Blackest of Lies (8 page)

“Warrant Officer - note the name of the ship – the
SS Farewell
.  A quiet chuckle floated up from the crew down below.  An omen, surely, but Stolz gripped the wheel tightly.  “God in Heaven, how close do you have to be to read the bloody name!” he whispered.  Beitzen brought him back to the matter in hand with a bump as he leapt back from the scope.

“Heads up!  Lower periscope and dive full speed to 20 metres ... hard a-port ... both engines full speed ahead!”

The words had barely left his mouth when a grinding wrench announced the loss of the periscope as the
Farewell
, her captain feeling that something was wrong, made an unexpected turn to throw off the aim of any enemy with designs on her.  Beitzen called for silence.  The submarine seemed pretty much still in one piece but perhaps they had been seen and more was to come.  Up above, propellers slowed to a halt.

“OK Karl, bring us up gently.  Standby periscope up.”

Suddenly, everything happened at once.  “Clear first tube ... fire!”  Within seconds, a violent concussion told its own story.  The
Farewell
was for the bottom.

“Every man forward!  Take us down to 40 metres, Karl - fast!  Silence in the boat!”

At 38 metres, they rasped onto the sandy floor of the English Channel.  All pumps, the engines and compass-dynamo were switched off to reduce noise.  Time, now, for the inevitable fireworks as
Farewell’s
escorts rushed about dropping countless depth charges.  The next half hour was every submariner’s nightmare as the hull was pounded by massive, endless concussions. The crew dashed from leak to leak inside but, in its own good time, the torment subsided and the screws of the escorting destroyers could be heard fading away into the distance.  Throughout the boat a collective sigh floated up into the conning tower as everyone checked each other’s cuts and bruises.  They had survived again.

During the attack, Stolz detailed the list of course corrections and actions into the steering book, a duty required of the helmsman.  As silence descended upon them, he jerked his attention up from the page.  Beitzen noticed the movement.

“What is it, Karl?” he said.  Stolz held up his hand for silence and grabbed the earphones.  There was no doubt about it - something was ticking on the outside of the hull.  For a moment he turned the problem over in his mind until it dawned on him and fear contracted his stomach.  He looked up at Beitzen with wide eyes.

“Kapitän ... Kapitän, I think the steamer has settled on top of us!”

**********

Gallagher sensed, rather than felt, the vessel kiss against the Larne pier and, moments later, the gangways being run out.   He bustled ashore with the rest of the passengers – not so quickly as to arouse suspicion but fast enough to put some distance between himself and the last mortal remains of young Riordan, lying in the toilet with a crushed windpipe.  Sweets from a baby.  They’d find him soon, of course, but he was unidentifiable – Gallagher had been careful.  There would be nothing to trace him back to the IRB.   ‘Just another senseless murder.’  As for the Mauser, it was wiped clean and lying at the bottom of the Irish Sea.  He smiled to himself.  Whoever was trying to fit him up for the Kitchener operation would be spitting blood when he found out.  No witness and, now, no evidence.  He turned up his collar against the chill, damp wind and headed off for the railway station. 

He was back.

**********

Beitzen looked at Stolz as though he was out of his mind.  Stolz was a good man and a steady hand in a crisis.  If he thought the steamer was on top of them, then it probably was.  He called down to the engine room.

“Both engines half speed ahead!”

The boat moved forward in a jerking movement and then came to an abrupt halt.

“Both engines half speed astern!”

Again, it moved a short distance and was brought up short by some unseen obstruction.  Beitzen smiled down at Stolz. “Looks like it, Karl,” he said, “but let's not put the wind up everyone just yet.”  He winked to reassure the younger man and called down once more, this time to the control station, “Chief Engineer to the tower!”

Without haste or apparent concern, Chief Petty Officer Roman Bader made his ponderous way up from a lair deep inside the U-boat.  Countless years of experience, coupled with a propensity for suspecting the worst in everything had already led him to guess the problem.

