India and Brandon walked through Puerto de Manta. The port was separated into the more modern area where cruise liners often docked and the industrial part where a fleet of fishing vessels nestled against each other, their rigging reeking of the sea.
They had spent the day preparing and each now carried a rucksack containing a range of items that Brandon had identified as necessary. Within minutes India stopped and nodded down to a sleek motorboat with a high bridge.
‘There it is,’ she said, pointing at the name written on the side. Dolphin.
Brandon led the way down the ramp and stepped onto the boat.
‘Hello,’ he called, ‘anyone here?’
Miguel appeared from a doorway beneath the bridge.
‘Be quiet,’ he said, ‘you will draw attention to yourself and we do not want that. Put your things below, we will be leaving in ten minutes.’
They did as they were told and rejoined Miguel on the deck of the boat. Brandon helped him cast off and within minutes they were cutting smoothly through the still waters of the dock. Bolted to the rear deck was a high swivel chair complete with a set of seat belts, the usual perch for those inexperienced tourists who usually hired the vessel for tuna fishing.
‘So, Miguel,’ said Brandon when they were clear of the dock, ‘where are we going?’
‘The place we want is a small river in the Machalilla National Park,’ said Miguel, ‘about fifty miles south along the coast. Most of the park is now well travelled by tourists but there is a part protected by the government due to the indigenous people who live there. Access to their territory is prohibited by land and the coastline is protected by high cliffs, but there is a small river that can be accessed if you know the location.’
‘How long will it take to get there?’ asked Brandon.
‘Up to three hours depending on the currents,’ said Miguel. ‘We have to head out to sea to make it look as if we are going out to the fishing grounds. As soon as we are far enough out, we will turn inland and head full throttle to the coastline. Hopefully our change of route will not be noticed. Our radar profile is small enough to be overlooked.’
‘Better make ourselves comfortable then,’ said Brandon.
‘There is a small stove below,’ said Miguel. ‘I know how you English love your tea.’
‘Thank you,’ said Brandon, and as Miguel powered up the two massive engines, Brandon and India headed below.
They spent the next few hours either sitting in the cabin or out on the deck to watch the sun set below the horizon. Brandon finally managed to doze off on a padded bench in the cabin but was soon awoken by India.
‘Brandon,’ she said, ‘wake up. We are getting close.’
Brandon sat up and, realising he was cold, put on a camouflaged jacket before going up to the deck. The boat was going much slower now and heading toward a huge free-standing rock standing fifty metres offshore of the dark imposing cliffs.
‘Is this it?’ asked Brandon.
‘We are now in illegal waters,’ said Miguel. ‘The land in front of us is protected by the government and inhabited by the original Manabi people. If we are caught, we will be imprisoned and my boat confiscated.’
‘Then we won’t get caught,’ said Brandon. ‘So, how far is this river?’
‘Right in front of you,’ said Miguel, and as Brandon looked up, he could see a cleft in the cliff face where both sides plunged vertically down into a valley, hidden from the sea by the free-standing rock.
‘Wow!’ said India. ‘That was unexpected.’
‘Only the Manabi use this river,’ said Miguel, ‘it is not even on most maps.’
‘Is it big enough for this boat?’ asked Brandon.
‘Yes,’ said Miguel. ‘Though it is narrow, the first half a mile is very deep before it branches off into several smaller side rivers. We can get most of the way in the Dolphin, but we will have to walk the last few hundred metres.’
‘No problem,’ said Brandon. ‘Let’s get up there. The quicker we do this, the quicker we get back to our normal lives.’
They stayed on deck as Miguel steered slowly between the cliffs and up into the winding river. High above, the high cliffs loomed over them, adding to the darkness of the canyon. Brandon used a large floodlight mounted on the front of the boat to light the way and soon they could see the wooded slopes easing down to meet the river. Eventually the banks were relatively level with the water and Miguel told them to look for another channel leading off to the right.
‘There it is,’ said Brandon eventually, and Miguel guided the launch into the feeder river. Finally Miguel steered the boat to the bank and turned off the engine.
‘This is it,’ he said. ‘From here we go by foot.’
Brandon and India retrieved their rucksacks and followed Miguel onto the shore.
‘Be careful,’ said Miguel. ‘There is no solid ground and it is easy to break a leg.’
Brandon adjusted his head torch before stepping down onto a tangle of roots and dead branches. India followed him but immediately lost her footing as the undergrowth moved beneath her. Miguel explained that it was basically a massive floating raft sitting on the top of a vast hidden lagoon and the shoreline often changed depending on the storms that frequently battered the coastline. Carefully they made their way across the dangerous surface, grasping at vines and branches at every opportunity. The three beams of light from the head torches pierced the darkness and the slow pace meant that after half an hour, they had only walked about 200 yards.
‘How much further?’ gasped India when they stopped for yet another rest.
‘A few minutes,’ said Miguel. ‘We are almost there.’
As promised, a few moments later Miguel stepped onto solid ground and helped India up beside him.
‘Here we are,’ he said.
Brandon joined them up on the bank and shone his torch around.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
‘There,’ said Miguel. ‘Right in front of you.’
Brandon stared at the mound of tangled undergrowth in front of him.
‘What’s it supposed to be?’ asked Brandon. ‘Some sort of massive hut?’
‘I have never been inside,’ said Miguel, ‘but have been told that the entrance is at the top.’
‘Then that’s where we need to go,’ said Brandon. ‘Come on, give me a hand.’
‘I’m not going in,’ said Miguel. ‘Queen Maud will steal my soul.’
‘Nonsense,’ said India, ‘there are no such things as witches.’
‘I am not going in,’ repeated Miguel, and sat down. ‘I will wait here to make sure we are not surprised.’
India shrugged her shoulders and followed Brandon. The tangled undergrowth made easy climbing and within a minute, they had reached the highest part.
‘Where’s the entrance?’ called Brandon from the top.
‘It’s probably overgrown,’ answered Miguel. ‘Cut away the growth.’
Brandon removed his rucksack and retrieved a machete. Within moments, he was hacking away at the vines around him. As they came free, he passed them to India, who threw them to the ground below. Suddenly there was a loud clang and Brandon stared at India in confusion.
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said India. ‘It sounded like metal.’
‘It did,’ said Brandon, ‘but that’s stupid. How can there be a metal house out here in the middle of nowhere?’ He continued hacking at the vines, making a large clear space around him. Patches of metal covered in algae came into view and as he got deeper, India could hear him mumbling to himself in excitement. Finally he reappeared and sat up on the edge of the tangled vines, his face pouring with sweat.
‘Found anything?’ asked India.
‘Oh yes,’ said Brandon, ‘and you will never believe what we have here, India.’
‘Well, don’t keep me waiting,’ hissed India, ‘tell me.’
‘A good old, bona fide, World War Two submarine,’ said Brandon.
‘A submarine?’ gasped India. ‘You are kidding me.’
‘Nope,’ said Brandon. ‘I have just uncovered the entrance and my feet are dangling down the conning tower as we speak.’
‘But how?’ asked India. ‘We are hundreds of yards from the river.’
‘I guess all that undergrowth wasn’t there back then,’ said Brandon. ‘Whatever the reason, it is definitely a submarine, and what is more, it seems to be intact.’
‘But surely Ecuador didn’t have a navy back then, let alone submarines.’
‘Who said anything about it being South American?’ said Brandon. ‘What we have here is one of the most feared weapons of World War Two, a German U-boat!’