Stealing Trinity (34 page)

"What are--"

Rainer cut off Heinrich's words by putting a vertical hand to his lips. "Quiet, Karl," he whispered. "There is a man on watch three decks above." He pointed straight up.

Heinrich looked up cautiously and matched Rainer's whisper, "What are we doing here?"

"We are leaving."

"How?"

Rainer produced a wool blanket and a bulky package from the stowage box. The package was stenciled militarily: emergency life raft: two person.

"Can you swim, Karl?"

"Swim? No, and besides --" Heinrich looked down into the water, "there are sharks out there. They follow the ship for the garbage."

Rainer pulled a lanyard on the raft, and with a soft hiss it inflated to full size. "They don't dump anything in port, Karl." Rainer looked up at the sky. "The moon comes and goes. We must wait until it falls behind a cloud."

Rainer grabbed a rope that was already attached to the railing. It was thick, with large knots tied at intervals. He secured the free end to the raft, then fed it over the side.

"How far away is the shore?" Heinrich asked.

"Two hundred meters. No more." Rainer handed him a life preserver. "You'll need this."

Heinrich started to put it over his head.

"No, Karl! If you fall it would break your neck when you hit. Carry it on your arm for now."

Flustered, Heinrich did as he was told.

"Give me the suitcase."

Heinrich hesitated. His prize had never been in another's hands.

"I am stronger" Rainer insisted. "Give it to me."

Heinrich did, and watched as his countryman wrapped it in two layers of thick oilskin, then secured his work with twine.

"Now, over!"

Heinrich looked into the blackness below.

"Go!"

He straddled over the safety rail and clambered awkwardly down the rope. At the bottom he clutched the life preserver tightly and dropped into the water. He could, in fact, swim, although it had been years. He looked up and saw the suitcase just over his head. Rainer slipped into the water next to him and yanked on a second line that was now in his hand. The rope with the knots fell into the water with a splash. There would be nothing left, Heinrich thought, no sign of their escape. He has thought of everything.

Rainer flipped the suitcase, still dry, into the raft. He then put the dark, wet blanket over it all. The yellow raft became a murky, indiscriminant blob on the water. He helped Heinrich pull on his life preserver. Just then, Rainer looked up. A heavy cloud floated overhead to obscure the moon.

Rainer spoke quietly in German, "You see, Karl? Luck is on our side."

Those words, spoken so purely in his native tongue, made Heinrich forget any misgivings. "Rainer," he said, "I cannot believe we lost the war having men like you on our side."

Rainer grinned. He pulled the blanket over their heads, and they pushed off toward shore.

Thatcher watched Lydia sleep. She was slumped in a wicker chair, her head cocked coyly at an angle and resting on a wadded beach blanket they'd found. Lydia had almost lasted the entire night, finally drifting off an hour ago. But Thatcher noted it was a fitful sleep as she shifted constantly. Whatever dreams were circulating, he hoped they were better than his own.

They had moved closer to the naval facility, finding a perch on the deck of a bar that was the closest vantage point for watching the tender dock. The place had closed shortly after midnight. It was a sailors bar, scuffed floors and cheap wood stools, everything drenched in the bitter smell of spilled beer. Clearly, the big ship at anchor in the harbor had not granted general shore liberty--otherwise, the place would probably still be open.

They'd been watching for the better part of a day. In that time, the tender had made three trips to and from Indianapolis. Thatcher and Lydia had observed carefully -- a total of sixteen men had gotten off the tender. Every single one was in the uniform of a naval officer. This alone was no guarantee that one might not have been Die Wespe, but they had all stayed together in groups. The first load had been the captain and his staff. Then two small parties of midlevel officers. Thatcher had looked for anything amiss -- a haircut out of regulation, a uniform worn improperly, a loner edging away from the pack. There was no way a German spy, a scientist from Los Alamos, could comfortably blend into such a crowd.

An airplane flew overhead, its radial engines jarring the early morning silence. Lydia stirred.

"Oh, Michael, I'm sorry. I fell asleep."

"It's all right. You didn't miss anything. The tender hasn't left the dock."

"And there's still no sign of Jones or his men?"

"No. It seems we're on our own."