**********

“This is beyond belief.  Surely not, Chris,” said Farmer, almost in supplication. “Surely not.  The Irish are
with
us at the Front.  They’re dying alongside our own lads.  I have several, even, in this hospital right now with appalling wounds.  Their kind couldn’t be responsible for killing off a man like Kitchener.  I can’t believe it!”

“Well, I’m not sure myself but it’s the perceived wisdom right now and the assumption we’re working on.”

“What
will
we do now?”

Hubert saw his opening.  “Funnily enough, that’s just what I’m here to sort out.”

“Anything.  How can we help?”

“We want you to impersonate Kitchener.”

Farmer stared at him, as though he thought Hubert was mad.  “You,” he said, choosing his words with care, “have gone completely bonkers!”  He stood up and leaned against the fireplace.  “That’s a technical term we doctors have for total lunatics.  How on earth do you expect
me
to convince anyone that I’m the Secretary of State for War, boy?”

“Keep your voice down Henry and have a coffee.  As for convincing anyone you can be Kitchener – I’ve seen you do it.”

Farmer looked at him in puzzlement.  As the memories trudged their weary way across his face, Hubert stepped in.  “That’s right, the revues.”

Farmer threw his hands in the air and then clasped them behind his head.  “Are you seriously telling me that
that’s
where you got this reprehensible idea?  Good God, man, it was just a lark.  I only did it for a few minutes and it was bloody awful.  Even the patients said so.  When I tried it in the second performance, I was booed
on!
  There’s no way I could do something monumental like this.”  He sat down again, breathing heavily.

“Are you quite finished?  Fine.  Don’t get your shirt tails in a flap.  I’m going put it all into perspective.  Firstly, it’s not just me involved in this idea.  It goes right to the top.  To the top, do you follow me?”  Farmer nodded.  “Now, I know that you have only ever ‘performed’, if that’s the right word, for a few minutes at a time and we would want a good deal longer than that but it wouldn’t be
forever
.  The problem is that we expect the IRB, or one of their tame journalists, to start crowing about how they managed to murder an old man in his bed down in Kent and once that particular cat is out of the bag, all hell will break loose, Henry, believe me.  We’ll have civil war at the Front with our own troops at each other’s throats and the War effort at home will just collapse.  Within a few weeks, we’ll see Kaiser Bill striding up the Mall.  I also know that you are far from perfect ...” He stopped to laugh at Farmer’s indignant stare, “… have to be honest, Henry.  But the point is that we can ensure no one outside our circle who is really familiar with Kitchener will get anywhere near you.  We can do that because we control the game.  All we need is for you to play the part for a couple of months ...”

“Two months!”

“Three at the most.”

“Three!”

“And during that time you’ll be seen by the public – but always from a distance.  Who in their right mind is going to walk up to Kitchener out of the blue and start talking to him?  You’re roughly the right height and build and with the moustache, you’ll look just right.  The idea is that over the three month period, you’ll begin to give all the appearances of being borne down by the workload and the responsibilities of State – you might even ‘die’ in harness.”

“My dear chap, it’d be no lie!”

“So much the better.  And your medical knowledge would be invaluable in that respect.  At the end of it all, a suitable announcement would be made.  No one would be surprised, really. Kitchener isn’t – wasn’t – a young man and he was used to warmer climates.  Two years as Secretary of State for War in a conflict like this would wear
anyone
down.  You’ll be quietly ‘retired’ – to a stud farm, or whatever.

“And then what?”

“You can take the moustache off.”

“Be serious, you miserable child! Who will direct the War?”

“Do you think Lloyd George could let a chance like this pass him by?  He’d be haunting the side-lines, preparing his ad libs.”

“But
three months
, Chris!”

