Dex
Interstate 83
Dex, Tommy, and Augie had cleared the town of York and were heading east on US-30. They were less than a half hour from the Bruckner residence. Augie had slipped into a doze while Dex and Tommy tried to anticipate what their pursuers might be doing. While neither of them had become anything close to comfortable with their situation, they had at least accepted it.
“So you gonna do it?” said Tommy when he noticed Dex holding the disposable cell phone and looking at it like it was some kind of artifact.
He and Dex had come to an agreement—they were up against forces and interests who would eventually overwhelm them. Big Bald Guy’s employers had power and access, and even though Dex may have won Round One, he was scared of starting Round Two. They needed to widen the loop, get more people on their side, or they were going to end up like the rest of guys on the Sea Dog—an event Dex would be trying to forget the rest of his life.
“Do what? You mean call up some old friends?”
“Yeah.” Tommy continued to negotiate the traffic which was getting heavier now.
Dex looked at him nodded. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. It’s too big to deal with on our own. We’ve got to trust somebody.”
“You gonna get things rollin’ before we get to Bruckner’s place?”
“I’m going to try. I’ll start with my old C.O. If I can’t trust him, then we can just forget about it.”
“Yeah—what’s his name again.”
“Whitehurst. He came from a military family in Virginia. All Navy all the time.”
“Yeah, there’s fireman families like that.”
“I just hope I can track him down. It’s been years since I even talked to him.” Dex dialed directory assistance and started the byzantine process of finding the right office that could help him track down Captain Parker Whitehurst. Countless numbers, phone carousels, and receptionists later, he discovered the old guy had finally been kicked into a Rear Admiral’s office at the Pentagon. And of course, he was unavailable when Dex finally reached his aide, a Commander Pye Hanson. Dex gave him a cryptic message with a few tantalizing details and buzzwords, and Hanson promised a callback from the Admiral as soon as he returned from lunch.
Dex looked at his watch after disconnecting the call. “Jesus, twenty minutes to get through to somebody—what a joke.”
“What’s the deal?”
Dex shrugged, held up the Trac Fone. “He’s supposed to call me back.”
Tommy cocked an eyebrow, trying to look quizzical. “Think he will?”
“If he gets my message, yeah. Whitehurst knew me a long time—we’ve got history. We respect each other.”
“How much you gonna tell him?”
Dex shrugged. “Well I was thinking of starting with everything.”
Tommy laughed. “Yeah, that oughta do it.”
Dex looked ahead on the highway; they were entering what looked like some smaller farms and suburbs.
“We’re about ten minutes outside of Lancaster,” said Tommy. “This is gonna be somethin’, huh?”
No doubt. Despite the distractions and paranoia, Dex anticipated the meeting with the man who’d written the logbook stashed in his backpack. It was one of those things that didn’t seem possible when you really thought about it.
“Yeah. I guess we should wake Augie, huh. He’s been out like a bad light bulb.”
Dex regarded the little old guy tilted into the corner on the truck’s jump seat, his mouth open, a series of soft snores rippling every breath. When he tapped him lightly, Augie stirred into wakefulness.
“We there yet?” he said. “I could use a candy bar or somethin’.”
“Almost,” said Tommy. “We’re coming to the 283 junction right now.”
Dex went over the directions as they negotiated the streets of the Pennsylvania town, which had an interesting blend of new and old on every corner. It was one of those places with character and instant appeal, and he could see why people would like living here. With each turn and the passage of each block, he felt his pulse getting stronger.
But when Tommy pulled up in front of the archetypical suburban house, Dex laughed out loud—as much to dispel the anxiety that had been stewing in him for the entire trip up I-83 and across Route 30. There was something ironically humorous in going to meet a Nazi U-boat captain in Home-Depot-Ville. Early evening sunlight cast everything in warm shadows, and the neatly landscaped colonial looked prototypically American.
Parking at the curb, Tommy helped Augie down to the sidewalk. Dex walked up to the front door carrying the backpack and knocked. Tommy and Augie stood silent behind him. Almost immediately, the door was opened by a guy who looked around thirty. He was dressed in jeans and a golf shirt and had a nice honest looking face.
“Hey, you must be Mr. McCauley. I’m Jason Bruckner.”
They shook hands.
“Just call me Dex.” He turned and tilted his head toward his friends. “This is Tommy Chipiarelli, and…his Uncle Augie.”
“Nice to meet all of you,” said Jason. “Come on in.”
