as Jon initiated an intense conversation.

“What do you mean, they’re both dead?” questioned the astounded photographer. “… Why that’s simply horrible, Knut. Are you going to be okay?. No, you shouldn’t leave until the doctors allow you. A concussion can be serious business … I understand, Knut. But your life is much more important than that damn heavy water. As soon as we’re out of this decompression chamber, we’ll be there, big fellow. That you can rely on. Just listen to those doctors and be cool. The police will find the bastards responsible, and then they’ll rot in jail for the rest of their lives … I will, Knut. You know where to find us. Take care, my friend.”

Jon thoughtfully hung up the receiver and looked up to meet the concerned stares of his teammates.

“My God, Knut’s in the hospital at Rjukan with a concussion, and both his cousin Lars and friend Thor have been found shot to death!”

This surprise revelation drew David Lawton from his bunk, as the shocked photographer continued.

“They had just finished bringing up the rest of the heavy water; and were waiting for morning to transfer the drums to the warehouse when a group of armed men broke into the trawler. Both Lars and Thor were apparently forced at gunpoint to load the heavy water onto a truck, while Knut was pistol-whipped inside the trawler’s auxiliary cabin. When he eventually snapped back to consciousness, not only did he find the thirty-three drums of heavy water gone, but the bodies of Lars and Thor as well.

Both had been shot a single time in the back of the head, and were long dead by the time the first ambulance got there.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” managed Jakob.

“Will Knut be okay?” quizzed Arne.

Jon shook his head.

“I hope to God he will, Arne. Fortunately, the big guy’s tough, though he’s really taking the news of the shootings badly. He feels personally responsible, and was carrying on about sneaking out of the hospital and tracking down the murderers himself.”

“That would be a big mistake,” interjected David Lawton.

“The police are the ones that are best prepared to handle such a dangerous investigation.

Your friend will only be interfering, and also very possibly putting his life needlessly on the line.”

“Try to tell that to Knut,” retorted Jon.

“He’s already made some calls to his local network of friends and family in the Telemark region. If those coldblooded bastards are still anywhere in the area, Knut will soon know about it.”

A moment of thoughtful silence was broken by the return of Magne’s solemn image to the video monitor.

“I just heard what happened to Knut, gentlemen.

I want you to know that I’m deeply sorry, and that Noroil won’t rest until the ones responsible for this heinous crime are brought to justice. We’ll be sending in a specialist from Oslo shortly to have a personal look at Knut’s injuries. Since this is a company matter now, our internal security division will be getting involved. You can rest assured that once your decompression is completed, one of our choppers will be available to convey you to Rjukan if you so desire. Meanwhile, I’d better let you in on some other important news that just arrived. The Falcon has been ordered to proceed north with all due haste. It seems that the new Ice Field’s production rig, that was being towed to the waters off Svalbard, has hit some heavy seas. It’s in danger of capsizing, and the Falcon has been called in to stabilize it. So just hang in there, Gentlemen, while we pull anchor and get some steam up. We’ll be relaying to you position updates as they’re available.”

With this the monitor went blank, and for several seconds the group of divers continued staring at the empty screen, their shocked thoughts still focused on their wounded colleague, the senseless deaths of his friends, the stolen heavy water, and the type of sick individual that could be responsible for such a heinous thing.

Charles Kromer looked up expectantly from the book he had been reading when the Braathens Safe Boeing 737’s ‘fasten seat belt’ sign activated with a distinctive chime. The forty-six year old former West German naval officer was a veteran traveller, who long ago learned to always keep his seat belt fastened during a flight. Thus he only had to pull it a bit tighter around his lower waist as the plane began its descent into Svalbard’s Longyearben airport.

Kromer wasn’t surprised to learn that it had been the Norsemen who made the first mention of this isolated archipelago back in 1194 A.D. Four centuries later, while looking for the fabled shortcut to

China, two boats under the command of Willem Barents sighted a land of snowcapped mountain peaks which they called Spitsbergen. Today this collection of frozen islands was known as Svalbard, with Spitsbergen being the name of its largest island.

Situated in the Arctic Ocean, Svalbard was only 10 degrees and four hundred nautical miles from the North Pole. With a total landmass of 23,958 square miles, it was one-fifth the size of Norway, its mother country.

Because of its strategic location, it had been a jumping off place for many hopeful Arctic explorers.

This long list included Salomon Andree, a Swede who in 1897 tried to get to the North Pole by means of a balloon, and died on one of Svalbard’s frozen fjords. Twelve years later, the American Walter Wellman attempted to fly to the Pole from Svalbard. He too crashed on the way to his elusive goal, but was rescued by a group of Norwegians from Tromso.

Svalbard was covered by immense glaciers and towering mountain peaks. It had no indigenous population, and was instead permanently settled by a handful of hearty Norwegians and Russians, who worked its many coal mines. Other Europeans also had a small stake in the hunt for this valuable fuel, as did the German consortium with whom Charles Kromer was currently affiliated. Still undiscovered by tourists, Svalbard was a relatively pristine wilderness, much of which was still uncharted.

Anxious to see such a place with his own eyes, Kromer closed his book and peeked out the window as the plane lowered its landing gear and began its final approach. Only a few years ago, this landing would have been on the frozen tundra itself. The asphalt runway was a recent addition, as was the terminal building that they were next bound for.

