Jon Merz - Raider X

Thatcher nodded. “I owed him my life for fishing me out of the English Channel. If he hadn’t seen me, I would certainly have drowned.” Thatcher sighed. “I had no reason to see him killed.”

“How did you come to be in the Channel once more?”

Thatcher frowned. “I stole a plane. And I got shot down when a bunch of German bombers came across my path and their fighter escorts riddled my plane with bullets. I barely managed to get out of the plane.” He shuddered. “And the water was frightfully cold.”

Schwarzwalder said nothing but merely looked into his eyes. He stayed that way for a moment, almost as if daring Thatcher to look away. But he didn’t and finally the captain broke contact. “I suppose escaping from prison isn’t for everyone. Your story is quite remarkable.”

“I wish it had been anything but,” said Thatcher. “I could do with a good bit of downtime from anything exciting. When I found out the ship was headed to Lisbon, I was excited. It would be a chance for me to start life anew. I would have taken the time to re-establish myself.”

“Robbing the women of Lisbon?” Schwarzwalder smirked. “You might have ended up in prison sooner than you thought.”

“I was considering a new vocation,” said Thatcher. “You know, once I had the working capital necessary to fund it.”

“And what new job would you have taken on?”

“Wine maker,” said Thatcher.

“You know how to make wine?”

Thatcher shrugged again. “What’s to know? You grow grapes and then ferment them. I’m fairly industrious; I don’t think it would have been all that hard to make it work.”

“You are indeed industrious, I’ll give you that,” said Schwarzwalder. “After all, any man who can escape prison and steal a plane — let alone fly it — is a rather intriguing specimen if I do say so myself.”

“Why are you so interested in solving the murder of Adamson?” asked Thatcher. “I get the feeling he was more to you than just a simple acquaintance.”

“That’s true, he was.” Schwarzwalder stayed quiet for a moment. “Adamson was my wife’s cousin. Estranged from the family though ever since he moved to England some time ago.”

Thatcher leaned back. “I’m sorry for your loss then.”

“Thank you. I will have to convey this news to my wife, but it has been a long time since they even saw each other. I doubt it will be that troubling for her.”

“Why did Adamson move to England.”

Schwarzwalder looked at Thatcher. “Because he was a spy.”

“Adamson was a ship captain,” said Thatcher. “What in the world are you talking about him being a spy?”

“Adamson was asked to become a spy for Hitler’s regime in Berlin,” said Schwarzwalder. “Him being a captain was just the cover story that they created for him. He grew up in England after having been born in Germany, so his English was flawless and he spoke German as well. His name worked. The Abwehr were thrilled with him.”

“So he wasn’t really a captain?”

“Oh, he was most assuredly a captain,” said Schwarzwalder. “He was part of the Reichsmarine, which was subsequently renamed the Kriegsmarine, and graduated with full honors. That’s how he met Admiral Canaris.”

“Canaris,” said Thatcher. “I don’t know the name.”

“He’s the head of German intelligence. A former naval captain himself. They had a long relationship going back years. When Canaris was tasked with taking over the Abwehr, he made a dramatic push to get more agents into the field. Adamson was one of his first and most prolific. He was assigned to work the routes between England and Lisbon and Spain, passing messages to other Abwehr agents back in England from the Abwehr stations in those neutral countries. He’s been doing it for years.”

“Years.” Thatcher was relatively speechless by this revelation. Someone had killed Adamson for being a German spy? Was it possible? And did Hewitt know about this? There were far too many questions about Adamson to know what Hewitt had realized and what he had not. The biggest question still remained: who had killed him and why?

“You really don’t know about all of this, do you?” Schwarzwalder was looking at Thatcher earnestly and Thatcher tried to put a grin on his face but it came out more like a nod.

“I had no clue. But then again-“

“You’ve been in prison, yes, we were able to confirm that,” said Schwarzwalder. “A quick radio transmission back to Berlin was all it took to find that bit out. The rest of your story makes sense, although we couldn’t confirm the fact that you stole a plane. Not really surprising since I’m sure the Royal Air Force wouldn’t be keen on releasing such information.”

Thatcher grinned. “This is utterly bizarre. I was completely taken in by Adamson’s ruse. I feel like a damned fool.”

“Don’t be,” said Schwarzwalder. “He had everyone fooled. The fact that the English left him alone was a remarkable tribute to his station. Plus, the fact that he was somewhat older than one would expect from a field operative probably helped his cause. He didn’t do much of anything else except put to sea and pass messages when he returned.”

“I’m assuming the messages he passed weren’t time critical, given the length of a ship’s voyage.”

Schwarzwalder nodded. “Probably more bureaucratic than anything pressing. Those would be sent via radio. In any event, that’s why he was estranged from my family and why I never really knew him. I was at sea when he apparently made the decision to relocate to England and engage in espionage activities. It had been my hope for many years to come across him on the open waves and perhaps have a talk. Alas, such is not the case now.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” said Thatcher. His head was still reeling and he felt like he’d missed a step on the way down the staircase and was falling. He’d never really known Adamson, but the fact that he’d managed to get Hewitt on the radio seemed a bit odd given that he was a German spy for Berlin.

“Thank you,” said Schwarzwalder. “Now the question becomes who actually killed him? I don’t think it was you, Thatcher. Especially given your rather visible reaction to the news I just told you.”

Inwardly Thatcher made a mental note that he would have to learn how to control his facial expressions. But the fact that Adamson had been a German spy was such a surprise that Thatcher simply couldn’t help himself. It was non-damaging in this case because it convinced Schwarzwalder that he had nothing to do with the death, but who knew if it would help or incriminate him in later years? Provided he survived this crazy first jaunt, he thought.

“So what happens now?”

“I continue my investigation,” said Schwarzwalder. “I am intrigued by your traveling companion, Cyra. Berlin had no information on her anywhere in their files, which I find very interesting. Perhaps it just means that she goes by another name now. Or perhaps it means something else. She seems capable enough, but I wonder if it was her or perhaps someone else aboard the ship she was helping.”

Thatcher frowned and Schwarzwalder caught it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not to be indelicate, but you should know that we spent a portion of the night together before Adamson was killed.”

Schwarzwalder’s eyebrows raised. “You say a portion?”

Thatcher sighed. “We had dinner, drank too much wine, and returned to my cabin. We made love and then I promptly fell asleep. Where she went while I was blacked out, I do not know. But she was not with me in the morning and it was then that Adamson’s body was discovered in his quarters when he failed to report for his usual shift.”