India sat at the table, flicking through her notebook. Brandon had got dressed and retrieved a cold beer from the fridge before joining her at the table.
‘So,’ he said after downing the first half of the bottle in one hit, ‘what have we got?’
‘Well, at first the log starts out like I imagine all such documents would,’ said India. ‘It’s filled with boring details about positions, ship sightings, evasive manoeuvres, that sort of thing. There are some references about nearing the destination but nothing specific about where that actually was. The strange thing is, they obviously got to where they were supposed to be, but for some reason they left again almost immediately and ended up in that jungle three weeks later. Anyway, when they reached Ecuador, the log entries cease and it seems that the crew left the U-boat to head inland.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Well, the dates are very relevant,’ said India. ‘The log starts in mid-April 1945 and the last entry is the end of July 1945.’
‘And the relevance is?’ asked Brandon.
‘The Second World War ended, in Europe at least, on May 8th 1945,’ said India. ‘That means that while they were somewhere out at sea, Germany officially surrendered. When that happened, a signal was sent out to all U-boats to surrender to the nearest allies. So wherever they were headed for in the first half of the voyage, they did so while they were still at war, but as they reached their destination, they found out that it was all over. Perhaps when they finally picked up the message to surrender, they turned around and headed for Argentina.’
‘Why Argentina?’
‘Well first of all it is well documented that many Nazis fled to South America after the war. President Peron was a secret admirer of the Nazi Party and for a while offered them sanctuary. Argentina is enormous and once they arrived there it was easy for war criminals to disappear.’
‘But our boat was found in Ecuador,’ said Brandon, ‘and U-boats were crewed by sailors, not Nazis.’
‘I know,’ said India, ‘and that’s confusing at the moment. I am aware that they used most South American countries as sanctuaries but I wasn’t aware that Ecuador was one of them. Anyway, whatever the reason, the fact is they left Norway in April 1945 and ended up in Ecuador in July 1945.’
‘Does it say where they stopped?’
‘No,’ she answered, ‘though it does say there were all sorts of priceless artefacts being transported from a fleet of submarines.’
‘Do you have any idea what they could be?’
‘I know that the SS stole countless treasures from all across Europe,’ said India, ‘and many have never been found, so I assume they probably include many of those.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘we are straying from the subject here. How does all this tie in with the necklace and the mummy?’
‘Actually, apart from small details it all makes sense,’ said India. ‘We know that the Richards boy was shot down over Germany. We also know that a U-boat left Norway and ended up in Ecuador with three German mummies as cargo, one of which was wearing the cross. Now, we may not know the exact details but with a little imagination we can guess that some German soldier took the cross from the pilot and it eventually ended up in that U-boat. How it did we may never know, but most of the links are there. However, what all this has done is opened up a whole new set of questions.’
‘Like what?’ asked Brandon.
‘First of all, where did the U-boat stop?’ she said. ‘Secondly, why were they carrying mummies, and finally, what are these artefacts the captain speaks of?’
‘You forgot the most important one,’ said Brandon.
‘I did?’
‘Yes, fourthly and most importantly, are all these artefacts still there?’
‘Why is that important?’ asked India, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Brandon didn’t answer but stared back at her in silence.
India returned the stare before answering her own question.
‘You want to go and find them, don’t you?’
‘Why not?’ asked Brandon. ‘We’ve more or less solved the mystery about how the necklace ended up around that mummy’s neck. Why not go the extra mile and fill in the gaps, because if we do that, we may just stumble upon those artefacts.’
‘But why, Brandon? Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because, India, that’s what we do.’
India stared at him again as the realisation sunk in. He was right. They worked well together and this was an opportunity too good to miss.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘but even if I agree, we don’t have any more leads as to where this stopover was.’
‘Was there anything else in the log?’ asked Brandon. ‘Coordinates, map references, directions, that sort of thing.’
‘Not any that stood out,’ said India, ‘at least not in the parts I managed to read. There was one thing though, a sentence that explains why the local tribes believe the story about a witch called Queen Maud.’
‘Really?’ asked Brandon. ‘What was it?’
‘Well, I’m not exactly sure,’ said India, ‘but I assume that after the crew left and explored further into the jungle, they must have played on the superstitious nature of the locals and encouraged the rumour that the boat came from a land of witches.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘I suppose to keep away too many enquiring eyes,’ said India. ‘Anyway, whatever the reason was, it worked. The myth spread quickly and as we know, before long the whole region believed that the area was haunted by the spirit of a dead witch called Queen Maud. Quite a successful ploy it seems.’
Brandon’s eyes narrowed as a nagging thought struggled to surface from deep within his memory.
‘India,’ he said, ‘does the log actually mention a person called Queen Maud?’
‘Now you come to mention it,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t, though it did name a place where they got the name from.’
‘Where was that?’ asked Brandon.