There were only a handful of passengers on the plane, and Kromer exited quickly via the rear stairway. As he climbed down onto the tarmac, briefly halting at the bottom of the ramp, he looked out to survey the surrounding landscape. A range of black, snowcapped mountains met his eyes. They had a stark, foreboding quality to them, and Kromer knew without a doubt that this was the most unique place that he had ever visited. Feeling as if he had just arrived on an alien planet, he made his way to the nearby terminal.

A stern-faced Norwegian policeman stood immediately outside the modern terminal structure, carefully scrutinizing each of the new arrivals. There were no formal customs’ personnel on the island, and it was up to this individual to spot any potential troublemakers. Kromer looked him right in the eye and passed inside without incident.

Next to the baggage claim area the former German naval officer spotted a young, blond-haired man dressed in blue coveralls, holding a sign that read, Rio de la Plata Coal Co. Kromer went up to him and spoke casually.

“There’ll be one going to North Cape.”

“Very good, sir,” returned the young man politely.

“If you’ll give me your claim check, I’ll take care of the bags. The van is just outside, in the holding area.”

Kromer handed over his claim check and gratefully left the assemblage of noisy passengers who had gathered here. He zipped up the collar of his parka, put on his mittens and woolen cap, and headed out the exit way The quiet was immediate as he stepped outdoors, the air brisk and fresh.

He stretched deeply, and turned around when he heard voices behind him. The other passengers were leaving the terminal, the majority of whom got into a large, yellow bus that took up much of the holding area. Behind this crowd followed his driver. He pushed a large push cart in front of him that was packed with an assortment of cardboard cases and wooden crates. On the very top of this heap was Kromer’s battered seabag. By the time the veteran climbed into the van’s front passenger seat, his driver had neatly stacked this baggage inside, and soon they were on their way.

A narrow asphalt roadway led from the airport.

To the right were the mournful mountains, to the left the gray waters of Advent Bay. Several piers jutted out into this broad expanse of water. Massive piles of coal were heaped up beside these piers, along with the equipment needed to load it into a ship’s hold. Assorted clapboard buildings and steel warehouses did little to distract from the area’s remoteness.

“Do you get into Longyearben often, young man?” questioned Kromer in an effort to get a conversation going.

“Approximately once a week, sir,” replied his driver.

“And that’s usually just to pick up our mail and basic foodstuffs.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t look like much of a settlement,” observed Kromer.

“Don’t let this portion of town fool you, sir. Up in Longyear valley there are some very nice accommodations.

Over a thousand people live there all year round, and they have a really nice community center with a cinema, a restaurant, school, church, and several large meeting rooms for community functions.”

“Will we be passing this facility?” asked Kromer.

“I’m afraid not. We’re headed straight for the central wharf.”

Established originally as a coal town, Longyearben was founded in 1905 by John Longyear of Boston.

In 1916 Norway bought the mines from him, and had since produced over 14 million tons of coal.

“I understand that you were formerly the commanding officer of the Emden” remarked the driver a bit shyly.

“You wouldn’t happen to know my brother, Hans Schmidt, would you, sir?”

“Ensign Schmidt was my weapons officer for over a half dozen patrols,” revealed Kromer, who half grinned.

“You wouldn’t happen to be that kid brother of his who went off and joined the merchant marine at the age of seventeen?”

“That’s me all right,” the driver admitted proudly.

“But I’ve settled down since then. I’ve been with Rio de la Plata for over a year now.”

“Your brother always spoke very highly of you, lad.”

“That’s nice to hear, sir,” said the driver as he turned off the roadway and guided the van into a complex filled with various warehouses.

“It’s because of Hans that I ran off to sea. How’s he doing, anyway?”

“The last I heard was that he’ll be a duly qualified submariner by the years end, lad. He’s a hard worker, and if he continues to do as well, he’ll have a full career just like I had.”

“Was it tough leaving the fleet, sir?” dared the driver.

Kromer shook his head.

“I put in my twenty years and then some, lad. It was time for a change of scenery.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of that, sir. Wait till you see these mountains in the daylight. It’s like nothing you’ve ever dreamed of before.”

A narrow alleyway led to a spacious wharf area.

Several large ships were docked there, including a good-sized modern warship.

“Is that a frigate?” asked the naval veteran from the passenger seat.

“That’s the Norwegian Coast Guard cutter Nordkapp, sir. It just pulled in this afternoon. From what I hear, the ship is here on a routine patrol.”

Kromer knew such cutters to be extremely well equipped. Along with the various fishery, law enforcement, and rescue functions, the Norwegian Coast Guard also provided coastal defense in times of war. Much like a frigate, such cutters could also be used to track down submarines, and were armed with a full assortment of depth charges and torpedoes to finish off the job.

“There’s our ship, sir,” observed the driver, as he pulled to a stop beside the dock’s edge. Floating in the water was a sturdy, forty-ton vessel, about fifty-seven feet long, with the clean lines of a motor sailor.

“We call her the Weser, sir, after the river. She was originally a Norwegian rescue boat. Now she’s completely equipped with automatic pilot, echo-sounder, direction finder, and radio telephone. Her 150horsepower diesel puts out a smooth ten knots, and she even has 1,178 square feet of sail should a good breeze present itself.”

