“Ilsa.”
“Rode Ilsa down the underground river and out through another cave.”
Müller’s eyes went wide and he smiled. “That’s astounding. I’m glad she was put to good use.”
“We’ve arranged to have her transported back to the U.S. If you’d like, we’ll have her shipped—”
Müller was shaking his head. “That’s kind of you, but no. Keep her; take good care of her.” He smiled and shook his finger at them. “Something tells me you didn’t come all this way just to tell me that.”
“We also found the UM-34.”
At this Müller leaned forward. “And Manfred?”
“Captain Boehm was still aboard her.” Sam recounted their discovery of
the sub, leaving out any mention of Bondaruk or Kholkov. “The authorities are salvaging her right now.”
“Mein Gott . . . We’d always worried about the weather. Those boats weren’t meant for open ocean.” Müller’s eyes went distant for ten seconds, then he blinked and refocused on them. “Manfred was a good friend of mine. It always pained me that I never knew what happened. Thank you.”
“The reason we’re here is the wine,” Remi said.
“The wine? Oh, the bottles . . . yes, we were going to celebrate with them after the mission was over. Are you telling me they survived?”
Remi nodded. “One aboard the 34, and one aboard Ilsa.”
“And the third? Did you find that one? As Manfred had the harder of the two missions, I gave him two bottles.”
“We found a shard near his sub’s resting place. We’re not sure how it got out of the sub.”
Müller waved his hand. “The vagaries of war.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Sam said, “can you tell us about your mission? What were you and Boehm trying to accomplish?”
Müller frowned, thinking. After a few moments he said, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. . . . It was an absurd task, really, concocted by the Führer himself. Manfred was supposed to sail up Chesapeake Bay and attack the navy base at Norfolk. At the same time, I was to attack the ammunition depot in Charleston, but Ilsa had a problem with her screw, so we were delayed. Before we could repair it, we were recalled to Bremerhaven. You know the rest, about the Lothringen and all that.”
“You’d stopped at Rum Cay for refitting? What kind?”
“Bigger batteries to increase the boats’ ranges. Another idiotic plan. Both Manfred and I knew the missions were suicide.”
“Then why did you volunteer?”
Müller shrugged. “Duty. Indiscretion of youth. Neither of us were fond of Hitler or the Party, but it was still our country. We wanted to do what we could.”
“We were hoping you might tell us more about the bottles,” Remi said. “Where they came from.”
“Why?”
“We’re collectors. As it turns out, they were very old and very rare.”
Müller chuckled. “I never knew. Well, I might have guessed they were important somehow. My brother Karl gave them to me before we shipped out from Bremerhaven. He told me he found them here, actually—he was in the army and was part of the occupation force.”
“Where exactly did he find them?”
“Let me think. . . .” Müller scratched his head. “My memory isn’t quite what it used to be. It was a castle . . . no, not a castle. A fort.” He sighed in frustration, then his eyes lit up. “It was one of the islands in the bay. . . . Do you remember that book by Dumas—The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Both Sam and Remi had read it. In an instant they knew what Müller was talking about. “Île d’If?”
“Yes! That’s it. He found them in the Château d’If.”