‘Queen Maud Land,’ said India. ‘At first I thought that might be the place where they stopped over, but I’m pretty good at geography and I am sure there is nowhere between here and Norway with that name. Of course, it could be a code name but without that book, there’s no way we can try to work out where it is.’ She paused momentarily and stared at the look on Brandon’s face.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Brandon. ‘In fact, I’m better than all right.’
‘You know what it means, don’t you?’ she said.
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ said Brandon, ‘it is an actual place, named by the Germans at the beginning of World War Two.’
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said India.
‘Not many people have,’ said Brandon. ‘That’s because it’s in Antarctica.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because toward the end of the war, my mob carried out a top-secret mission there.’
‘Can you tell me about it?’
‘I can’t,’ said Brandon, ‘the details are still classified and not a lot of people know what really happened.’
‘Not even you?’ asked India.
‘Certainly not me,’ said Brandon. ‘I know it happened and that some men died there, but apart from that, it is still classed as top secret.’
‘So we are no further forward.’
‘I said not many people know what happened,’ said Brandon. ‘But there is one.’
‘And who is that?’
‘A man called Bert Melbourne,’ said Brandon. ‘He’s a legend in the mob and had a distinguished war record.’
‘War record?’ asked India. ‘That must make him at least, what, ninety years old?’
‘About that,’ said Brandon, ‘but you would never guess if you met him. He was guest of honour at a reunion about two years ago back in Stirling Lines in Hereford. If I have half of the vitality he has at his age, I will be a very happy man.’
‘And you think he can help us?’
‘I know he can,’ said Brandon.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because,’ said Brandon, ‘Bert Melbourne is the last surviving member of B Squadron, the unit that carried out the attack in Queen Maud Land in 1945. He was there, India. Bert Melbourne was in Queen Maud Land at more or less the same time as our U-boat.’
‘Well what are we waiting for?’ asked India. ‘Get on that phone and book us a couple of tickets to England.’
‘England?’ asked Brandon. ‘Who said anything about going to England?’
‘Isn’t that where he lives?’
‘Oh no,’ said Brandon. ‘In fact he lives just around the corner from here, figuratively speaking.’
‘And where exactly is that?’
‘In one of the most far-flung and disputed islands of the British Empire,’ said Brandon. ‘The man we need to speak to currently resides in Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands.’
Thirty miles away, Miguel sat in a bar, nursing a beer as he waited for the man who could change his life.
After he had obtained the submarine log from India, he had used his list of contacts to make his acquisition known to interested parties. Ecuador had its own fair share of German descendants and it was well known that many often paid good prices for World War Two memorabilia. Times had been hard recently and he was desperate to acquire some extra money. At first there had been little interest but a few days earlier he had received a phone call from a man in Argentina, asking everything about the book. When Miguel had explained he couldn’t read German, the man had arranged to fly up immediately and meet him to see it for himself. Now the time had come, Miguel was having second thoughts. These people were known to be dangerous and if he wasn’t careful, he could end up on a mortuary slab. His hands ran over the pistol in his jacket pocket. If there was any sign of danger, he would shoot first and worry about it later.
The light from the open doorway darkened for a second and Miguel’s heart missed a beat as he realised this was the man he had been waiting for. The man ordered coffee and made his way to the furthest table away from the door before arranging his chair so his back was against the wall.
Miguel glanced over. The man was obviously of European descent and dressed in a cream suit and a handmade Panama hat. Miguel watched him light up a cigarette before making his final decision. He finished his beer and with one hand cradling the gun in his pocket, made his way over to join him.
‘Mr Eichman?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ said the man. ‘I assume you are Miguel Toledo Perez?’
‘I am,’ said Miguel, and held out his left hand to shake Eichman’s hand.
Eichman ignored the handshake but indicated the seat opposite him.
‘Please, be seated,’ he said.
Miguel sat down nervously.
‘Mr Perez,’ said Eichman, ‘I hear you have something that may be of value to me.’
‘I think I do,’ said Miguel, ‘but it will not be cheap.’
Eichman smiled.
‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ he said, ‘and you will find me a reasonable man. However, before we can even start any negotiation, I am sure we will both find this much more agreeable if we can both relax. Do you not agree?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Miguel, not sure where the conversation was leading.
‘Excellent,’ said Eichman. ‘In that case, I would like you to take your hand from the gun you obviously have secreted in your pocket and put both of your hands on the table, as mine are.’
Miguel looked shocked. How could he possibly know about the gun?
‘I have no gun,’ he said, but put his hands on the table anyway.
‘Thank you,’ said Eichman. ‘Before we start, I think we should set out some terms of reference.’
‘Terms of reference?’ asked Miguel.
‘Yes, the arrangements between us and the direction this conversation will take. First of all, the fact that you came here with a gun upsets me, Mr Perez.’
‘I’ve already told you, I have no gun,’ said Miguel.
