Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

"Something like that."

"What happened to Sean and my father?"

"We were using the radio in Sean's barn when your father burst in on us. Sean tried to stop him and your father killed him. Catherine and I killed your father. I'm sorry, Jenny. It all happened very fast."

"Shut up! I don't want you to tell me you're sorry!"

Neumann said nothing.

Jenny said, "What happens now?"

"We're going on a trip up the coast to the River Humber. From there we take a small boat out to sea to meet a U-boat."

"I hope they catch you. And I hope they kill you."

"I'd say that's a very distinct possibility."

"You're a bastard! Why did you get in that fight with my father over me?"

"Because I like you very much, Jenny Colville. I've lied to you about everything else, but that's the truth. Now just do exactly as I tell you and nothing bad will happen to you. Do you understand me?"

Jenny nodded her head. Neumann turned into the Doghertys' cottage. The door opened and Catherine came outside. She walked to the van and looked inside at Jenny. Then she looked at Neumann and said in German, "Tie her up and put her in the back. We're going to take her with us. You never know when a hostage might come in handy."

Neumann shook his head, and replied in the same language. "Just leave her here. She's no use to us, and she might get hurt."

"Are you forgetting I outrank you, Lieutenant?"

"No, Major," Neumann said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Good. Now tie her up and let's get the hell out of this godforsaken place."

Neumann walked back to the barn to find a length of rope. He found some, picked up the lamp, and started out. He took one last look at Sean Dogherty's body, lying on the ground, covered by the old sacking. Neumann couldn't help but feel responsible for the chain of events that led to Sean's death. If he hadn't fought with Martin, Martin wouldn't have come to the barn with a shotgun tonight. Sean would be going with them to Germany, not lying on the floor of his barn with half his chest blown away. He doused the lamp, leaving the bodies in darkness, and went out, closing the door behind him.

Jenny did not resist, nor did she speak a single word to him. Neumann bound her hands in front of her so she could sit more comfortably. He checked to make sure the knot was not too tight. Then he bound her feet. When he finished he carried her to the rear of the van, opened the doors, and lifted her inside.

He added another jerry can of petrol to the tank and tossed the empty container into the meadow.

There was no sign of life on the track between the cottage and the village. Obviously the gunshots had gone unnoticed in Hampton Sands. They crossed the bridge, swept past the spire of St. John's, and drove along the darkened street. The place was so quiet it might have been evacuated.

Catherine sat next to him, silent, reloading her Mauser.

Neumann opened the throttle, and Hampton Sands disappeared behind them.

Arthur Braithwaite's gaze settled on the plotting table while he waited for the file on U-509. Not that Braithwaite had much need for it-he thought he knew everything there was to know about the submarine's commanding officer and could probably recite every patrol the boat had ever made. He just wanted a couple of things confirmed before he telephoned MI5.

U-509 's movements had been puzzling him for weeks. The boat seemed to be on an aimless patrol of the North Sea, sailing nowhere in particular, going for long periods of time without contacting BdU. When it did check in it reported a position off the British coastline near Spurn Head. It had also been spotted in aerial photographs at a U-boat pen in southern Norway. No surface sightings, no attacks on Allied warships or merchantmen.

Braithwaite thought, You're just lurking around out there up to nothing at all. Well, I don't believe it, Kapitanleutnant Hoffman.

He looked up at the dour face of Donitz and murmured, "Why would you let a perfectly good boat and crew go to waste like that?"

The aide returned with the file a moment later. "Here we are, sir."

Braithwaite didn't take the file; instead, he began to recite the contents.

"Captain's name is Max Hoffman, if I remember correctly."

"Right, sir."

"Knight's Cross in 1942. Oak Leaves a year later."

"Pinned on by the Fuhrer himself."

"Now, here's the important part. I believe he served on Canaris's staff at the Abwehr for a brief period before the war."

The aide thumbed through the file. "Yes, here it is, sir. Hoffman was assigned to Abwehr headquarters in Berlin from 'thirty-eight to 'thirty-nine. When war broke out he was given command of U-509 ."

Braithwaite was staring at the map table again. "Patrick, if you had an important German spy who needed a lift out of Britain, wouldn't you prefer to have an old friend do the driving?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Ring Vicary at MI-Five. I think we'd better have a chat."

Alfred Vicary was standing before an eight-foot-high map of the British Isles, chain smoking, drinking wretched tea, and thinking, Now I know how Adolf Hitler must feel. Based on the telephone call from Commander Lowe at the Y Service station in Scarborough, it was now safe to assume the spies were trying to slip out of England aboard a U-boat. But Vicary had one very simple yet very serious problem. He had only a vague idea of when and an even vaguer idea of where.

He assumed the spies had to meet the submarine before dawn; it would be too dangerous for a U-boat to remain on the surface near the coast after first light. It was possible the U-boat might put a landing party ashore in a rubber dinghy-that's how the Abwehr inserted many of its spies into Britain-but Vicary doubted they would attempt to do so in heavy seas. Stealing a boat was not as easy as it sounded. The Royal Navy had seized almost everything that could float. Fishing in the North Sea had dwindled because coastal waters were heavily mined. A pair of spies on the run would have a difficult time finding a seaworthy craft on short notice in a storm in the blackout.

He thought, Perhaps the spies already have a boat.

The more vexing question was where. From what point along the coastline would they put to sea? Vicary stared at the map. The Y Service could not pinpoint the exact location of the transmitter. Vicary, for argument's sake, would choose the precise center of the large area they had given him. He traced his finger along the map until he came to the Norfolk coast.

Yes, it made perfect sense. Vicary knew his railway timetables. A spy could hide in one of the villages along the coast and still be in London in three hours' time because of the direct train service from Hunstanton.

Vicary assumed they had a good vehicle and plenty of petrol. They had already traveled a substantial distance from London and, because of the heavy police presence on the railways, he was virtually certain they had not done it by train.

So how far from the Norfolk coast could they possibly travel before getting into a boat and heading out to sea?

The U-boat would probably come no closer to shore than about five miles. It would take the spies at least an hour to sail five miles out to sea. If the U-boat submerged at first light, the spies would have to set sail no later than about six a.m. to be on the safe side. The radio message was sent at ten p.m. That left them eight hours of potential driving time. How far could they travel? Given the weather, the blackout, and the poor road conditions, one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles.

Vicary looked at the map, dejected. That still left a huge swath of the British coast, stretching from the Thames Estuary in the south to the River Humber in the north. It would be nearly impossible to cover it all. The coastline was dotted with small ports, fishing villages, and quays. Vicary had asked the local police forces to cover the coast with as many men as they could. RAF Coastal Command had agreed to fly search missions at first light, even though Vicary feared that was too late. Royal Navy corvettes were watching for small craft, even though it would be nearly impossible to spot them on a rainy moonless night at sea. Without another lead-a second intercepted radio signal or a sighting-there was little hope of catching them.