The Unlikely Spy(164)

Lockwood nodded.

Vicary removed his hand and said, "Tell me about the boat they stole."

"The Camilla, a fishing vessel. The boat's in bad shape. I wouldn't want to be aboard the Camilla heading out in a blow like this."

"One other question. Does the Camilla have a radio?"

"No, not that I know of."

Vicary thought, Thank God. He said, "Thank you for your help."

Vicary rang off. Lockwood was standing before the map. "Well, the good news is we know exactly where they are now. They have to slip through the mouth of the Humber before they can reach open water. That's only about a mile from the quay. There's no way we can stop them from doing that. But get those Royal Navy corvettes into position off Spurn Head, and they'll never make it through. That fishing boat they're in will be no match for them."

"I'd feel better if we had our own boat in the water."

"Actually, that can be arranged."

"Really?"

"The Lincolnshire County Constabulary keeps a small police boat on the river--the Rebecca. She's in Grimsby now. She's not built for the open sea, but she'll do in a pinch. She's also quite a bit faster than that old fishing boat. If we get under way immediately, we should be able to overtake them before too long."

"Does the Rebecca have a radio?"

"Aye. We'll be able to talk to you right here."

"How about weapons?"

"I can pick up a couple of old rifles from the lockup in the Grimsby police station. They'll do the trick."

"Now all you need is a crew. Take my men with you. I'll stay here so I can remain in contact with London. The last thing you need is me on board a boat in weather like this."

Lockwood managed a smile, clapped Vicary on the back, and went out. Clive Roach, Harry Dalton, and Peter Jordan followed him. Vicary picked up the telephone to break the news to Boothby in London.





Neumann stayed between the channel markers as the Camilla sliced through the choppy waters of the mouth of the Humber. She was about forty feet, broad in the beam and desperately in need of paint. There was a small cabin aft, where Neumann had left Jenny. Catherine stood next to him in the wheelhouse. The sky was beginning to lighten slightly in the east. Rain drummed against the window. Off the port side he could see waves breaking over Spurn Head. Spurn Light was blacked out. A compass was set in the dash next to the wheel. Neumann put the boat on a heading due east, opened the throttle full, and headed out to sea.





60


THE NORTH SEA, OFF SPURN HEAD





U-509 hovered just below the surface. It was five thirty a.m. Kapitanleutnant Max Hoffman stood in the control room, peering though the periscope, drinking coffee. His eyes hurt from spending the entire night staring at the black seas. His head ached. He badly needed a few hours of sleep.

His first officer came to the bridge. "The window closes in thirty minutes, Herr Kaleu."

"I am aware of the time, Number One."

"We have had no further communication from the Abwehr agents, Herr Kaleu. I think we must consider the possibility that they have been captured or killed."

"I have considered that possibility, Number One."

"It will be light soon, Herr Kaleu."

"Yes. It is a phenomenon that takes place at this time every day. Even in Britain, Number One."

"My point is that it will not be safe for us to remain so close to the English coast for much longer. The depth here is not great enough for us to escape the British wabos, " the first officer said, using the slang common among German submariners for depth charges.

"I am perfectly aware of the dangers involved in the situation, Number One. But we are going to remain here at the rendezvous point until the window is closed. And then, if I believe it is still safe, we will stay a little longer."

"But, Herr Kaleu--"

"They have sent us a proper radio signal alerting us that they are coming. We must assume they are traveling in a stolen vessel, probably barely seaworthy, and we must also assume they are exhausted or even hurt. We will stay here until they arrive or I am convinced beyond doubt that they are not coming. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Herr Kaleu."

The first officer walked away. Hoffman thought, What a pain in the ass.





The Rebecca was about thirty feet in length with a shallow draft, an inboard motor, and a small open wheelhouse amidships barely big enough for two men to stand shoulder to shoulder. Lockwood had telephoned ahead, and the Rebecca's engine was idling by the time they arrived.

The four men clambered on board: Lockwood, Harry, Jordan, and Roach. A dock boy untied the last line, and Lockwood guided the craft into the Channel.

He opened the throttle full. The engine note rose; the slender prow lifted out of the water and sliced through the wind-driven chop. Night was draining from the eastern sky. The silhouette of Spurn Light was visible off the port side. The sea was empty before them.

Harry leaned down, snatched the handset of the radio, and raised Vicary in Grimsby to bring him up-to-date.





Five miles due east of the Rebecca, corvette Number 745 was maneuvering on a tedious crisscross pattern through rough seas. The captain and the first officer stood on the bridge, glasses raised to their eyes, peering into the curtain of rain. It was useless. Along with the dark and the rain, a fog had rolled in and reduced visibility even further. In conditions like these they could pass within a hundred yards of a U-boat and never see it. The captain moved to the chart table, where the navigator was plotting the next course change. On the captain's order, the corvette made a ninety-degree starboard turn and pushed farther out to sea. Then he instructed the radio operator to inform the Submarine Tracking Room of their new heading.