The mere fact that this vessel once belonged to the Norwegian rescue service spoke well for it. This exclusive outfit was an all-volunteer force that sailed the coast of Norway in search of boats in trouble.

Since they sailed in even the worst of gales, their equipment was some of the best ever made. Thus Kromer wasn’t really worried about the hundred mile journey through ice-infested waters that still lay before them.

Kromer wasted no time boarding the ship, where he was intercepted by a short, wire-haired old salt with a game leg.

“Welcome aboard the Weser,” he greeted in Norwegian-flavored German.

“I am Captain Hansen. Herr Kromer?”

The newcomer nodded and Hansen led him to a small cabin. It was immaculate, and the former submarine commander knew that he was in the hands of expert mariners.

“When do we get started?” he questioned.

“As soon as the baggage is stowed away,” returned Captain Hansen.

Kromer stifled a yawn, and the Weser’s observant Captain was quick to add, “I’m certain that you’ve journeyed far today. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a stateroom for you in the forward cabin. I’m certain that you’ll find it cramped but comfortable.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Captain,” said Kromer, who once again tried not to yawn.

“Would you like something to eat first?” asked the Norwegian.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary, Captain.

Right now, that bunk sounds awfully inviting.”

“Well in that case, follow me and I’ll show you the way. Soon we will be on our way to North Cape”

The stateroom that Charles Kromer soon found himself in was more than sufficient. It was over twice the size of his cramped cabin on the Emden, and had a bunk bed, a desk, chair, and a small wash basin.

To the chugging sound of the boat’s diesel engine, Kromer removed his shirt and went over to the basin to wash up. It felt good to bathe his face in hot water, and as he reached up to dry himself, he caught his reflection in the round mirror that was mounted beside the towel rack. His dark eyes were bloodshot, and had noticeable fatigue lines beneath them. His once jet-black hair seemed to have more gray in it than ever before. Thankful that he kept it regularly trimmed in a short crew cut, he scratched his square jaw, decided to wait until later to shave, and turned for his bunk.

By the time he was stripped down to his skivvies, they were out to sea. As he lay on his back, with the fjord’s gentle swells rocking him to and fro, the veteran mentally visualized the route they would now be following. The Weser would leave Advent Bay and head due west down Ice Fjord. Soon the Russian coal town of Barentsberg would pass to their port and the boat would turn to the north, following the irregular coast of Spitsbergen to its northernmost extremity. Here they’d turn to the east for the final leg of their journey.

All too soon these same waters would be choked in impenetrable ice. Such a trip would be impossible then, and would have to be accomplished by long-range helicopter. Glad to be travelling by way of his old friend the sea, Charles Kromer closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted nearly eight hours.

He was jarred awake when a series of massive swells smashed into the boat’s hull. Nearly thrown out of his bunk by the force of these waves, Kromer did his best to stand and dress himself. With the deck rolling wildly beneath him, he decided to forget about trying to shave. Merely walking was difficult enough as he left his stateroom and entered the main cabin. A bald seaman was seated at the table here, calmly chewing away on a piece of raw herring and onion, while loose gear raided away on the deck beneath him.

“Hello, sir,” greeted the weather-beaten seaman with a gravelly voice.

“Would you like some breakfast?”

Kromer was beginning to feel a bit seasick and graciously declined this offer.

“Where can I find Captain Hansen?” he asked.

“The skipper’s up in the wheelhouse with the ice pilot,” answered the seaman, who was also the Weser’s cook.

“Perhaps I can whip you up some bacon and eggs.”

Kromer shook his head.

“Maybe in a little while, my friend. Right now, I’d just like to have a few words with the Captain.”

The cook shrugged his skinny shoulders and went back to his meal, as Kromer crossed the constantly pitching deck like a drunken sailor on shore leave.

He reached the shut hatch, and made certain that his oilskin was zipped up securely before ducking outside.

The morning sun hung low in the blue sky and did little to counter the freezing gusts of wind that whipped over the ice-coated deck. Extra careful to keep a secure handhold, he began his way up the semi-enclosed stairwell that led directly to the wheel house. He gratefully ducked inside this compact, well-heated compartment that was dominated by a wraparound windshield and a modern control console.

Seated before this console was the ship’s captain and an alert, broad-shouldered young man who currently had the Weser’s helm. A taut steel cable crossed the width of the cabin behind them, and it was on this object that Kromer steadied himself.

“I see that we have a bit of a swell this morning, Captain,” observed Kromer as he tightly gripped the shoulder-high cable with both hands.

Captain Hansen replied without diverting his glance from the windshield.

“This is nothing, Herr Kromer. You should see these waters when a real gale is blowing. Why, just to remain seated in our chairs, we are forced to utilize our harness mechanisms.

I hope that your quarters were sufficient. I’d like you to meet the Weser’s ice pilot, Sigurd Bjornsen.

The hefty young Norwegian nodded curtly, all the while keeping his line of sight focused on the waters before them. Charles Kromer peered out the windshield himself and immediately spotted the huge noes of fractured ice that were a deadly hazard.

“I’m surprised that these waters are even passable at this time of the year,” remarked Kromer.

“They won’t be much longer,” returned the ice pilot with a grunt.