‘Mr Perez, let me make this easy for both of us,’ said Eichman. ‘You have been followed for the last three days. I know where you live, what family you have and what you do for a living. I also know that you are the proud owner of a Glock 9mm compact pistol, a very nice weapon, I may add.’
Miguel was astonished and the weapon in his pocket now felt more like a liability than an insurance policy.
‘Now,’ continued Eichman, ‘though I am a bit annoyed with your mistrust, it doesn’t overly concern me. Even if you should try to retrieve the gun, the high powered sniper’s rifle currently aimed at the back of your head from across the street will ensure you are dead long before you get anywhere near it. If this happens, I will be very upset, as though I am not concerned whether you live or die, the thought of your brains splattered over my thousand-dollar suit is not a nice one. Now, do we have an understanding?’
Miguel nodded miserably.
‘Good,’ said Eichman. ‘Don’t look so worried, Mr Perez, if this all goes OK, we will both leave here alive, me with my information and you with a considerable amount of money. Now, let’s begin, why don’t you tell me all about this book.’
Miguel realised he was in an unwinnable situation. He had fallen into the trap like a fly into a web. The best he could hope for now was some money and his life. For the next ten minutes he told Eichman everything he knew, from the first minute the two Europeans had walked into Mayor Castro’s home right up to the time he had stolen the book from the woman.
‘Is that all?’ asked Eichman when he finished.
‘It is,’ said Miguel.
Eichman reached into an inside pocket and pulled out two photographs.
‘The two Europeans,’ he said, ‘are these them?’
Miguel looked at the pictures before nodding.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think the man is ex-military.’
‘He is,’ said Eichman, ‘but that is not your concern. Now about the book, where is it?’
‘Behind the bar,’ said Miguel. ‘Shall I get it?’
‘No, have it brought over,’ answered Eichman.
Miguel called out and the barman carried over a wrapped parcel, leaving it on the table.
‘Open it,’ said Eichman.
Miguel untied the strings and unwrapped the paper before pushing the book across the table.
Eichman looked down in fascination. The cover was made from black leather and was emblazoned with a golden oval laurel wreath across which lay the image of a U-boat. Above the U-boat, an eagle with outstretched wings perched atop a swastika. He opened the cover and flicked slowly through the pages, reading snippets to himself. Finally he found a list of destination coordinates and ran his finger down until he found the one he was looking for.
Miguel saw Eichman’s face light up.
‘Is it everything you were hoping for?’ he asked.
Eichman looked up and snapped the book shut.
‘It is acceptable,’ he said. ‘You have done well. Despite the irritation of you bringing a gun to our meeting,’ he continued, ‘I am willing to take this off your hands. What is your price?’
Miguel was surprised. It had gone far easier than he had hoped.
‘You have to understand, Mr Eichman, there were very many dangers in obtaining this book. Even now, I could be arrested at any time for stealing it from the woman.’
‘How much?’ asked Eichman with an air of impatience in his voice.
‘A thousand dollars,’ said Miguel quietly, expecting an outburst at any time.
Eichman looked at him in derision.
‘A thousand dollars,’ he sneered, ‘for an item as valuable as this. You have let yourself down, Mr Perez. I would have paid ten times that.’
Miguel’s heart sank.
‘However,’ continued Eichman, ‘like I said, I am not an unreasonable man.’ He threw an envelope on the table. ‘In that envelope there are three thousand dollars. One for the book, a second thousand as payment for keeping your mouth shut regarding this meeting and a third as a down payment for any further information you may come across going forward. We have a network of people working for us across South America, Mr Perez, and it can be quite lucrative. By accepting this money, you will be on the payroll should you wish to proceed.’
‘What sort of work?’ asked Miguel.
‘Nothing major,’ said Eichman. ‘Delivering packages, talking to people who have stepped out of line, that sort of thing. Nothing that you and your little Glock can’t handle. Are you interested?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Miguel, and reached out to grab the envelope. As his hand fell on the package, Eichman’s hand reached out and grabbed it firmly.
‘One more thing, Mr Perez,’ he said. ‘Your details are now in our files. Do as you are told and you will live a comfortable life. Let me down in any way and you won’t have any life to live. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Miguel.
‘Good,’ said Eichman. ‘You may leave. We will be in touch.’
Miguel grabbed the envelope and walked quickly from the bar. Eichman retrieved his mobile phone from a pocket and dialled a number.
‘Hello, it’s Claus Eichman,’ he said. ‘The book is genuine.’
‘Does it have the coordinates?’ asked the disembodied voice.
‘It does,’ said Eichman, ‘along with a full description.’
‘Excellent,’ said the voice. ‘Meet me in Buenos Aires in five days, I will make the necessary arrangements. We have waited a long time for this, Claus, and now at last the seeds can be laid for the natural order to return to the world.’