Jason led them into a living room where a middle-aged couple were both seated on a large couch with floral upholstery. He introduced everyone all around and the three of them sat down with Richard and Peggy Bruckner as if they’d stopped by to have a cup of tea. It was starting to feel a little surreal, and Dex was wondering where the old Captain might be.
“I guess I should tell you,” said Richard. “This is all a really big shock to us.”
Dex just sat there with a half-smile on his face as Richard confessed to knowing nothing of his father’s career in the German U-boat service. The family had always believed Erich’s assertion that he and his friend Manfred Fassbaden came to America in 1947 to work in a mutual friend’s restaurant.
“How much has he told you?” said Dex. “About the U-Boat.”
“Not much. He started to tell me about his last mission,” said Jason. “He said his crew rescued some scientists under the ice in Greenland. But he also said there’s more.”
“That’s why he wanted to see you,” said Jason’s father. “He says he has to tell you the rest of the story.”
“Any idea why?”
Jason shrugged. “He says you might know what to do about it.”
“About what?” said Tommy.
“He didn’t say. He wants to talk to both of you first.”
Dex grinned, trying to hide his impatience. “Well, here we are. Where’s your grandfather?”
Jason looked at his father then back to Dex. “He said he didn’t want to talk about it here at the house. He says he feels more comfortable at Manny’s”
“Okay…” said Dex. He had no idea what or where Manny’s might be, but he was going to find out.
“He’s there now. Come on,” said Jason. “I’ll take all of you over.”
Standing up, Dex looked at Jason’s parents who remained seated. “We’ll be staying here,” said Richard. “My father wants to talk to you alone.”
Dex nodded, then added, “Listen, I’m feeling a little awkward here. I apologize if we’ve done anything to upset your family or anything like that.”
Richard smiled. “Not at all. You did nothing wrong. My father’s always been a character, you know? You never get used to things like this, but you try not to let them surprise you either.”
A few minutes later, Dex, Tommy, and Augie were riding into downtown Lancaster with Jason, who had seemed to relax visibly after leaving his parents’ house.
“Manny’s Tap Room is the family business,” said Jason as he turned onto a main boulevard. “Bar and grill. I run it with my dad. But my grandfather and Manny opened it around fifty years ago. They built it up from nothing. It’s like part of the landscape now. Everybody in town knows Manny’s.”
Dex nodded. “Sounds like a good spot.”
“You’re right about that,” said Jason as he turned onto Prince Street and pulled the maroon SUV into a capacious spot along the curb. “Here we are.”
As they all climbed out, Dex saw that Manny’s was no hole-in-the-wall tavern. Big, with lots of windows and awnings, hunter fans and tiffany chandeliers. Typical in a sense, but homey and comfortable too. No wonder it buzzed with customers. Jason held the door and they all filed inside.
“Where’s your grandfather?” said Dex as they weaved their way among the tables toward a large bar.
“Upstairs. Used to be an apartment where Uncle Manny lived. Now we use it for offices. Come on—this way.”
Passing through a busy clanging kitchen dominated by a huge black guy wearing a floppy chef’s hat, they followed Jason into a short hallway leading to a staircase. It was narrow and lit by a single bulb above the landing at the top of the stairs. The dim, cramped space reminded him of the path down the gut of the old U-boats, and Dex felt a lump begin to form in his throat. A conflux of feelings washed through him as he realized he was going to meet a man he felt he already knew in a way few people ever do.
Jason reached the door, tapped lightly on it.
Slowly it opened, peeling back to reveal a thin, older man with deep, penetrating eyes and a stern, jutting jaw. He still had plenty of hair, and not altogether gray. Few wrinkles carved up his handsome features, and he looked like he was in his mid-sixties—tops. Hard to imagine he was close to a hundred—impossible, really. Dex had an image of the young, rakish Captain from his soldbuch photo, and it was obvious this guy was the same person. Some things about a face just never change.
“Hallo,” said the man in a voice full of resonance as he extended a hand in friendship. He was wearing baggy khaki pants, a plain white button-down shirt, and a sleeveless golf sweater with a Slazenger logo. “I am Erich Bruckner…and I understand you found my boat.”
Dex reached out, shook his hand. “Dexter McCauley. And yes, sir, I did.”
Bruckner grinned, shook his head slowly as if to dispel the weirdness of the whole scene. “Please come in. Let’s sit down and talk.”