“This will most probably be the last trip of the season,” added Captain Hansen.

“The lead that we’re currently following is a result of our closeness to the coastline. Further out to sea, the ice pack is solid, and only specially designed vessels can transit it.”

A monstrous berg of ice, many times larger than the Weser, passed by them to the starboard, and Kromer shuddered to think that nine-tenths of this giant was still hidden beneath the water. Still more bergs followed, yet the ice pilot didn’t actually pull back on the boat’s dual throttle until they spotted a nearly solid field of ice up ahead. A constant moaning, creaking groan accompanied this floe and they inched forward. A splintering crunch announced their first contact with it.

Sigurd Bjornsen seemed unaffected by the steady grinding noise of the ice that sounded above that of the Weser’s engines. With an expertise developed after many years of experience, the Norwegian steered them through the thinnest portion of the floe with a minimum of backtracking.

“At least we don’t have any fog to contend with,” offered the boat’s captain. He watched the ice pilot expertly steer them into an open lead of gray water.

“Then Sigurd would really have to earn his paycheck.”

The ice pilot grunted again and reached forward to reopen the throttles. Soon the solid flow was behind them, and Kromer noted that even the seas themselves were calmer here, especially when the Captain took the wheel and rerouted their previously north-easterly course to the south.

A series of jagged black peaks formed the shoreline of the fjord that they soon entered. The wind had long since dissipated, and the sparkling, mirror-like waters were calm as a lake.

“You can see our destination just up ahead of us, Herr Kromer,” said the Captain.

“On the western shore of the fjord, beyond that flashing beacon.”

Charles Kromer looked in the direction that the captain was now pointing and easily spotted the beacon Hansen had mentioned. It took a bit more searching on his part to pick out the actual settlement.

Set at the foot of a mountainous ridge was a barely visible collection of manmade structures that made the remote outpost of Longyearben look like a bustling metropolis by comparison.

As they continued their approach, Kromer identified the settlement’s dock area, that wasn’t much more than a wooden wharf with several mounds of coal heaped beside it. A single road led from this pier, passing half a dozen white-washed, two-story structures that appeared to be dormitories. Other than several corrugated steel warehouses, this seemed to be the extent of the town.

As they passed by the beacon, the Weser’s captain pointed almost reverently to a single cottage that stood on the summit of a steep ridge of solid rock, that dropped straight down to the waters of the fjord below.

“That’s the Director’s cottage,” he proudly revealed.

“They say that its interior is furnished just like a Bavarian hunting lodge. Unfortunately, I’ve never been invited there to see for myself if this is true. Perhaps you will be luckier.”

“Perhaps I will,” mumbled Kromer as he peered up at the sturdy A-frame structure that overlooked the majestic fjord and the settlement of North Cape down below, Kromer left the confines of the wheelhouse and headed toward the foredeck as they prepared to dock. The air was cold and invigorating, and because the winds were gone, easily bearable. Several dock hands could be seen on the wharf. A large flag, fluttering from a tall metal pole, showed the earth with a golden star crowning the North Pole. The submariner had seen this pennant before, and knew very well that it represented the GermanArgentinian consortium that had bought this coal settlement from a Dutch concern over half a century ago.

He couldn’t help but grin as he scanned the dock and spotted a tall, fair-haired, middle-aged man in a long navy peacoat. Quick to also spot Kromer, this figure waved and called out in greeting.

“Welcome to North Cape, Captain!”

Charles Kromer waited to respond until the boat reached the dock. The deckhands officially secured the Weser, and as he climbed onto solid land, Kromer accepted his welcomer’s firm handshake.

“It’s good to see you again, Senior Lieutenant Kurtz,” said Kromer warmly.

“It’s been much too long.”

“It will be one year exactly this January” replied the former West German naval officer with a smile.

“Well, is civilian life all that it’s cracked up to be?” asked Kromer with a wink.

“I guess you’ll soon enough find out for yourself, eh, Captain?” returned Hans Kurtz who added.

“Do you have much luggage?”

“Only my seabag,” answered Kromer.

“Then let me get it for you, and we can get going.

The Director wants to see you at once.”

In a matter of minutes Kromer’s seabag was stowed away inside the boot of their black Rover, and they were on their way down the settlement’s only road.

“That’s some sea voyage from Longyearben, isn’t it Captain?” quizzed Kurtz as he guided the vehicle past the collection of dormitories.

“That it is, my friend. Though I must admit that I slept through much of it. Those Norwegian rescue boats are solidly built, and my accommodations were surely more luxurious than aboard the Emden.”

A grin turned the corners of Kurtz’s mouth at the mention of this sub.

“She may have been a bit cramped, but the old lady was really something special. Are any of the old crew still aboard, Captain?”

“The gang is long gone, Hans. Since you mustered out, the others followed in quick succession.

Even Chief Dortmund left me. Though your replacements may have been young and bright, there seemed to be something lacking in their characters.

Why, the majority of this new generation of submariners doesn’t even know what — it means to be a real German anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Kurtz as he guided the Rover up into the surrounding hills.

Charles Kromer took advantage of the moment of reflective silence that followed to absorb the passing landscape. The road on which they drove had obviously been laid out originally for the coal mines that were dug into this ridge. He counted over a half dozen of them, all of which were currently boarded up. The very nature of this work caused a perpetual sifting of black dust to settle on the rock and snow here. But, in a way, this shroud seemed to fit well with the stark, treeless ridge that they continued to climb.

