The White Vixen (50 page)

Another loud ping sounded through the boat. Then another one, not quite as loud. “Comrade Captain,” the sonarman said, “the English submarine has just pinged us.”

“Do you have a fix on her position?” Govanskiy asked quickly.

“Yes, it—no, wait, she has dropped below the layer again,” the sonarman said. “I had her briefly at three kilometers northwest of us, sir, off our starboard rear quarter.” He wiped the sweat off his brow with one sleeve of his drenched uniform. The temperature in the boat seemed to have gone up in the past several minutes.

“This English sub captain, he is a smart one,” Govanskiy said. “Comrades, a lesson: the English are very good sailors. They have been fine sailors for centuries.” He looked at his XO. “Boris, what is your assessment of our tactical situation?”

“The English vessels have us boxed in, Comrade Captain,” the XO said. “It would be prudent to withdraw.”

“Withdraw! That would be cowardice!”

Nevsky’s outburst drew a hard look from the captain. “It is not cowardice,” Govanskiy said. “Comrade, I expect frankness from my officers. On a submarine, lives depend on it. We have no time for foolish games. Comrade Myshkin has quickly analyzed our situation and made a professional judgment. One I agree with,” he said with a look at the XO. “The Englishmen could have fired on us by now had they wanted to.”

“You can defeat them, Comrade Captain!”

“Perhaps, Comrade Nevsky,” the captain said. “But that is not our mission, is it?” He looked around the control room at the tense, sweating sailors. They were all brave men, good men, and he had no doubt they would do their duty to the Soviet Union, but at this time their duty was not to die. “Helm, come about to course 035. Maintain present speed. Diving master, maintain our depth at 175 meters.”

“The Russian is changing course,” Sanders said, his voice rising another notch. “Coming about to…035 degrees.”

“Speed and depth?” Stone asked.

“Speed is unchanged, fifteen knots,” Sanders said, looking at his screens as his fingers played the keyboard. “Depth remains 175 meters.”

“He’s withdrawing,” Fields said. Several of the men in CIC visibly relaxed. Stone could hear one or two exhaling.

“Another ping, sir?”

“Negative, Mr. Bender,” Stone said. “Ivan has gotten our message. He shall trouble us no further, I believe.” The captain looked around the cramped room. “Well done, gentlemen. Sonar, keep me posted if the Russian deviates from his new course. I shall be on the bridge.” He moved to the ladder but gave his XO one last order. “Take us to our rendezvous point, Mr. Fields. We have some anxious marines who want to get aboard
Reliant
.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

***

Willy Baumann watched the sun dip below the Andes. The chill he’d felt for the last few hours seemed to increase by a few degrees. Beside him, Heinz Nagel kicked at a pebble.

Willy looked back at the main house of the estancia, about a hundred meters away. Nobody else was in sight. “We have to move, Heinz,” he said.

“When?”

“Soon. Before CAPRICORN.”

Heinz looked at him with surprise. “You mean to abort the attack?”

Willy nodded. “Yes. Bormann is mad, but he is clever. I fear that if we allow the attack to proceed, events may spin out of our control. We cannot be sure the pilot will follow our orders and deliberately miss the target. We may be unable to prevent VALKYRIE. I have a very bad feeling about this, Heinz.”

His friend sighed. “Without CAPRICORN, we have no chance to move on Galtieri, you know.”

“There are things more important, Heinz. Our honor, for one thing.”

“If the English fleet isn’t destroyed, they will retake the Malvinas. Our navy is a joke. Our troops cannot stop them, even if we sent the Werewolves.”

Willy shook his head. “I know. Galtieri’s government will fall. Perhaps we will have an opportunity then. But at least then we will not be forever stained because we used the weapon. We will live, and so will our nation, Heinz. Argentina will live.”

The SD man was silent for a moment. “Very well. Tomorrow, then. I shall take the first opportunity—“

“No, my friend,” Willy said, looking at him, his eyes hard. “I will do it. Tomorrow morning, when we bring the American to him.”

Heinz nodded. “Then we will have to move against the Kamaraden. They can still launch the attack, even without the Reichsleiter. Your father—“

“I will deal with my father.” Willy took a deep breath and looked back at the mountains. “We should get back, get some sleep, my friend. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Rio Negro province, Argentina

Monday, April 27th, 1982

The dining room was empty when Willy entered on the dot of eight o’clock for breakfast. There was only one place setting at the table. Where was Heinz? Willy had knocked at the door of his friend’s room, but after getting no response, assumed Heinz had gone ahead. For that matter, where was Bormann?

The opposite doors opened and two house staff members came in, carrying trays of food, one with steaming eggs and sausage, the other with fresh fruit. The butler followed them in, keeping an eye on the two women as they served. “Where is Herr Nagel?” Willy asked the butler.

“I don’t know, Herr Baumann,” the man said in flawless German.

“Well, then, where is the Reichsleiter?”

The butler’s eyes flicked away for a moment. “The Reichsleiter has already eaten, sir. He asked me to have you join him in the library when you finish your breakfast. He will be there in half an hour.”

Something was very wrong here. The house was quiet, as usual. The servants on Argentine estancias were always properly courteous, of course, but usually they were friendly and went about their work in a way that was pleasant as well as efficient. Things were different here. The service was meticulous, but Willy sensed no joy here, no happiness. The mood among the staff was as dark as the wood in Bormann’s library. Willy wondered if the stories were true: servants who wanted to leave Bormann’s employ could only do so under threat of death if they ever divulged his identity. Was it any wonder that these servants seemed older than most?

He ate his breakfast quickly and returned to his room to rinse out his mouth, then checked Heinz again. No answer to his knock this time, either, and the door was locked. Down the hall, Willy saw a large man standing guard outside the American’s room. That, too, was different.

