The Land God Made in Anger. John Davis Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ hopes sank. It sounded a strange question but he could not dress it up. ‘Where are his old records now?’ He added, trying to make it sound casual, ‘I mean, has his old surgery been taken over by a new dentist?’

      ‘No. We have several dentists nowadays, but they have their own surgeries. But maybe Doctor Wessels’ son has his father’s old stuff.’

      McQuade’s hopes rose again. ‘His son’s here?’

      ‘He lives in his father’s old house.’

      ‘I see.’ McQuade tried to conceal his eagerness. ‘Well, it’s after four o’clock. Can I come back tomorrow to read those books?’

      ‘Natürlich.’ She handed him a piece of paper. ‘Here is a list of the books, in case somebody moves them.’

      He walked out into the glaring desert sun, feeling lucky. Only one dentist in 1945.

      He hurried down the Kaiserstrasse to the Hansa Hotel to telephone Doctor Wessels’ son. He looked up his number in the directory. He rehearsed his story. Then dialled.

      The telephone rang, and rang.

      He hung up. The man might not come home for hours.

      He telephoned Roger Wentland, the attorney for his fishing company, to consult him on the law of salvage.

7

      There is definitely something in the Old School Tie. Roger Wentland and McQuade had hardly anything to do with each other at school. Roger had been one of those bespectacled swots who sat in the front row and always came top, whereas McQuade had sat in the back row and cribbed the homework of the likes of Roger. At university they had had even less contact, where Roger had done political philosophy, law and spent his vacations on archaeological digs, whereas McQuade did marine biology and spent his university vacations on the whaling boats. But when McQuade had returned to Walvis Bay and found that Roger Wentland had a law practice in town, they had greeted each other like long-lost buddies and McQuade had immediately given Roger all his legal business out of a vague loyalty. They only saw each other on business but it was always conducted over a row of beers and Roger hardly ever sent McQuade a bill. That afternoon they met in the bar of the Atlantic Hotel in Walvis Bay. They sat where nobody could hear them.

      ‘This is absolutely confidential, right?’

      ‘Of course.’ Roger was a fleshy, bespectacled, untidy man with thick lips who looked like an absent-minded professor.

      ‘I want to know my legal rights if I salvage valuables from a German submarine that was sunk off the coast of South West Africa forty-odd years ago.’

      Roger looked at him. ‘You’ve found such a shipwreck?’

      ‘Not yet. But I think I know where one is.’

      Roger sat back. ‘Boy … You’d better tell me the story.’

      McQuade gave him as much of the facts as he needed to know.

      Roger stared pensively across the bar. ‘Boy … Look, I’m not the best guy to consult on this. You need a maritime law specialist. I’d better write to a firm in Cape Town for an opinion.’

      McQuade said: ‘That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do. In case the word gets out. I don’t want any of this written down for clerks to read. I’d have every treasure hunter in the world up here trying to beat me to it – they’re all fucking pirates.’

      The lawyer sighed. ‘Well, then I’ll have to do some research. But, in general principle … In principle, a sunken ship and its contents belong to whoever salvages it if the original owner has abandoned it. That’s if the vessel is sunk in international waters. If it’s sunk in a nation’s territorial waters, that nation’s laws apply. Now, because South Africa administers Namibia, I think you’d have to register a salvage claim with the maritime authorities.’

      ‘Could they refuse my claim?’

      Roger spread his hands. ‘A submarine is a warship. Indeed an enemy warship, because Germany was South Africa’s enemy at the time. And it may come under the peace treaty signed by the Allies and Germany at the end of the war.’

      ‘Oh boy …’

      ‘And if they granted your claim, I think the government would demand part of the salvage.’

      ‘How much?’ McQuade demanded.

      ‘I don’t know. Never had a case like this. It would probably depend on your effort and expense, and the risks you took.’

      McQuade did not like the sound of that. ‘And if they refused my claim?’

      ‘Well, you could appeal to the courts, but that’s expensive, and you may end up appealing to The Hague, the International Court of Justice, because the United Nations and Germany may get in on the act.’

      ‘The United Nations?’ McQuade said indignantly. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because,’ Roger said, ‘of Resolution 435. This submarine lies in Namibian waters. Well, Namibia is governed by South Africa as a trusteeship territory, under the Treaty of Versailles, which ended the First World War. Under that treaty Namibia was confiscated from Germany and given temporarily to South Africa to govern. Well, the United Nations, which is dominated by black states, passed Resolution 435 in 1978, demanding that South Africa grant independence to Namibia immediately. South Africa refuses because of the thousands of Cuban troops in Angola, et cetera, et cetera. Well, if you end up appealing to the courts, the United Nations may decide to make this a cause célèbre, take the opportunity to argue that the salvage belongs neither to you nor South Africa, but to the people of Namibia who should be independent. Et cetera, et cetera.’

      McQuade sat back. ‘Oh Lord …’ He signalled for two more beers. He waited until the barman was out of earshot again. ‘And why might Germany get in on the case?’

      ‘Look, until I’ve researched these points I can only outline the potential snags. But this submarine is technically the property of the present German government. I remember reading some years ago about a German frigate that was found off the coast of Denmark by a Dutch salvage company. The Dutchmen got inside it and found a few skeletons. They filed their salvage claim with the Danish authorities. The Danes refused because the frigate was in their territorial waters and the Danish government began to salvage it. Whereupon the German government intervened through the courts and stopped the Danes, because they said it would be the desecration of a German war grave. So? Nobody got the ship.’

      ‘Oh God! So what might they do with a treasure trove involved?’

      ‘Exactly. Now, if you want me to do the research, I will. But it’ll be expensive.’

      McQuade shook his head. ‘No, you’ve told me enough to worry the shit out of me. Let’s see if I find the submarine first.’

      ‘And how does one look for it?’

      ‘With my trawler’s depth-sounder. The depth of the ocean bed registers on a graph. If I go over the area in a pattern, СКАЧАТЬ