A switchback finally led to the summit of this ridge, and Kromer set his eyes on the A-frame cottage that he had seen from the boat. This structure looked much larger from this vantage point, and as the Rover pulled up in front of it, he saw that it had been built out of whole tree trunks. A trace of smoke curled from its stone chimney, while a massive rack of antlers was mounted above the door mantle.

Hans Kurtz put the vehicle into neutral, and without turning off the ignition, turned to address his passenger.

“Well, good luck, Captain. I’m certain that you’ll find the Director as full of life and feisty as ever. He’s really something for a man in his seventies.”

“You’re not coming in with me, Hans?”

“This audience is all yours, Captain. We’ll be together again soon enough — and then we can really talk about the old days.”

A bit confused by the arrangements, Kromer questioned, “But where are our facilities, Hans? I thought that the meeting was to take place there.”

A devilish gleam flashed in Kurtz’s eyes, and his answer was evasive.

“You’ll be seeing what this whole operation is about in good time, Captain.

Now, you don’t want to keep the Director waiting for you, do you?”

Kromer realized that he wasn’t going to be getting any answers from this end. Anxious to learn exactly what was going on here, he left the Rover and walked up to the entrance of the cottage. The door was fashioned from a huge slab of highly polished wood, and had an iron knocker in the shape of a wolfs head. Kromer rapped three times, and didn’t have to wait long until it swung open, revealing a shapely blond woman in a white servant’s uniform.

“Good morning, Herr Kromer,” she said in perfect German.

“We’ve been expecting you.” Smiling, she beckoned him to enter.

From the moment he stepped inside the foyer, it seemed as if he were magically transported back to the Bavarian foothills of his birth. Panelled completely in polished oak, the hallway was crowded with familiar bric-a-brac that included an authentic German cuckoo clock, a rack of stag horns, and an assortment of beautifully framed photographs of various alpine scenes. Several exquisite Dresden plates were also hung there, along with a collection of hand-carved walking sticks. The stirring strains of a Prussian calvary march could be heard in the background.

Kromer readily followed the young woman further into the cottage’s interior.

The room that he next entered was breathtaking.

A solid wall of glass allowed a magnificent view of the sparkling waters of the fjord. Glacier capped mountains could be seen in the distance, glistening beneath the rays of the rising sun. Two high-backed leather chairs sat in the middle of the carpeted room, turned so that they could take full advantage of the spectacular vista. Beside these chairs was a bronze telescope on a tripod. A stone fireplace with a blazing fire dominated one end of the room, and a well-stocked library stood on the opposite side.

The Prussian calvary music that he had heard came from four elevated speakers, strategically mounted in each of the room’s corners. Kromer recognized the piece as the Fehrbellin calvary march.

Certainly never expecting to hear such inspiring music in this isolated location, he handed the young servant his jacket and gloves. As she left the room, he took a position beside the fireplace. With his gaze still riveted on the extraordinary view, he wondered when his host would join him. Thus, he was taken completely by surprise when one of the high155 backed chairs began to turn. Seated here all the time, with his line of sight also turned to the fjord and the mountains beyond, was the so-called Director of the Rio de la Plata coal company’s North Cape operation: Herr Otto Koch.

The bald septuagenerian faced his newly arrived guest and slowly stood. There was genuine delight in the old man’s wrinkled face as he removed his monocle and straightened his black ascot and red velvet smoking jacket.

“Captain Kromer, how very good it is to see you once again. Welcome to my humble abode here on the top of the world. I do hope that your trip was a smooth one.”

“It was well worth the effort, just to see your face once more, Herr Koch,” returned Kromer as he stepped forward to take his host’s firm, warm handshake.

As the two embraced, they were joined by a fully grown, black German shepherd. The dog seemed jealous of the attention that his master was displaying toward this stranger, and did his best to get between them.

“Come now, Beowulf,” admonished Koch.

“I imagine that you too would like to meet my good friend, Charles Kromer.”

As the dog obediently sat, Kromer bent down to greet it.

“Hello, Beowulf” The German shepherd instantly offered its paw, which Kromer took in his hand and lightly shook.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you too, Beowulf,” mocked Kromer.

“How very unusual. He seems to genuinely like you,” observed Otto Koch.

“And don’t think that Beowulf offers his paw to just anyone. On the contrary. That dog’s been with me for over a decade, and I can count on one hand the number of strangers he’s taken to so readily.”

While playfully scratching the shepherd’s ears, Kromer replied.

“I once had a dog much like Beowulf, when I was a lad growing up in Munich.

I called him Fritz, and we were the best of friends.

What wonderful hikes in the woods we had together.”

“There’s nothing like a good German shepherd if you want a loyal companion,” said Koch.

“Old Beowulf first came to me as a pup, when I was living in Paraguay. He seemed to love the South American jungle, though this cold weather seems to suit him much better. The only trouble is that now he has no more jungle creatures to play with.”

“I don’t suppose that polar bears make very good playmates,” returned Kromer.

His host grinned.

“No they don’t, Captain. Now please have a seat. Perhaps you’ll be so good as to join me for some tea.”

