The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

74

Gravitania

Loch Eriboll

7:00 p.m.

The moment they hit the Gravitania’s deck, the helicopter peeled off, the whump of the rotors fading slowly until they were surrounded by nothing but a pervasive silence. Mike got the C8 into her hands immediately, Nicholas did as well. Where was everybody? They had to be hiding somewhere. They kept quiet and used hand signals: Nicholas to lead, Mike behind him, Lieutenant Halpern bringing up the rear to cover.

The ship rocked a bit in the still waters, listing gently from side to side. The mountains on either side of the loch rose like silent sentinels.

Nicholas saw a small T-shaped spit of land about one hundred yards away, a bleached wooden hut on the spit, and what looked like caves fronting a small beach. Like the Gravitania, the land and hut seemed deserted.

They moved out, stepping lightly, and worked their way through the ship. There was no one aboard. The Gravitania was

empty.

“Where is everybody?”

“Havelock must have off-loaded them,” Nicholas said. “Why? I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Halpern moved closer. “If so, he probably has another ship nearby. I’ll call it in.”

Nicholas again looked from side to side. “Lieutenant, after you make that call, take another circuit. Mike, let’s go to the bridge, see if we can figure out what happened here.”

With a quick nod, Halpern melted away. They heard him speaking quietly. Mike followed Nicholas up the steps at the rear of the boat. The spit of land was on their port side. A small Bell helicopter blocked most of their view of the stern. Mike looked over at the small hut. Still no sign of anyone.

The ship was anchored, the engines were off, but the electrical system was still running. On the bridge they saw a sophisticated multiscan sonar system, perfect for skimming the waters beneath them, and a side-scan sonar buoy in the water off the port side. There was a small blip flashing steadily on the screen in front of them, two hundred degrees astern.

Havelock had been trolling for the exact location of the sub, and he’d found it.

Nicholas stepped closer to the sonar display. He tapped the screen, then pointed left.

“There,” he said.

Mike said, “Underground?”

He nodded. “That’s why no one has ever picked up on it. To regular sonar, the blip would appear to be the land itself, but it’s not. It’s under a rock ledge.”

Mike looked at him. “How deep is that water?”

“The channel is sixty-eight meters. Along the edges, it’s probably twenty, twenty-five. Deep enough for a German U-boat to nestle itself in. If it’s first generation, it will be about forty meters long, less than four meters high. Not small, but small enough.”

“And they’ve been hiding for a century, tucked up under this spit of land. Amazing.”

“A secluded spot, even with the seagoing vessels coming in and out. This is the only sea loch on the northern coast of Scotland. It’s far from civilization, the perfect spot for a sub to hide.”

“Who’s idea was it, do you think? To hide the sub here?”

Nicholas shrugged. “The captain of the sub, if they’d been damaged and he didn’t want anyone to find them.”

Mike looked again toward the wooden hut. “We don’t have time to wait for the Dover and a submersible. Nicholas. As you know, I can’t dive.”

Halpern came onto the bridge. “I dive, sir. What’s more, I saw all the dive equipment we’ll need. But before we go down, there’s something you need to see. I found one of the crew.”

—

HALPERN LED THEM down the stairs, to the stern of the boat. There was a man, half off the back of the boat, caught in netting that had most likely held a small rescue raft. He was pale, waxy, nearly the same color as the graying sky. And wet. He was wearing a T-shirt and a bulletproof vest. His hand stretched onto the deck of the boat, and there was blood smeared along his arm.