The lights of Walvis Bay were disappearing astern. The Bonanza ploughed into the black Atlantic swells, the bows rising up, up, then sinking down, down, heading north-west, getting the hell away from South African waters and the coast.
McQuade paced between the bridgewings and the radar screen. The radar’s circling light told him that there were numerous ships about, but there were no blips of vessels putting to sea from Walvis Bay. Each time he looked he felt more elated, but still he kept the bows north-west; then, way ahead, the radar began to show a rash of blips. They were the international fishing fleets raping the Benguela current. After 435 came into effect, those lights would be everywhere, right inshore, when SWAPO sold her birthright of fish for a mess of communist pottage. McQuade ploughed on, heading straight for them, to lose the Bonanza in the mass of trawlers out there before turning north and creeping back to the Skeleton Coast. He was outside territorial waters when Elsie appeared up the companionway from the crew’s quarters. ‘He’s come around, James.’
‘Put him in the showers. Get him completely awake. Then keep him warm, lock him back in the saloon, and call me.’ He turned to Potgieter and Nathan. ‘Okay, bring up Matt Mathews. Alone. Keep his handcuffs on.’
Potgieter lumbered out onto the bridgewing, and disappeared down the ladderway. Nathan followed obediently, eager to please. Julie Wonderful sat subdued in the corner, eyes still red from the tear gas, evidently very impressed by how rough big boys can play. And a little seasick. Potgieter and Nathan reappeared, with Matt Mathews. They came clambering up onto the bridge.
Matt was sullen, ashen. He looked as if he was still in shock from the haymaker Potgieter had given him. McQuade demanded, ‘What’s happened to the Kid? Nigel Childe?’
Matt glowered. ‘Nothing. He’s of no use to us, Mossad doesn’t throw its weight around unnecessarily.’
‘And Sarah Buchholz?’ McQuade said grimly.
Matt smiled maliciously. ‘Love, is it? Forget it. If it’s a character reference on her you want, I’m not the guy to ask.’
McQuade wanted to leap at the bastard and shake him. He controlled it and said grimly,
‘Now let me make a few things abundantly clear, Matt! We also want Heinrich Muller on trial for his war crimes, and as soon as this little trip is finished I’m going to hand him over to you. So I want your cooperation. First, it may happen that we haven’t seen the last of Muller’s henchmen. They may show up in a fast boat to rescue him. Now, if that happens, I presume you’re going to fight on my side?’
Matt glowered. ‘You presume correctly, Admiral.’
McQuade ignored the sarcasm. ‘But it may be the police who show up in that fast boat. Now, I’m not prepared to shoot it out with the police in order to get Heinrich Muller out to Israel, and I won’t permit you to shoot it out with them either. So if the police show up, we try every trick except shooting. Got that, Matt?’
‘Go’n teach your grandmother to suck eggs. Mossad doesn’t want to shoot policemen of a friendly country either.’ Matt glared witheringly. ‘But what makes you think the police on that fast boat will be innocent? What makes you think that cop you’ve got locked up with us in there is innocent?’
McQuade was taken aback. ‘That’s Inspector Dupreez, I know him.’
‘And we’ve got to know him in the last hour.’ Matt snorted. ‘And he knows we’re Mossad, and he’s terrified shitless of us. Why? Because he’s known for twenty years that Mr Strauss is Heinrich Muller! He’s in Muller’s pay! He’s a Nazi himself! About a third of the police in this country are neo-Nazis!’
‘Dupreez admitted to you that he’s a Nazi?’
Matt looked at him witheringly. ‘Nobody tells Mossad that they’re Nazi, do they? But we haven’t let the grass grow under our feet up there in the fo’c’sle, Mr McQuade. We wanted to know if there was going to be a police boat pursuing us, didn’t we? And we have our little ways of finding out. He admitted that he was protecting Muller but insisted it was only for the money – a minor case of police corruption.’
McQuade was astonished. ‘But how did he know to come down to the wharf?’
Matt said, ‘Exactly, my amateur friend – why does Inspector Dupreez show up at the wharf all by himself to try to rescue Herr Heinrich Muller? Why doesn’t he rush down there with the whole Riot Squad? Because he was tipped off about the emergency unofficially! Not by a nation-wide police alert, because Heinrich Muller’s henchmen don’t want official involvement. So Dupreez receives the bad news unofficially, through the cell network. He jumps into his car and arrives at your jetty just in time to get taken for a nice ride.’ Matt glared at him. ‘So it figures that any police boat that shows up brandishing the name of the Law is not what it looks like, and I’m prepared to shoot the living shit out of it.’