Without waiting for a response, Koch clapped his hands two times and called out lightly, “Lottie, we’ll have our tea now.”

By the time the two were settled in their chairs, the serving girl appeared pushing a silver cart, which she positioned between them. The cart was filled with assorted pastries and finger sandwiches.

“I do hope that you had some of that delicious black forest ham left, Lottie,” anticipated Koch.

“There was just enough for two sandwiches, sir,” returned the servant politely.

“I also included several filled with smoked Arctic char, norwegian salmon, and of course, your favorite braunschweiger. The tea is jasmine, and there’s some peppermint schnapps on the lower shelf.”

“Wonderful, Lottie,” said Koch.

“It seems you’ve managed to once again make do in this frozen wilderness just as if you were back home in Stuttgart.

You’re a gem, my dear.”

The servant blushed with this unexpected compliment, and left after pouring their tea.

“If I was only a few years younger,” whispered Koch as he watched the shapely woman exit.

“But now it seems that the only thing which gives me real physical pleasure is my appetite. Now, I insist that you try some of that ham, and then you must take one of those pastries. They’re Sacher tortes, flown in all the way from Vienna.”

“You don’t have to twist my arm,” said Charles Kromer as he reached for a plate.

“I haven’t eaten since I was on the plane last night, and that was somewhere over northern Norway.”

He chose a ham sandwich and one filled with bright orange salmon and creamed cheese. Otto Koch also picked the ham, though his other selection was the braunschweiger, of which he took two.

One of these smoked liverwurst sandwiches he fed to Beowulf, while the other he kept for himself.

“My, this ham is delicious,” admitted Kromer between bites.

“I told you that you wouldn’t be disappointed,” reminded his host, who was working away on his braunschweiger.

As the two ate, the boat on which Charles Kromer had arrived could be seen leaving on the waters below. Otto Koch pointed to the sturdy craft and commented.

“Ah, there goes the Weser back to Longyearben.

I’m afraid that’s the last we’ll see of her until the spring thaw.”

“So I understand,” replied Kromer.

“The ice is already closing in, and it was a challenge just to round North Cape.”

Otto Koch took a sip of tea and caught his guest’s eye.

“We’re only expecting one more surface vessel before we close our dock for the season. This ship will be coming in from Tromso in another three days. After that, our only contact with the outside world will be by helicopter. Of course, we could always utilize the services of a vessel that could go under the ice.”

Charles Kromer took this as the hint it was meant to be and put down the tea cup that he had been drinking from.

“Herr Koch, please excuse me if I’m speaking out of line, but I was expecting to find much different facilities here. Has there been a change in plans of which I wasn’t informed, or perhaps the pen is located somewhere else?”

“Whatever makes you say that?” asked the old man, who flashed the same devilish expression that his ex-shipmate Hans Kurtz had displayed earlier.

“I don’t mean to keep you intentionally in the dark, Captain. The time will soon be right for me to reveal our entire operation. But until then, relax, enjoy the food, and know that even as we speak, our great dream is one step closer to its ultimate realization.”

“But where in the world is U-3313?” blurted Kromer passionately.

“After all, isn’t that why I’ve been called here?”

Otto Koch put down his plate and smiled.

“I admire your straightforwardness, Captain. It is a trait that many would do well to learn. But in this instance, I assure you that your concerns are totally unnecessary. U-3313 is closer to you than you would ever dream possible. I am proud to report that its refitting is proceeding right on schedule. The necessary parts and personnel have been arriving since summer, and by the time the final piece of the puzzle is conveyed here, your new command will be seaworthy.”

“Is this missing element the gold?” guessed Kromer.

Otto Koch shook his head.

“No it isn’t, Captain.

The gold you speak of is already safely stored within the U-boat’s hull.”

The look of relief that crossed Kromer’s face did not go unnoticed, and his host couldn’t help but gloat.

“Yes, Captain, the fabled treasure of the Czars is now ours. Its salvage by mini-sub from the hull of U-3312 went off with only a single hitch.

That occurred when one of our overly zealous divers apparently dropped one of the bars into the sunken U-boat’s pressure hull. But that’s of little concern, because the other 499 bars were successfully pulled from the wreck. At today’s market price, that’s the equivalent of over $62,500,000 American dollars!”

His wrinkled face flashed with excitement, and Koch added in a calmer tone.

“Fifty years ago, when I was but a young SS lieutenant, who was fortunate enough to be the one who stumbled upon this treasure, little did I ever dream what would become of it. Did I ever share with you the long chain of events that followed the gold’s capture?”

As Kromer shook his head that he hadn’t, Otto Koch sat back and reflectively commented, “Then do bear with me, Captain, and I will tell you a story whose author was destiny itself.”

Charles Kromer put down his teacup and settled into his chair. His host began the tale.

“The actual capture of the train carrying the gold, and the battle with the fanatical band of Soviet soldiers sent along to protect it has already been well documented. What has escaped the history books, though, is what happened to the treasure once it was in our hands. The SS unit, of which I was fortunate enough to be a member, was a unique squad of handpicked soldiers, whose sworn allegiance was not to the Fuhrer in Berlin, but to the very principles that created the Nazi movement.

You see, from the very beginning, there were many in the military hierarchy that had serious doubts that Adolf Hitler was the right man to lead Germany onward to the thousand year Reich. In the end we were proven right, but until that time came, we were forced to play the roles of traitors.

