Jon Merz - Raider X

Thatcher shook his head. No, there was too much in this that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. And he hoped that Cyra could at least shed some light on a few things. Perhaps the most important was whether she killed Adamson or not. If she had, then Thatcher could at least work from there. If he could figure out her motivation then that would help.At least he hoped so.

His head hurt from the niggling questions that the conversation with Schwarzwalder had produced. He found it intriguing that the German High Command had actually sent him on a mission to rendezvous with the Archimedes solely for the purposes of helping Adamson look better in the eyes of anyone in Britain who might suspect him of espionage. That seemed like a bit of a stretch to Thatcher. He could understand wanting to help reinforce a cover story, but at the cost of sinking the man’s ship? Thatcher wasn’t so sure he bought that excuse.

He wondered instead if the Archimedes had been carrying something else. Perhaps something that the Germans knew about and wanted sent to the bottom of the ocean instead of reaching its destination.

Or maybe Schwarzwalder had needed to convey some sort of top secret message to Adamson, hence the need for a rendezvous that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Once they had taken the Archimedes, it was reasonable that Schwarzwalder would want to speak with the rival captain. Doing so wouldn’t have elicited any suspicion on the part of the other crew members of the Archimedes. Schwarzwalder could communicate the message and then Adamson and crew would have been dropped off at a neutral port or ship free to continue his mission. Whatever that was.

That at least seemed more likely to Thatcher than Schwarzwalder’s initial explanation. But even that wasn’t as ironclad as Thatcher’s brain wanted it to be. He still felt like he was missing out on several key components of the story. That lack of which poked at his head until it started to hurt and he found himself wishing he could have more of the schnapps that Schwarzwalder kept.The temptation to consume it all would have been too great for Thatcher to get much accomplished afterward, however. No, he needed his head clear right now because it was the only way he was going to have any hope of figuring this all out.

Adamson was a spy; now he was dead. Schwarzwalder captained a brand new commerce raider and had been ordered to rendezvous with the Archimedes for some unknown reason; and Cyra was the variable in all of this: she was either a hapless bystander or the killer which meant she was either working for the Brits or the Germans.

Thatcher stopped. What if she was a German operative? He hadn’t much considered the possibility before, but why not? She was clearly well-traveled and educated and spoke numerous languages. She would have been a compelling candidate for espionage. Plus, she was beautiful. Thatcher frowned as the thought percolated in his head. If Cyra was an agent of the Germans, then what reason would she have for killing Adamson?

Unless Adamson wasn’t working for the Germans after all.

Had he been turned? Had the Brits gotten to him? Was he working for SIS or SOE now? That would explain why Schwarzwalder had been sent to rendezvous with the Archimedes. Perhaps to take custody of Adamson and bring him back to Berlin for questioning. The Gestapo would probably like nothing better than to get their hands on a traitor like that.

But if that was true then why was Cyra sent to kill him? Had two branches of the German military not communicated with each other? Schwarzwalder, after all, was a regular German sailor. Adamson had been with the Abwehr. Perhaps those in charge of the Abwehr had wanted to take care of the traitor on their own and dispatched an assassin to do the job for them rather than risk Adamson getting wind and fleeing. If he had been working for the British they would have secreted him away if they thought he was in danger.

This way though, the Germans had a fail-safe method for accomplishing the same thing: killing Adamson.

Thatcher’s brow creased as he tried to figure out if that made more sense or not. The world of espionage, such as he been thrown into it, certainly seemed like a lot of weird mirrors that didn’t reflect back the actual truth. It was like being in some funhouse that was really anything but.

There was one way to find out if he was on the right track or not, and that was to talk to Cyra.

He walked over to his cabin door and knocked on it. It opened up immediately and Thatcher looked at the same guard who had been with him all along. “Please take me to Cyra’s cabin.”

“This way,” said the guard.

Thatcher noted there was a guard outside of Cyra’s door as well.

“Captain’s orders to let this one see the woman,” said Thatcher’s guard in German. Thatcher was relieved that his understanding of the language was making a speedy comeback. It had been years since he’d had the chance to speak it with any degree of regularity. But just being aboard Riader X was giving him ample opportunity to hear it and restart that portion of his brain that stored his previous knowledge.

Cyra’s guard nodded and then asked if Thatcher’s guard had eaten yet. Thatcher’s guard grunted that he’d been standing outside the cabin since earlier in the day.

Cyra’s guard looked Thatcher over and then knocked on Cyra’s cabin before opening the door. As soon as Thatcher stepped inside, the two guards continued conversing outside.

The cabin was dimly-lit and Thatcher stood there for a moment trying to figure out why. “Cyra? It’s Harrison.”

“Harrison? Is that you?”

There was a curtain over the porthole although drawing it back wouldn’t have let in much light since it was already nightfall. But even still, the interior of the cabin made Thatcher want to do so, so he crossed toward it and as he did, he saw Cyra laying in the cabin’s bunk with the blankets drawn up around her face.

He stopped. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not… feeling very well,” said Cyra.

Thatcher sat down on the bunk mattress and peered closer. “Can I turn on a light to look at you? I can barely see a thing in here.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

Thatcher rose and found the light switch. The cabin instantly became brighter and much cheerier than it had been otherwise. This cabin was much the same as Thatcher’s and he wondered if they housed any of the sailors or not. There was nothing within either his or Cyra’s that spoke to personalization. No family photos, nothing of personality, just two bare bones cabins. Perhaps they were used expressly for the purpose of housing any prisoners that Raider X took in the course of its missions?

He sat back down and looked at Cyra. Her face seemed quite pale and he wondered if she was suffering from some sort of seasickness. But Cyra had already been aboard the Archimedes for days and shown no adverse effects. And it certainly wasn’t like the Loki was experiencing any sort of rough seas at the moment. The journey thus far had been relatively calm, fortunately.

“What seems to be the matter?”

Cyra took a breath and then sighed. “I don’t know. I feel very weak. Standing made me dizzy so I decided to lay down and rest. I guess I must have fallen asleep because I had no idea what time it was until you entered.”

“Any other symptoms? Just the fatigue?”

“The fatigue is the worst.”

“Have you eaten?”

She nodded. “I think they brought me something earlier. I nibbled at it and then had them take it away. It wasn’t very good. Nothing like our meal together on the Archimedes.”

Thatcher grinned. “I don’t know if we’ll be having any of those for a while.” He paused. “Listen to me, Cyra: I need to ask you something.”