Spook's Gold (18 page)

After the plain exterior of the building it was a shock to find Breunig’s office furnished with fine carpets, plush and expensively carved and crafted furniture that would seem more in keeping with a fine French chateau. This was probably where it had been plundered from. Breunig saw Marner’s appreciative look and explained that he had simply inherited the office, complete with its décor and trimmings, from his predecessor.

Marner had noted that the entire personnel here in the port were Kriegsmarine, including the security guards that they encountered so far. For this reason, he was hesitant to tell Breunig the entire story, in particular that it implicated Kriegsmarine officers in theft and murder. Instead he opted for a carefully edited version of the truth. Accepting a fine china cup of coffee he explained, “I have been assigned by Konteradmiral Hoffmann at OKM in Paris to investigate the murder of a senior Kriegsmarine officer there, Captain Markus Schull. Did you know him?  No?  Well, I need to speak urgently to one of Hoffman’s personnel, Captain Graf from OKM, who is down here visiting this facility at this very moment.”

Breunig smiled. “Of course, you will have our full cooperation in this terrible matter. I can send someone to summon this Captain Graf for you. Do you know who he is visiting here on the base?”

“No, no I don’t. I only know that he is here to meet one of the submarines that he manages, the U-180 or the U-195”.

“Ah,” nodded Breunig knowingly. “The spooks.” He picked up the telephone and requested that someone check if either of the two was in the port at the moment. No sooner had he hung up than the phone rang again; he listened for a moment, nodded and replaced the receiver once more. “The U-195 is due to arrive imminently. She rendezvoused with her escort of minesweepers near Royan this morning.”

“Royan?”

“Yes, the port at the mouth of the Gironde estuary. The 2
^nd
and 8
^th
flotillas are stationed there and they perform minesweeping duties around the entrance to and along the Gironde. So perhaps you would care to take lunch with me, which will give the U-195 time to arrive and tie up. We can then go and meet her; it seems inevitable that your Captain Graf will find his way there too.”

Marner put his cup down and leaned forward. “I really need to find Graf immediately. It may be a matter of life and death.”

Breunig frowned.  “This is a heavily armed military installation, Herr Lieutenant. I hardly think that Captain Graf is any danger.”

Marner pressed, “I really would like to tell you more, but Schull’s mission in Paris, the reason for his murder, in fact the whole subject is strictly need-to-know. And I really must request,” he deviated at the last moment from using the word ‘insist’, since he could sense from Breunig’s expression that the man was becoming sceptical and suspicious, “that we go and locate Captain Graf immediately.”

Here Marner did not pause or hesitate; he reached and picked up the telephone receiver, offered it to Breunig and invited him to speak to Hoffman if he had any doubts about the urgency. He had misgivings that this ploy would work again and so when Breunig stood up abruptly, Marner feared for a moment that they were going to be ejected from the office. Breunig had other ideas. “Very well Herr Lieutenant, let us go together and find your mysterious Captain Graf.”

Marner smiled, turned to Lemele, “Why don’t you stay...” But she was already on her feet.

“I’ll come with you,” she interjected, striding across the room to be first at the door, leaving Marner with no opportunity to argue further. He smiled again smoothly at Breunig. “Inspector Lemele will accompany us.”

----

On their way out of the building Breunig was silent except to jab a finger at one of the guards at the entrance, “You! Come with us.”

As they strode away from the administration building, Marner saw the black Daimler from the airfield parked around a corner. So their fellow passengers from the plane also had business here at Kriegsmarine. He was about to ask Breunig if he knew anything about the car and its passengers when Breunig noticed that Marner had the StG44 with him. “Do you really need that thing here?”

“Force of habit,” smiled Marner yet again, realising that he must seem like some grinning, hapless idiot. “I just feel naked without it.” Although from the way that it was banging around as he hurried to keep up with the brisk pace of Breunig, not knowing whether to just trap it against his hip with his forearm or to hold it in his hands, it was obvious that he would have been more at ease carrying a live snake.