“When the gold came into our possession, it was decided to keep its presence a sworn secret, known only to those who participated in its capture. We therefore clandestinely transferred it to a holding cache outside the occupied Russian city of Tallinin.

The gold was to act as an emergency reserve that we could draw upon in the event that Hitler fell from power or was assassinated.

“You might say that we saw the writing on the wall as early as 1940, when our esteemed Fuhrer first began his lofty plans for the invasion of the Soviet Union, or Operation Barbarossa, as it was called. There were many of us in the military who knew that such an invasion had no chance to succeed and would only doom our cause. We lobbied for concentrating our forces against the real enemy, Britain and its lackey, the United States. Yet on June 22, 1941, when the first of our troops crossed into Soviet territory, Germany began the long, bloody road to its ultimate defeat “To insure that the Aryan Reich could outlive its flawed leader, we eventually moved the gold to Finland.

With the invaluable assistance of a squad of Gebirgsjager, the treasure was loaded onto a convoy made of mules and reindeer. The brave men of our Alpine elite fought off cold and hunger, to finally make it to Norway. This was our true Nordic fortress, where we patiently awaited the inevitable.

“Our only hope then was that the weapon that was to be known as the atomic bomb would be perfected by our scientists in time to influence the outcome of the war. Our famed atomic physicist Dr.

Bernard Kessler was the Reich’s foremost proponent of this super weapon Yet when Hitler and his twisted cronies continued cutting Kessler’s research budgets, the desperate scientist came to us in Norway.

We instantly gave him our support, yet the sinking of the ferry Hydro, and the loss of the entire existing stock of Norwegian heavy water, signalled the end of Kessler’s immediate dreams. In May of 1945, he was still with us in Bergen as we set sail for South America, to plan the Reich’s rebirth.

“At the same time that Grand Admiral Donitz ordered the U-boat fleet to unconditionally surrender in total shame, the two Type XXI U-boats that we had under our control set sail. U-3312 was packed with the gold and was sent off to follow us to South America. Meanwhile, U-3313 was sent in the opposite direction. Foreseeing Germany’s defeat, we prepared a secret sub pen here in Svalbard. It was in this ingeniously designed structure that U-3313 was subsequently hidden and mothballed, to await the call to arms once more” Halting a moment to catch his breath, Otto Koch reached down to scratch the top of his dog’s head.

His rapt listener remained spellbound, and the old-timer sat back to continue.

“The rest as you say is history. U-3312 hit an old World War I mine off the Norwegian island of Utsira, and sank with the subsequent loss of most of its crew and all of the gold. Because the sub sank to a depth that was at that time deemed un salvageable we decided to let it stay there. If we couldn’t touch it, no one else could either, and at a depth of 283 meters it was surely safer than a Swiss bank account.”

“One thing still puzzles me, Herr Koch,” interrupted his guest.

“Why have you waited until now to act? Surely you didn’t have to wait until this moment to recover the gold and put your plan into action.”

“You are correct, Captain. But the success of our dream depends on many different variables. We received our first hint that the time was upon us when the recent troubles in East Germany began.

As the old communist hard liners fell from power, a more moderate group of leaders took their place.

The wall that has divided East and West is no longer. Today’s young Germans realize the folly of their fathers’ selfish ways. Thus the fodder for the new, united Aryan nation already exists. All it needs is a spark to ignite it.”

“And just what will this spark be?” quizzed Kromer breathlessly.

Otto Koch’s eyes glistened as he answered.

“Though Dr. Kessler is long in his grave, before he died he was able to pass on the secrets of the A-bomb to a group of fellow physicists who accompanied us. These individuals have since trained a whole new generation of scientists, who have established a firm foothold in Argentina’s fledgling atomic energy program. Only recently have they been able to amass enough uranium fuel to make an actual atomic weapon possible. All that they lack is the moderator to control the reaction.

“Several weeks ago, in a totally unrelated incident, a group of Norwegian divers announced their plans to salvage the heavy water that had been on its way to Berlin in January 1944 to act as this very moderator. When I learned that this same heavy water could be used to actually complete our first atomic device, I realized that this was the sign that I had been waiting for.”

“But how are we ever going to be able to get our hands on such a precious substance?” questioned Kromer.

Otto Koch had tears of excitement in his eyes as he replied.

“What do you think is in the hold of that cargo ship I mentioned was due here within the next seventy-two hours? Don’t you see, Captain?

We’ve already got it!”

Shocked by this revelation, Kromer sat forward.

“Are you saying that the heavy water is on its way right now to Svalbard?”

“Yes, I am, Captain, and it will be stored alongside the 499 bars of gold, to be conveyed under your command to Argentina’s Rio de la Plata. Here it will be transferred onto a freighter, and sent up the Parana River, to our secret jungle compound where the bomb will be constructed. Then, with this weapon and a fortune in gold to finance us, the Reich shall be reborn, to cleanse a corrupt world that is destined to destroy itself.”

Charles Kromer shook his head in wonder.

“I had no idea that the organization was so far advanced.

Why this whole thing is incredible!”

“I knew you’d be thrilled,” admitted the old Nazi.