"Michael, look!" She pointed out toward Indianapolis.

Thatcher didn't see anything new. "What?"

"The smoke."

A moderate stream of black swirled up from the main stack. "What about it?"

"I've been on ships before, Michael. She's lighting her boilers. I think she's about to sail."

The swelling cloud did look heavier, Thatcher realized. He probably hadn't noticed because it had built gradually. "You're right. She's leaving soon."

"But we haven t seen anything of Alex or this spy he was supposed to meet. Do you think their plans changed? Maybe they already met in a different port."

Thatcher's instincts told him otherwise. "No. Indianapolis arrived here right on schedule. We've just missed something."

They both watched the big ship's anchor rise up from the water.

"We can only assume they're here on Guam," Lydia reasoned. "And if that's the case, where would they go next?"

Thatcher's eyes came alight. "Yes." His thoughts returned to the dilemma he'd been wrestling for weeks. The one question that had bedeviled him. What was the point of it all? These two men had valuable information on the Manhattan Project, but what good was it with Germany defeated? An odd vision came to Thatcher's mind -- the bulletin board at Handley Down. Situations wanted. Instant wealth. And then he understood.

"Lydia! Assume Alex and this spy, Wespe, have valuable secrets about some new weapon. It's no use to Germany anymore, so what would do they do?"

"Well... they could sell, it I suppose."

"Exactly! And do you remember -- two days ago, when we arrived at the airport? There was one airplane that really stood out."

"I saw lots of airplanes. The place was thick with them."

"Yes, but one was out of place."

"What are you getting at, Michael?"

"There was an Ilyushin."

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean anything to me."

"It's a medium transport aircraft. More to the point, it had a big red star on the tail."

"A Russian--" Lydia clearly saw it as well. "Michael, that's it!"

Chapter 42.

The airfield was located on the islands very northern tip. With classic lack of imagination, the Army had designated the place North Field -- though one mischievous staff officer had pushed for West Field, arguing that it would completely throw off the Japanese in the event of an attack. Six mile-and-a-half long airstrips --credit again to the Seabees -- lay up against the sea, carpet-like runners of rock and steel that launched wave after wave of long range B-29's against the Japanese mainland.

Braun and Heinrich arrived in the back seat of a U. S. Army military sedan that Kovalenko, in the drivers seat, had somehow managed to commandeer. Braun thought it a stylish touch that the Russians were stealing America's greatest secret with the help of their motor pool.

The journey had taken thirty minutes. Kovalenko had been ready with dry clothing after plucking them out of Apra Harbor at the rendezvous point. Heinrich was still pulling on his dry boots.

"These boots, they do not fit!" he fussed.

"Just do your best, Karl. We'll find something better after we get on the airplane."

At a checkpoint, Kovalenko flashed the drowsy guard some kind of authorizing paper. Whatever it was, it had clout, and they were waved right through. The scrutiny might have been tougher had they been going to the "business end" of the airfield, where seemingly endless rows of B-29s were being loaded and readied for their next missions. Fortunately, they were going to the Transient Ramp. It was a tiny corner of North Field where a handful of transports sat idle, their fin flashes a mix of services and nationalities.

Braun caught Kovalenko's eye in the rear view mirror, and he wondered what the Russian was thinking. The man had not said a word since picking them up, but this was by design. Heinrich was not yet suspicious -- but he certainly would be if he heard Kovalenko's severe Russian accent. Braun had not yet seen the most important thing -- his money. Until he took possession of seven hundred thousand dollars, he would keep Karl Heinrich and his heavy suitcase very close indeed.

Heinrich finally wedged his boot on. Braun looked him over. A mechanic's khaki overalls strained at the seams. Scuffed boots, and a cap with a brim. Nothing to indicate rank or insignia. Just an anonymous wrench turner. Braun was dressed in a similar fashion, wearing workman's pants and a ubiquitous cotton shirt. All they had to do was get Heinrich and his collection of secrets calmly across a hundred feet of hardpan coral to the aircraft, a heavily modified Ilyushin transport. The pilot would have the engines running, ready to dash. For his part, Kovalenko was dressed as the copilot. It was rather unconvincing -- his age and lack of fitness did not conjure up the image of a military aviator -- but then, it was a Russian plane. The American soldiers might snicker and point, but there was nothing to raise an alarm.

