The Land God Made in Anger. John Davis Gordon

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      ‘So how’re you going to get in,’ Tucker demanded belligerently ‘– by osmosis?’

      McQuade was surprised that Tucker knew a big word like osmosis. ‘The best way is to go down the escape tube without an airtank on. But with the regulator in your mouth. The airtank harness is lowered down after you, on a rope. Maybe it’ll even float. Then when you get to the bottom, and you’re safely out of the tube, you pull the harness out after you and put it on.’

      They were all looking at him. Then the Kid said, ‘Of course. Why didn’t we think of that?’

      Tucker stared, then jabbed his finger, ‘Because we didn’t think first! Because,’ he waved his hand, ‘we rushed in like a bull at a gate! And so you nearly killed yourself, and ruined a brand-new wetsuit!’

      ‘Oh, fuck the wetsuit!’ Elsie shouted. ‘Look at this man’s wounds!’

      ‘So the trip’s been a success!’ the Kid cried. ‘We’ve found out how to think! All for the price of one wetsuit!’

      There was a silence. Then: ‘Now, now, boys,’ Elsie murmured.

      ‘And the rest,’ Tucker glowered. ‘You nearly lost your lives as well. What happens when you get inside? We don’t know a thing about the layout of submarines. What about water-tight doors? How do you open them? What tools do you need to take with you? What lights?’

      ‘So what are you suggesting? That we give up?’

      McQuade jerked as Elsie dabbed iodine on a new wound. ‘There, there,’ Elsie crooned. ‘There, there …’

      Tucker glowered at them sullenly. ‘I don’t know, but I do know that we’re a fishing company and we can’t afford to waste money trying things we know nothing about.’

      McQuade banged his hand on the table angrily. ‘You’re absolutely right! We’ve got to find out about this type of submarine. All about it. And that means I’ve got to go to the submarine museum in Germany.’

      They were all staring at him. Potgieter blinked. Tucker looked aghast.

      ‘To Germany?’ he whispered. ‘How can we afford that?’

      ‘For God’s sake, did you nearly kill yourself down there today? No – I did! There’s no way I’m going to try again until I know what I’m doing! And that means seeing a submarine, going over it! Studying it, looking for places where loot could be hidden so we know where to look!’

      ‘But the expense,’ Tucker whined.

      McQuade pointed at the sea angrily. ‘There’s a fortune lying just down there—’

      ‘We don’t know that. There may be nothing inside.’

      ‘Then all the more reason to find out more about it! I’ll be able to trace that submarine through the German archives!’

      ‘But we can’t afford to send you to Germany—’

      McQuade banged the table again. ‘Then I’ll go at my own expense! While you go back to sea and catch fish!’

PART THREE

16

      Because it is so popular with German tourists, there is a Lufthansa flight direct from Namibia to Frankfurt, but Nathan had friends in the travel business who organized him a bucket-shop deal via London. It was still more than McQuade could afford, but he resolved to enjoy the trip. He had a bottle of duty-free whisky which was half-finished in a couple of hours, but he still was not enjoying himself: all he could think of was the vile blackness of that submarine, the horror of bones crunching under his feet, the stinking taste of death and the choking retch in his throat. When the cabin lights were switched out, he could not go to sleep: when he closed his eyes the dark cocoon of the aircraft became that long terrible tomb of the submarine. Was he crazy to be spending all this money so that he could dive down on that terrible thing again? It was very late when he at last fell asleep, but he awoke with a grim, hungover determination to do what he had set out to do.

      It was mid-morning when he cleared customs at Heathrow airport. He found a public telephone and looked up the number of the German Embassy. He dialled and asked to speak to the Naval Attaché.

      ‘Guten Tag,’ a cheerful voice intoned.

      ‘Good morning,’ McQuade said. ‘Can you help me, please? I’m very interested in German submarines of the World War II period. I believe you have a naval museum in Germany where I can see some?’

      ‘In Laboe,’ the officer said. ‘Near Kiel.’

      McQuade scribbled a note. ‘Which type do they have there?’

      ‘Type VII C. That was the standard German submarine.’

      ‘And is there a naval archive open to the public, where I can find out details about individual submarines, and what they did during the war?’

      ‘The U-Boat Archive, in the town of Sylt. Near the Danish border. The man in charge is Horst Bredow, he was a submariner during the war. I will give you the address. Say hullo to Herr Bredow for me.’

      Ten minutes later he was buying a ticket to Hamburg. The Lufthansa girl who served him was heart-achingly beautiful, and as charming as she looked. He went in search of a bar, feeling lucky. Everybody was being so nice. He was starting to enjoy himself.

      It was early afternoon when he arrived in Hamburg, full of Löwenbrau beer and feeling no pain. He took a bus to the railway station. There was still plenty of time to get to Kiel before nightfall, but he thought, what the hell! He asked what times the trains ran in the morning, then he crossed the road and checked into Popp’s Hotel. Then, determined to enjoy himself, he did what tourists do in Hamburg and went to the Reeperbahn.

      He sat in the Glass Elephant and drank expensive whisky while he watched some of the most beautiful girls in Germany copulating on stage. The most impressive performance was by one man with two girls, who managed to do it while they all whizzed around on rollerskates. Between acts the girls circulated amongst the audience and offered hand-jobs for fifty marks. He went back to his hotel late, jet-lagged and sex-bothered.

      He hadn’t really enjoyed himself. He lay in bed wondering if he was crazy to be spending all this money on such a long shot.

      It was freezing in Kiel. He left his bag in a locker, then asked how to get to Laboe. He bought a notebook from the newspaper kiosk, then he left the railway station and turned down to the waterfront, to the Bahnhofbrücke pier. A ferry was waiting. There was still ice floating in the harbour.

      Half-an-hour later he disembarked at the village of Laboe at the mouth of Kiel’s long harbour, opening onto the bleak Baltic Sea. There were snowclad woods around the mouth. He asked the way to the U-boat museum.

      It looked a nice little seaside holiday town, shut down for the winter. There were pleasure yachts and fishing boats wintering, closed up. He set off briskly down the seafront СКАЧАТЬ