Dex entered the room and introduced Tommy and Augie. Captain Bruckner grinned when he shook Augie’s hand—an instant bond of age and the wisdom of years formed between them. Everyone followed the Captain through a large room crammed with files, cabinets and a desk, and into another that looked like a den or a great place to spend Sundays watching football on the big TV in the corner. The floor thumped softly from the music playing in the bar below. Bruckner settled into the big chair with an extra pillow for back support, gestured to his grandson. “Jason, get us all something to drink. What would you like, Mr. McCauley? Tommy? Augie?”
“I’ll take a beer,” said Augie.
“Make that two.” Tommy held up two fingers.
“Bourbon, rocks would be great. And, please, just call me Dex.” He sat down in the chair closest to Bruckner and placed the backpack on the floor next to him
“Only if you will call me Captain.” The old man laughed. “Just kidding. Please…call me Erich.”
Dex liked him immediately. He remained as sharp and perceptive as he’d been all those years ago. While Jason disappeared back down to the bar, Bruckner asked Dex a quick series of questions designed to get him up to speed on how they’d found his boat, how it looked, and what had caused the accident.
Dex and Tommy provided the details as concisely as possible. They didn’t say anything about the attack and the people chasing them—not yet. Bruckner seemed pleased to learn Dex was also a navy vet, and expressed surprise the 5001 had remained in such good shape. But there was something couched behind the old man’s eyes which suggested there was more than just a nostalgic interest in his old boat.
“Tell me more about my boat,” said Bruckner. “You were able to get inside, yes?”
Dex nodded.
“You saw the plane?”
“We got up into the hangar, we saw it.”
“What else? What else did you find?”
Reaching down, Dex picked up the backpack, unzipped it to retrieve the steel box from the captain’s locker. “Well, we also found this…”
“Mein Gott!” said Bruckner. His English was so natural, the German expression sounded almost odd falling from his lips. “I can’t believe it. May I see it, please?”
Dex handed it to him and he was unlatching it just as Jason returned with a tray of drinks and some bar snacks.
“Jason, look at this…” Bruckner opened the lid and Dex could see him get lost in the vision and the memory of the last time he’d touched that box, the last time he’d closed it.
“What is it?”
“Pieces…pieces of my life,” said Bruckner. He reached in, picked up the fragments of his medals, his soldbuch, and finally his log. Holding up the last item, he showed it to Jason and the others. “Jason, this is the story I was telling you. Right here.”
“Amazing,” said Jason as he took the log, turned its fragile pages carefully.
Bruckner looked at Dex sternly as he indicated the log. “Did you read this?”
“I did.” He pulled his printouts from the backpack. “Had to translate it first.”
“Oh, of course. I forgot—it is in German.” Bruckner looked embarrassed as he spoke. “So, you know what we were sent to do?”
“Well, I think I do. I’d rather hear it from you.”
The old man waved his hand dismissively. “There is more. That is why I knew I must reach you. There is more I must tell you—just in case.”
Dex had picked up his glass for a small sip, but paused. “In case what?”
“Just in case anyone else ever visits that place again.”
Dex took a taste of his drink, leaned closer. “What do you mean? Why?”
“I am not sure how to phrase this,” said Bruckner. “But have there been any…incidents? Anything you know about?”
“What do you mean by ‘incident’?”
Bruckner shrugged. “Anything. Anything at all that might be out of the ordinary. Anything happening around the Greenland Shelf?”
Dex wasn’t sure what he meant. “You mean like now? Recently?”
“That is correct.”
“Nothing I know about. I mean, nothing you’d see in the news or the ’net.”
Bruckner held up his index finger like a teacher bringing up a single point. “No, I meant something you may have heard while in the Navy, something that would not be on the news.”
Dex considered this, shook his head. “Sorry…”
Bruckner picked up his bottle of beer, allowed himself a small swallow. “Well, regardless, I must tell you the rest of my story.”
“Believe me, I want to hear it,” said Dex.
Bruckner nodded, then gestured to his grandson to hand him back his logbook. Taking out his reading glasses and fitting them slowly to his face, the captain began to turn through the thick pages with great care.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I must find the dates I am looking for, to see how I…how I phrased things back then, and how much explaining I will need to do now.”
“Take your time,” said Dex.
The old man flipped through the brittle pages.
“You should know,” he said slowly. “The events of…let me see…on the 3rd of May…well there was something I did not put in the log…something I could not bring myself to record.”
Dex said nothing. Although he was getting antsy as hell watching Bruckner and his deliberate manner, there was no rushing him. He’d come this far—another few minutes didn’t mean a thing.
“Very well.” Bruckner sat up a little straighter in his chair, moved a hand over his button-down shirt as if to smooth it for an inspection. His eyes, clear and bright, deepened as he began to relive a day more than six decades distant…