Dark Full of Enemies(35)

“We’re still moving?” McKay said.

“Shh,” J?rgen said. He had not turned away from the window. “Slowly, yes.”

“What—”

“Shh. Josef is in control.” And then, to McKay’s surprise, “Pray.”

McKay did.

The E-boat gurgled and reversed, moving slowly backward beside the Norwegians. The men on the spotlight swept the decks again and shut it off. Without it, the dark thickened.

The officer stood at the gunwale again, and Petersen had crossed to the starboard side of the Hardr?de boat to speak with him. McKay ducked to the wheelhouse door and inched it open.

“We must coax it along constantly,” Petersen was saying, in German, “give it at least a knot or two always, or it will die and not crank back up.”

“Fine,” the officer said. He stood in an opening in the gunwale and looked down at the gap between the two boats. Three or four sailors stood behind him, waiting. McKay drew his Browning.

“I hope to replace most of the parts in spring.”

“Fine.”

“If the Kriegsmarine ever cares to sell such a fine fast boat to a fisherman, do please post me a letter!”

“All right, good, you have explained why you did not stop when we hailed. That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Herr Lieutenant. And how are you this evening?”

“Fine, yes, thank you. I still need to inspect your boat. Can you make no slower speed?”

Petersen shrugged. J?rgen, in the wheelhouse, muttered, “I have something he can inspect.”

McKay would laugh later.

“What are you doing out? This is not the best season for fishing, no?”

“Out deeper, maybe. My cousin in Lofoten is sick. It is easiest to visit by boat—he has a dock on the leeward side of Vestv?gs?ya, on the fjord.”

“I see. You are Petersen, correct?”

“Correct. We did do a little fishing while we were out. I do not drag my crew and my brother—” he gestured at the wheelhouse, and McKay tensed, “—out of their houses just for a trip to see a sick cousin.”

“I see.”

“Care to come aboard?”

McKay felt sick and gripped the Browning tighter, but the German ignored this invitation.

“You return to Narvik?”

“To Grettisstad, yes—home.”

“Good enough.” The officer seemed more and more bored. “Stand by to be searched. I will have our pilot bring our boat against yours.”

“Too dangerous, Herr Lieutenant!” Petersen shouted, and waved at J?rgen, who wheeled a degree or so to port and widened the gap between the boats to ten feet.

The German had stood on the verge of leaping down to the Hardr?de’s deck but caught himself. He swore and shouted, and another German—probably a petty officer—joined in. Petersen apologized and gestured but J?rgen held steady ten feet away from them. The Lieutenant was still frothing.

“Verdammter Schei?kerl—Come alongside!”

This had been meant for the E-boat’s pilot. The boat’s engine revved and the hull, still cruising slowly backward, angled and slid closer.

“Please, Herr Lieutenant, my hull will be ruined!” He waved at J?rgen again, and the two boats now angled through the water parallel to one another.

“Stand by to be boarded!” the German shouted.

They would search the deck and the cabin first, McKay thought, and so immediately find the three strangers. Their most damning gear lay hidden in the hold, but it would still be obvious to the German. McKay swallowed and thumbed off the Browning’s safety. His whole body rigidified, coiled. If it came to a fight, he would cross to the other side of the wheelhouse, climb down in its cover, and open fire.

Behind him, J?rgen: “Pray.”

This did something that no Japanese or German had been able to in the moment before attack—it distracted McKay. He looked back at J?rgen, who still stared through the wheelhouse window.

“What?”

J?rgen said nothing.

The German lieutenant had stopped shouting. McKay turned back to the slit in the door and watched and listened. Another sailor aboard the E-boat spoke softly to the officer, who, McKay could see even in the poor light, had turned red and drawn his pistol. The officer and the other sailor spoke for a while, and then the petty officer said something. Petersen stood on deck, waiting.

The hushed talk ended, and the officer turned, placed both hands on the gunwale, and leaned over toward Petersen. As he spoke, he holstered his pistol, and McKay waited, prayed.

“Report immediately to Narvik for a search of your vessel. We will radio ahead. If you do not report to the harbor office in the morning, Petersen, we will find you. Understand?”

“Of course,” Petersen said, and actually placed his hand over his heart and bowed.

“And get that shitty motor of yours repaired. All right.”

He gestured to the low cabin of the E-boat and the engine rumbled, roared, dug into the sea at the stern and lifted the prow above the water and carried them back off into the darkness and left nothing but a bright wake slapping and splashing against the fishing boat’s hull behind them.

Petersen looked up at the wheelhouse from the deck and twirled a finger. J?rgen brought the engine back up to its habitual ten-knot tonk-tonk-tonk, and McKay’s entire body went slack. He raised himself, leaned a shoulder against the bulkhead and safed his pistol. He breathed. The door crashed open and McKay grabbed for the pistol again, but stopped when he saw Petersen.