Precisely at eight-thirty, Willy knocked at the door of Bormann’s library. “Come in.”

Bormann was standing at the hearth, gazing at the old photograph of German soldiers in Paris. “Good morning, Herr Baumann,” he said.

“Good morning, Herr Reichsleiter. You asked to see me?”

“Yes.” Bormann made no motion toward a chair, but simply turned and faced Willy. “You have inquired after Herr Nagel, yes?”

“He wasn’t at breakfast, and he doesn’t appear to be in his room.”

Bormann’s eyes seemed to bore into him. “He is no longer at the estancia. I had him arrested earlier this morning. He is being held at a…secure location.”

“What!”

Bormann took two steps forward until he was nearly at arm’s length. Even though he was shorter than Willy, his presence was still commanding. “You are a fine young man, Herr Baumann, but you are still young. So is your friend. Did you think you could conspire against me? Hm?”

A ball of coldness formed in the pit of Willy’s stomach. “Herr Reichsleiter, I—“

“Save your words,” Bormann interrupted. His menacing gray eyes narrowed. “You little welp, you thought you could intrigue against us. We are the masters of intrigue, my young friend. We mastered it fifty years ago. We know all about your little plan to disrupt CAPRICORN. We know you intended to inform the Americans and the Russians about VALKYRIE. Did you honestly believe you could so easily stop an operation that has been running for a quarter of a century? Did you?”

Willy fought to get past the dread. “We want only what is best for our country.”

“For Argentina? A beautiful land that is constantly endangered by the stupidity of the Spaniards and Italians? A land that would have been under the Brazilian and Chilean flags years ago were it not for the Germans who live here? That Argentina?”

Willy said nothing. Bormann turned and walked back to the hearth. “Germany is your true fatherland. What is best for Germany is to be united and strong once again. Not divided. One-third under the heel of the Bolsheviks, a drab and colorless place. Two-thirds given over to the decadent West. The people are lazy and undisciplined. They allow the Turks and other vermin into the country to do the work. Germany needs order and discipline, and we will give it back to them. It needs vision, and we will provide that, too. Germany will fulfill her destiny to be master of Europe!”

Willy felt the tendrils of fear reaching around his heart, but he summoned his courage. “Heinz and I are Argentines first, Herr Reichsleiter. We want what is best for
our
country. Do we want to be a vassal of a new Nazi Germany? Do we want to be forever known as the nation that started World War Three? Do we want our streets to be patrolled by American soldiers after our inevitable defeat?”

Bormann looked back at him, eyes glinting, a thin smile creasing his face. “Be careful, my proud young friend. Only my friendship with your father has kept me from having you shot.”

Willy had left his sidearm in his room, but he could still rush Bormann and kill him with his bare hands, end this madness once and for—

The double doors behind him creaked, and he felt the snout of a pistol poking the small of his back. Bormann was still smiling. “As you can see, Herr Baumann, I am once again a step ahead of you.” He shifted his gaze to the man behind Willy. “Fritz, escort Herr Baumann back to his room. He is to remain there until I send for him again. Then bring the American to me.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsleiter!”

Jo had made up her mind that she had to escape. After eating breakfast in her room alone, she went through a half hour of yoga and taekwondo forms. A shower and change of clothes refreshed her, and she forced herself to meditate, in order to bring her adrenalin levels down and think clearly about her options. Some time later, a rapping on the door interrupted her. Quickly coming around, Jo felt energized. She reached under her mattress and found what she’d hidden there the previous night.

Jo’s first option was to overpower the guards who would come to get her for her next meeting with Bormann. She scratched that, though, when she found two men waiting for her as the door opened, both armed with Lugers. One she could handle, perhaps two, even in close confines like the bedroom or the hallway, but these men were well-trained and professional. They gave her no openings, and she moved on to her second option as she was escorted to the library.

The lead guard, the one she’d heard called Fritz, knocked at the closed library doors. “Enter!”

Bormann was standing near a side table, a telephone in hand. He waved them inside. Jo noticed the Luger on the table next to the phone. “That is my decision,” Bormann said into the phone, his eyes flicking back and forth between Jo and the guards. He was sizing her up again. As old as he was, he knew what he was doing. Once more, she had to warn herself against underestimating the man.

“Yes, that is correct,” Bormann said. “Code Red, zero-two-hundred. I will explain when you arrive, Dieter. Sieg heil!” The handpiece clattered back into its cradle. “Ah, good morning, Major Geary.” Jo was amazed at how easily Bormann was able to shift from stern commandant to cordial host. Everything she learned about him gave her a deeper understanding of his power, and how dangerous he truly was. Subconsciously, she ordered her nerve endings to search for the small item she’d hidden in the sock on her left foot. Yes, still there.

Bormann left the table and walked to the hearth, leaving the Luger. “Fritz, leave Jürgen here with the major. I would like you to inform Armando that all incoming telephone calls are to be routed to me. There are to be no outgoing calls without my permission.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsleiter.” Fritz hustled out of the room. Bormann motioned Jo to a chair. Jürgen, the other guard, kept his position, standing just inside the double doors. A quick glance told Jo that he held his weapon ready. Automatically, she measured the distance and angles between herself and the two targets. Jürgen first, then Bormann, because it would take him a moment to get his gun, and by then she’d have the guard’s. Or she’d be dead.

“I have decided to send you back to your people a day earlier than originally planned,” Bormann said. “You will be flown to Buenos Aires tomorrow morning.”

Jo quickly put that together with the end of Bormann’s phone call: The attack had been moved up. “Change of plans?”

Bormann only smiled. “Nothing of your concern, my dear.”

“What are we going to discuss today?” Jo asked with a false pleasantness. “Your racial theories again?”