“During our past meetings, your enthusiasm never failed to impress me. So Captain, do you think that you made the right choice in taking an early retirement from the navy to join us at this critical time?”

“Of course I do!” shot back Kromer.

“This is the culmination of my every dream. Just to know that you are trusting me on this all-important mission makes my entire life to this point worth the effort.”

Otto Koch slyly chuckled.

“Don’t think that it was merely the hand of fate that led you to our cause during the early days of your naval training. I had been watching you for many years before that, Captain.

Of course you know of your parentage?”

Kromer hesitated a moment before responding.

“I was born in Westphalia on December 12, 1945. My mother’s family name was Hecht. Since I was conceived at a Lebensbome, my father could have been any number of SS officers who were sent there for the express purposes of propagation.”

Otto Koch listened to these words and fought back a sudden wave of emotion.

“You are the living proof that the so-called ‘fountains of life’ were among the noblest elements of Hitler’s Germany. It is because of the state-controlled breeding establishment in which you were conceived that pure Aryan blood flows through your veins. Knowing this, we watched you since youth, and were always there in the background to subtly point you on the right path when the time of choice was upon you. You can be proud to know that in your case, our interference was at a bare minimum. What you have already accomplished you have done alone. Of this fact you can be certain.”

There was a truth to these words that affected Kromer deeply. And at that moment, he felt closer to Otto Koch than he had to any other male in his entire lifetime. Not the type who cried easily, Kromer nevertheless felt tears beginning to sting his eyes as he expressed his deepest thoughts.

“It is an honor and a privilege to be a part of this organization. The principles that you stand for are exactly my own. I, too, have watched modern civilization progressively edge its way to the apocalypse, and unless we Aryans take our rightful places as supreme leaders, this planet is doomed to destruction, for we are the only force pure enough to counter the corrupt Jewish/ Catholic cabal currently leading this world to ruin. Their money-hungry greed must be stopped at all cost! We must also act at once to halt the deplorable mixing of the races.

The blood pools of black and white must be kept segregated. Otherwise the black race will drag us down to their animalistic level, and our future generations will be no better than the savages of the jungle.

“All my life I have awaited the day when the Reich would rise once again. I always knew deep in my heart that our time was destined to be. Germany has already failed two times in this century in its attempt to lead the world to salvation. Yet we have learned from our past mistakes, and this third effort will be the one to gain the ultimate crown of power. I thus pledge my life’s blood to this goal, and thank you once again for giving me this opportunity to serve my people.”

As Otto Koch absorbed these words, he found himself bursting with pride. Fighting an impulse to hug his guest, the old man reached instead for the crystal decanter that lay on the cart’s bottom shelf.

His hand shook slightly as he filled two small demitasse cups with schnapps. As he handed one of these to Kromer, he raised the other before him and toasted.

“To the Fatherland! And to the success of the Thousand Year Reich and the Aryan cause!”

His guest raised his cup and downed his drink in a single gulp. Otto Koch did likewise, and as the peppermint-flavored spirits burned his throat, he added, “Now Captain, how would you like to see the vessel that will allow our shared dreams to become a reality?”

Kromer’s eyes opened wide as he replied.

“I would like that more than anything in the world right now.”

“Then follow this old man,” said Koch as he stood stiffly.

Beowulf ran obediently to his side, and with the assistance of a hand-carved wooden walking stick, he began his way toward that portion of the room where the library was situated. Charles Kromer followed, and looked on as his host reached behind the carved coping of the bookcase set on the far right.

Here he depressed a switch that caused the entire case to slide to the side with a loud hiss. Kromer was surprised to find an elevator hidden in the wall.

“Well Captain, here we go,” said Koch, stepping inside the lift, along with his dog.

No sooner did Charles Kromer enter the elevator when its doors shut and they quickly began to drop. Almost a full minute passed before it halted its descent.

The doors opened, and Kromer followed his host out onto an elevated platform that was attached directly into a perpendicular wall of solid rock. He was amazed to find himself inside a cavernous, hollowed out mountain. He audibly gasped upon spotting the brightly-lit object laying at the floor of this immense cavern, for sitting there in dry-dock, on a base of sturdy wooden trestles, was a Type XXI U-boat, whose streamlined surface was completely painted a glistening golden color. Dozens of workers busily milled around its sleek hull, while the blindingly bright flames of a welder’s torch flashed from the vessel’s stern, where its twin propellers could just be seen.

“It’s absolutely magnificent!” exclaimed Kromer.

“But why, may I ask, has it been painted gold? I thought the Type XXI’s normal operational color was a dull silver.”

“Normally it is, Captain. But recently our scientists came up with a revolutionary sonar absorbent coating, that just happened to turn this color when it was applied. So it isn’t merely for the multimillion dollar treasure that’s locked within U-3313’s hull that the workers here call her “The Golden U-Boat.”

” “The Golden U-Boat,” repeated Kromer thoughtfully.

“I like that name. Can I board her?”

Otto Koch shrugged his shoulders.

“Who am I to tell this vessel’s captain what he can or can not do?

This submarine is under your command now, Captain Kromer. All that I ask is that she be ready for sea in seventy-two hours, when the rest of her vital cargo will be arriving. So by all means, go down and get to know her, my friend. Because it’s now on your capable shoulders that the success of this entire operation now rests.”