In an effort to make conversation, Marner mentioned that they had arrived on a minesweeper plane. “Hah!” scoffed Breunig. “Those technical geniuses put their effort into gadgets like that, but they do not understand the practicalities. The theory is all well and good; they can certainly cover a much larger area of water in a day than a boat. The problem is that the damned things can only go up on the few occasions when their airfields are operational and when the weather is suitable. Then, at the slightest glimpse of an enemy plane, they run back home again!” he finished scornfully.

They emerged from between two large buildings onto the edge of the inner dock basin, directly opposite the pen hangar. The dozen gaping maws of the individual slots for the submarines were entirely black against the light grey concrete of the hangar structure and the dancing oily water reflecting the midday sun. Numerous surface vessels were tied around the edges of the dock, a random mix of small and medium sized boats with heavy machine guns and even a few with deck-mounted cannons. Breunig turned and headed off along the right edge of the dock. “We shall go and see if the U-195 is in the outer basin yet.”

The intermediate lock between the two basins turned out not to be a true functional water barrier, merely a narrow link channel through which vessels had to pass. From here they could look across the outer basin, which was nearly two thousand metres long and a thousand wide, to the true lock that was the outlet into the Gironde. Around the lock gates Marner could see that construction was under way of a large concrete bunker, with 88mm flak and other heavy calibre guns already in place. “Some of those aren’t anti-aircraft guns. Are you really expecting a ship-based attack from the river estuary?”

“Oh yes,” Breunig assured them. “The enemy proved two years ago at St. Nazaire that this is a potential weak spot of our installations. They rammed the lock gate there with a ship packed with explosives, the HMS Campbeltown I think it was. An incredible explosion and massive destruction. The dry dock there is still not repaired. Killed hundreds of people, local French residents mainly, utterly irresponsible if you ask me. But my point is that they demonstrated that this is a flaw in our facilities. The only way in and out for our vessels is via the lock. If it is out of action, then so are all of our craft inside the facility, and of course we cannot service those returning from missions either.”

There was no submarine in the outer basin or anything coming through the lock. Marner asked Breunig for a suggestion on where they might look for Graf. “If he has only recently arrived from Paris, then he will probably be gossiping with the other submarine crews in the officer’s mess. It is out behind the pen hangar in the service yards.”

Breunig led them across the foot bridge over the channel and towards the east end of the pen hangar. Above them towered dockside cranes, grey paint streaked with orange rust. The dockside also bristled with anti-aircraft gun emplacements packed into concrete bunkers and sandbag revetments.

“Do you get many aircraft attacks?” asked Lemele, who had been silently following them, picking her way across the uneven concrete and patches of oily slime.

“Oh, enough to keep us on our toes. The enemy is very well informed; they have far too much luck in catching our submarines traversing the basins and locks for it to be mere random chance.”

“I saw some bomb damage on the pen roof when we flew over earlier,” added Marner.

“Purely cosmetic,” assured Breunig. “Construction of this base was started later than the others further north and so we have integrated much of what we learned from them. The roof is of the Fangrost design; it has a lattice work of thick concrete beams that create a void between the inner roof and those outer beams. This dissipates the destructive energy of any bombs exploding on the outer shell. It is fully seven metres thick and we have taken direct hits from the largest and latest ‘Tallboy’ bombs that they can drop on us without any major damage to the inside of the pens or the submarines,” he boasted.

Breunig stopped and pointed at the basin. “Actually those big bombs are more dangerous if they hit the water. They have such a large explosive charge that they can kick up a mini tidal wave that would swamp the pens. That is why we had to install protective sluice doors on each of the pen docks.” Pointing up at the roof, Breunig indicated the gun emplacements on the corners. “Some of those are flak guns, to harass the high altitude bombers that drop the big ones but, as I said, we are extremely well hardened against those. In fact the main danger is from the smaller, low-flying attack planes trying to drop torpedoes into the basins, aimed at the pens or the lock gate.”

Lemele and Marner both reflexively scanned the sky behind them, the Typhoon attack on the train just the previous day still fresh in their minds.