Kovalenko drew the sedan to a stop just short of the aircraft ramp. The Russian gave Braun an almost imperceptible nod, then got out of the car and hurried toward the waiting Ilyushin. One of the aircraft's engines was already idling, and the second spit smoke as it started to turn. Braun watched from the car as Kovalenko climbed up a short set of stairs and disappeared into the airplane.

Thatcher and Lydia arrived on the hourly military bus that shuttled worker bees between the island's two main hives --the Navy base at Apra, and the Army Air Forces North Field. Lydia craned her neck to find what they were looking for -- a mid-sized airplane with a red star on the tail.

"I don t see it," she said.

Thatcher concurred, "It's hard to see anything with all this hardware."

North Field was presently one of the busiest airports in the world, according to the pilot who'd brought them in. When Lydia looked out, she saw hundreds of huge bombers. For the moment, they sat still, surrounded by a flurry of carts, trucks, and men. But soon the fleet would be ready for the next big wave.

The bus stopped to let everyone off near a large tent that was labeled: MESS HALL. Thatcher took her hand and led the way, weaving amid a city of tents and prefabricated buildings. As they cleared a stinking line of latrines, Thatcher stopped cold.

"There!" he said.

Lydia saw it a few hundred feet away -- the Russian transport, one engine already running. And walking across the ramp were two men dressed in workman's clothes. One she recognized instantly. "It's Alex!"

Thatcher nodded. "And the other man must be Wespe. Look at the case he's carrying. I'll bet I know what's inside."

"What can we do?"

Thatcher's eyes searched all around.

"There were Military Police back at the gate," Lydia suggested. "We have to go get them."

"They'll never get here in time. That airplane's ready to taxi." Thatcher scanned the area. "You go for the MP's."

"What about you, Michael?"

He gripped her shoulder and pointed. "There! That's what I need! "

Lydia saw a small utility tug. It was parked untended, and attached to the back was a trailer loaded with bombs.

"I don't understand!" Heinrich demanded as he was being hustled across the ramp. "This is a Russian airplane!"

Braun was prepared. "What did you expect, Karl? The Luftwaffe?" He smiled knowingly and spoke over the roar of two radial engines, "I told you --our new leaders are clever. It is a Russian aircraft, yes. We captured it years ago, and now it has turned quite useful." Braun let this sink in. "Can you imagine a better deception, Karl?"

Heinrich eased. "Yes ... I see. It is a good idea. The pilots, they are German?"

"Of course. They speak a bit of Russian, just to be convincing. But both are SS men."

"All right, Rainer."

Kovalenko appeared in the aircraft's entry door and beckoned them with a wave. Braun didn't like how things were flowing. He grabbed Heinrich's elbow and stopped him twenty paces away.

"Stay here, Karl," Braun instructed. He pointed to the suitcase. "And hold on to that grip."

Braun walked quickly across to the airplane, leaving Heinrich and his priceless trove of information safely in the open. With the engines running, he nearly had to shout at Kovalenko. "Where is my money?"

"Here." Kovalenko slid a large briefcase into view.

"Give it to me now," Braun demanded.

Kovalenko shook his head. "First bring the scientist and his papers."

The two glared at one another. The sequence of the exchange had not been discussed -- not this far. Braun was now improvising. Kovalenko pulled the briefcase back slightly from the door and opened it. Stacks of fifty dollar bills bulged inside. He then snapped it shut. "Bring Wespe. Once he is aboard, you can have it."

"How will you keep him aboard after I leave?"

Kovalenko twisted just enough to show a gun tucked amateurishly into the back of his waistband. Braun recognized it as a Tokarev Tula. He hesitated. Would the Russian use the gun against him? No, he decided. Otherwise he would not have shown it. In any event, Braun was confident he could find a way past Kovalenko. And off of this infernal island. He turned and jogged toward Heinrich.

"All right, Karl," Braun announced, "its time to go!"

Heinrich cradled the case as if holding a newborn child. He began to follow across the crushed coral. But when Braun reached the airplane and looked back, Heinrich had stopped again.