“It’s in
our
interests to ensure that you are protected from discovery, Henry.  If you were found out, we’d be in a far worse position than we are now.  Look,” he said, “we have your office secretary protecting you, his PSO is in the know, Special Branch is on-side and MI5 is running the show.  Couple that with my own modest talents and we
can
pull it off!  I know you can do it, Henry.  Next time you look at that poster, he’ll be talking to you, personally.  Your country, this time, needs Henry Farmer.”

“Don’t you wave the flag at me, you creature of darkness!”

Hubert grinned like a schoolboy.  “Just shows how desperate we are.  It’s the only way, right now, we can think of to buy some time and sort something out.”

“No more than three months?”

“Absolutely.  We wouldn’t want you in longer – you might want the job permanently.”

“Chris, I have to be honest – this thing scares me rigid.  If I’m to do it ....”  He held up a hand against Hubert’s beam of delight.  “I say
if
I’m to do this, I’ll need you there.  I couldn’t carry this off without someone around me I know and trust.  Even then, it’ll probably collapse around my ears.”

“I think that’s the general idea, anyway, Henry.  You know – my idea, so put me in the thick of things to take the blame when it explodes.”

Farmer swallowed the last of his coffee, still undecided.

“Look, Henry, just think about it.  Come back with me to the War Office and let Kell and Thompson put in their respective oars.  No-one is going to force you to do this.  In fact, it was Kell’s main stipulation.  You must be a willing victim – that’s the bottom line.”

“Very well,” he said, quietly, “I’ll come and listen to what your Kell has to say. No more than that, mind you.  And may God help us all.”

**********

On the
Walther
, Beitzen had stood the crew down on the pretext of waiting until all danger of sighting by destroyers escorting the convoy had passed.  Some were lying around, reading books from the boat’s small library, while others busied themselves writing home.  Only the constant drip of condensation from the inside of the hull disturbed the silence.

Beitzen looked carefully at Bader, “Think it’ll work?”

“What choice do we have, Kapitän?”

“This is true.  It’s either that or we’d have to figure out some way to get out of the boat and make our way to the surface.”

Bader had suggested using both the power of the electric motors and compressed air to lift the hull free of the obstruction but inconsiderate use of air could cause an intolerable leverage on the hull – the immovable object and the irresistible force.  The hull could fracture.

“Do it,” said Beitzen and then called below, “Look sharp! We’re going up and it might be a bumpy ride.  Secure loose articles and hold on!  Standby to flood tanks on command.”  He turned to the Chief Engineer, “Very well, Chief, the show’s yours.  Don’t bend my boat.  It’s the only one I have and it’s not paid for.”

Slowly, U75 moved against the rigging of the
Farewell,
strangling the boat in its death throws.  Once again, the lights dimmed as the motors struggled to make headway.  “Blow aft tanks!” called Bader, “Slowly!”  The stern lifted, tipping the boat forward.  “No dressing!”  The last thing he wanted was five bright sparks rushing towards the engine room in an effort to keep the boat level.  “Full astern!”  U75 moved slowly backwards and upwards but ground to a halt once more.  “Flood aft tanks!  Blow for’ard tanks! Full ahead!”  Again, she moved forwards - a little further, this time – and struck the unseen hand below.

Beitzen glanced at Bader, noting the sweat beginning to gleam on the older man’s nose and cheeks.  This was all very inconvenient.

“Right,” said Bader, “No more pissing about.  Flood all tanks and stand by to blow them again on command!”  He turned to Beitzen.  We’re well and truly tied up here, Kapitän.  The only thing left is to try and break through whatever it is that’s holding us down.  If it’s just rigging, the upwards force might be enough to snap through it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Well, if it’s part of the superstructure that’s holding us down, we’ll probably crush the tower against it and that’ll be that.”

Beitzen looked at Bader and Stolz.  This was his call and no-one else’s.  But he had already made the decision when he had agreed to blow his way to the surface.  “No choice,” he said, hoping the words sounded authoritative enough. “Go for it.”