Breunig stepped on towards the entrance to the pen hangar. As they approached to within thirty metres, Marner was still scanning the skies and, as his gaze panned back down to take in the looming entrance, he was shocked to see Graf step out if it at that exact moment. The man was walking directly towards them, strolling casually, chatting with an officer in oily overalls and a Captain’s hat. Graf stopped immediately he saw Marner, who had also come to a standstill. Graf’s face registered confusion, then suspicion. Breunig and Lemele had walked on a few paces and then they too stopped and looked back at Marner, realising that he was now tense and alert, swivelling their heads to see what had caused his alarm. Breunig started to ask Lemele, “Is that Captain Gr...” but he never finished it.

Marner had been caught flat-footed and undecided on how to approach Graf; should he explain that he had come to Bordeaux to find Graf simply to obtain more information, or perhaps make a more confrontational approach, even accusatory?

Graf quickly applied his own interpretation of Marner’s hesitation and silent stare, but in particular the way Marner had subconsciously shifted his hands to take hold of the grip and magazine of the StG44. He dropped his hand down to his hip holster, drew and levelled the Luger in one smooth motion and snatched off a shot at them. They all instinctively ducked, Breunig fully throwing himself flat to the ground, shrieking in terror. Marner heard the bullet whine past close to his head and heard a strange sound from behind him. He turned his head and saw their guard sprawl backwards clutching his neck, a gout of crimson blood seeming to float suspended and weightless in the air for several moments, before gravity claimed it and slapped it onto the dusty concrete.

Caught in shock for a moment, Marner was brought back to reality by the sound of the soldier’s boots spasmodically kicking and thumping against the ground, a viscous gurgling and bubbling as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. Marner swivelled back towards Graf, expecting to find him readying to fire further shots but Graf was frozen too, shocked by the consequences of his action. The sailor who had been walking with Graf was backing away, hands held up in defence, horrified by this sudden explosion of violence on this beautiful summer afternoon.

Marner lunged up to crouch on one knee, brought the StG44 up to bear and clicked off the safety. He squeezed the trigger, aiming at the ground a few metres in front of Graf, intending to frighten him into surrender. The first two rounds spat stone chips up in Graf’s face as intended, but he had already forgotten Boris’s lesson of just a few hours ago. The recoil caused the bucking machine gun to arc upwards and to the left entirely of its own accord and the following rounds in the volley flew up and away, the last one caroming off the superstructure of the ship in the dock beside Graf. The two sailors who had been alerted by the sound of Graf’s shot and had come to lean over the bridge of the ship both dived instinctively as Marner’s wild burst ricocheted past, one of them springing back up instantly to shake his fist and bellow with anger at Marner.

Graf took the opportunity to turn and sprint back into the hangar entrance. Marner brought the gun back to bear and tensed to fire, but moments too late; Graf had melted into the inky black shadows and he reluctantly eased off the trigger, not knowing what or who else he might hit if he fired blindly into the void. He leapt to his feet and gave pursuit. Breunig was still writhing on the floor, trying to be as flat and small as possible, mouth flapping to suck air like a stranded fish tossed onto the quayside. Lemele was rising in the direction of the wounded soldier; Marner was satisfied that at least someone was going to the poor wretch’s aid, also that Lemele was not going to try to follow him in pursuit of Graf.

Marner remembered the old trick of slitting his eyes down before he reached the entrance so that they would be better adjusted to the gloom as he passed inside. There was no submarine in this first pen, nothing but a long rectangular expanse of lapping black water that could accommodate two submarines side-by-side. The quayside was narrow, barely three metres wide and extended away a hundred and fifty metres to the far end of the pen. Marner gave thanks for the excellent illumination provided by the arc lighting strung along the roof and side walls. He was alarmed to see that Graf had reached the end of the quay and was rounding the turn at the corner at a fast run. In a few moments Graf would reach the door in the middle of the back wall and pass outside the far end of the hangar, into what Marner recalled from his aerial view of the docks to be a maze of service buildings beyond. Raising the StG44 up to his shoulder, he fired off a single round this time, hitting the wall just inside the door, which succeeded in stopping Graf in his tracks. Yet another at the same spot had the intended effect: Graf turned back and took refuge behind some large crates on the corner of the quayside. For the moment Marner had him trapped there, although Graf was only metres from those doors should he get desperate and decide to make a dash. There were a couple of technicians on the opposite side of the pen who had taken refuge behind a mini-crane at the sound of the gunshots, but otherwise they were alone in the pen.