McQuade was bemused. He ran a hand through his hair. He said: ‘And I may need your advice on how to make Muller talk.’
Matt looked at his amateur adversary. ‘Call me when you need me, chum.’
McQuade said, ‘But we don’t want to give him a heart-attack, we want him alive and well afterwards.’
‘Got any laxative on this ship? And plastic tubing, as thick as your finger?’
‘Yes?’
Matt said, ‘Easiest thing in the world. Give him a laxative, tape a tube into his arse, lie him on his side and tape the other end into his mouth. Works every time. A man can only take so much shit.’
McQuade felt sick. He rubbed his hand through his hair again.
‘Well, meanwhile keep talking to Dupreez. Let’s find out about these Nazi cells.’
‘Go’n teach your grandmother to suck eggs …’
He had had many weeks in which to prepare himself for his confrontation with Heinrich Muller; above all he wanted the man to spill the beans without duress or stress that might give him a heart-attack. He thought he had prepared himself for all Muller’s possible responses, but he was unprepared for the man’s arrogance. Heinrich Muller was standing, erect, his legs a little astride, his manacled hands casually clasped as if at ease, his white hair crisply combed, every inch an old SS general accustomed to unchallenged command. His eyes were steely, his lipless mouth a furious gash. He glared at his captor with contempt. Before McQuade had closed the saloon door behind himself Muller demanded:
‘Well?’
For an instant McQuade felt that he was out of his league with this man. For a moment he had to remind himself who this was – a brutal murderer of millions of helpless people. He snapped: ‘You are SS General Heinrich Muller. And you know why you’re here.’
Muller’s eyes did not flicker. He said contemptuously:
‘I am Rolf Heinrich Strauss. You are some kind of a desperate treasure-hunter. A nobody. And I have numerous friends in high places and you will never get away with this outrage. You are in very big trouble indeed.’ His steely eyes did not waver. ‘You are evidently trying to intimidate me by alleging that I am somebody else – a so-called war-criminal. But I am Rolf Heinrich Strauss and I am in South West Africa perfectly legally, my friend! And for your information there is no extradition treaty between South Africa and Israel for so-called “war crimes” which were allegedly committed before the state of Israel even came into existence, and before so-called war crimes were even “invented”.’
McQuade didn’t know whether to believe that. ‘That argument won’t help you when you’re in the court-room in Jerusalem – if I decide to take you there – any more than it helped Adolf Eichmann! Nor would it help you when you are tried in a South African court for the murder of Seeoffizier Horst Kohler. Murder is murder—’
Muller interrupted imperiously, ‘Never heard of the man. Any witnesses to this so-called murder?’
McQuade put his hand in his pocket. ‘This is your wallet.’ He tossed it on the table. ‘With your initials on it. Containing forged English banknotes. You ordered the witness at gunpoint to lead you to civilization – he hit you with a stick and broke your front teeth, snatched up the wallet and ran away.’
Not a flicker crossed Heinrich Muller’s face. ‘Never seen the wallet before. And where is this wonderful witness?’
‘You had him beaten up and he died of his injuries. You then had his wife and son murdered too.’ McQuade wasn’t going to lose the initiative by arguing. He went on resolutely, ‘And the government of West Germany could easily have you extradited to face trial for the cold-blooded murder of the entire crew of the submarine that brought you here, because that submarine has been found!’
For the first time Muller’s expression changed. But not to alarm: it was almost tentative excitement for a moment. Then he said,
‘Many German submarines were sunk around the southern African coast, Mr McQuade.’
‘Yes, and in the German Submarine Archives there are meticulous records of where and when each submarine was sunk. But there is no record of whatever happened to U-boat 1093. Nobody knows where it is. Except me. Because I’ve found it!’
Muller’s arrogance had not gone, but his defiance had been replaced with something approaching earnestness. ‘You’ve found a U-boat?’
McQuade furiously played his trump card. ‘I’ve been inside it, and I’ve seen the skeletons of the crew. With bullet holes in their skulls!’
Muller was not the slightest concerned about that evidence. He said, almost pensively,
‘And what is it you want from me, if you have already found the submarine?’
McQuade’s mind reeled red-black. ‘Why did you murder the entire crew?!’
Muller did not even blink. He said calmly, ‘I wasn’t even there. But I repeat. What do you want with me?’ He added: ‘And I also repeat: I have many friends in high places. And not only in this country, but worldwide.’
McQuade wanted to grab the bastard by his shirt. He said, ‘Let me make a few things abundantly clear, Herr Muller.’ He glared at him. ‘First of all, you are not in “this country”, you are on the high seas, and nobody knows where you are. Secondly, your numerous friends in high places will not help you one jot when you’re standing on the gallows in Jerusalem!’ Muller looked back unflinchingly. ‘Because that’s where you’re going after I’ve finished, unless you cooperate with me!’
Heinrich Muller’s eyes gave away nothing. He murmured: ‘I am Rolf Heinrich Strauss. And thirdly?’
McQuade wanted to leap at the little murderous bastard and strangle him. ‘But I am not working for the Israelis, Mr Muller.’ He looked for a sign of relief in those eyes but none showed. ‘My interest in you is purely mercenary. As you said at the beginning, I am just a treasure-hunter. All I want is the spoils of the sea. It’s got nothing to do with you being a top Nazi. In fact, I admire the Nazis. I admire Hitler, and I don’t like Jews either. In fact, if you want the truth, I think it’s a tragedy of history that Hitler did not win the war. The world would be run properly today, not be in the mess it’s in.’
Muller’s arrogance was back. His eyes were slightly amused. McQuade continued, ‘Now, I know where your old submarine is, Herr Muller. You don’t. And I’ve been inside it. But what I couldn’t find was all that loot that you had stowed on board.’ He raised his angry eyebrows. ‘Now, here’s the deal I’ll make with you.’ He paused, and Muller waited, his eyes serpentine. ‘You tell me where the loot is, and we’ll share it. Fifty-fifty. And I’ll return you safely to Walvis Bay afterwards. But …’ He held up a menacing finger. ‘If you don’t cooperate, Herr Muller, I’ll hand you over to the Israeli authorities. I’ll be a hero and you’ll end up on the gallows.’
There was a silence. Heinrich Muller stared back at him unwaveringly. He seemed quite unperturbed by the threat of the Israelis, and for a moment McQuade glimpsed the sheer power and brutality of the vast organization this man used to control. Then he took McQuade by surprise by murmuring,
‘How deep is the water where this submarine is lying?’
McQuade wanted to blink, but controlled it. ‘About thirty feet at low tide. But you won’t find it, Herr Muller, unless you know the exact latitude and longitude.’
Muller looked like a man calmly weighing his options. ‘How do I know you’ll keep your bargain?’
McQuade concealed his furious elation.
‘Mr Muller, I do not wish to spend the rest of my life hiding from your numerous friends in high places for breaking a bargain.’
Muller looked at him. Then amusement came into his eyes for a moment.
‘Please disabuse your mind of the notion that I am afraid of your threat to hand me over to the Jews. Because I am not Heinrich Muller. But I do happen to know where the treasure is on that submarine.’ McQuade’s pulse leapt, and Muller turned and began to pace across the saloon, his hands manacled behind his back. ‘I was responsible for meeting the submarine and taking delivery. But the submarine failed to show up, and I’ve been looking for it ever since.’ He stopped and turned to McQuade with a wisp of a sneer. ‘Now you have kindly found it for me. Thank you. So I will make the deal you want, Mr McQuade.’ He smiled thinly at him. ‘Indeed I will improve on it. I will not only tell you where the goods are, I will show you.’
McQuade was completely taken aback.
‘Show me? Come down into the submarine with me?’
‘Yes,’ Muller said.
‘But you’re an old man for Chrissake! I don’t want to kill you!’
Muller smiled. ‘It’s only thirty feet down at low tide. That’s no strain on anybody. And I’m an experienced diver. I’ve been diving this coast for forty years looking for this submarine.’
In a flash McQuade saw Heinrich Muller in that hellhole, driving a knife into his back. He frowned theatrically. ‘But you can just tell me.’
A glint of triumph came into the eyes for a moment. ‘No, Mr McQuade. You see, I don’t care if you blow yourself to small pieces, but we have a deal: fifty-fifty. And I don’t want you blowing my fifty per cent to small pieces also.’
McQuade stared at him, and for a moment he was almost grateful to the bastard for warning him. ‘We’re dealing with explosives?’
Heinrich Muller stood there, his legs a little astride. He answered with a little smile:
‘Torpedoes, Mr McQuade. Torpedoes.’
McQuade stared at him. ‘The goods are inside the torpedo tubes?’
Muller smiled at him.
‘Inside torpedoes, Mr McQuade.’ He paused for effect. ‘Dummy torpedoes. But alas there are also live torpedoes, and I won’t know which is which until I see them …’