Twenty-seven leaned over the radio operator from behind, placed the palm of one hand under his chin, the other hand on the top of his head and snapped his neck. The guard, completely taken by surprise, stared open- mouthed at Allenbee as he let the radio operator’s head fall on the desk. Allenbee’s arm made a short upward stroke as he thrust his dagger up under the guard’s rib cage, slicing deep into his chest.
The guard’s head fell forward onto Allenbee’s shoulder and the Nazi agent shoved him away. He fell dead at Allenbee’s feet.
Allenbee dismantled the radio, then rushed across the compound to the telephone room. It was empty, the phones having been out for hours. He cut all the phone lines just to make sure, then stepped inside the small room, checked the clips in his machine pistol and his .38. He looked at his watch.
It was seven-twenty. Perfect timing. He rushed back to the clubhouse, looked in the window just as the kitchen and maid staffs were herded into the room. Lady Penelope entered with a birthday cake ablaze with candles. She walked to the front of the room. Allenbee walked around to the front of the dining room and entered through one of the French doors that lined one side of the room.
The guests looked at him with surprise. He was wet to the skin, his hair streaked down over his forehead. He looked like a wraith.
“Good grief, what happened to you?” Peabody asked.
Allenbee drew the machine pistol and fired a burst into the ceiling. A stream of plaster splashed on the floor at his feet. There was a chorus of screams. The men looked at Allenbee in shock.
“Everybody shut up!” Allenbee ordered but there was chaos in the room. He aimed the gun at the main chandelier and fired a burst into it. Crystal exploded. The bullets tore through the bracket anchoring the enormous light and it fell straight from the ceiling, crashing into a table.
“I said shut up!” Allenbee ordered.
The room got quiet.
“See here! What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Peabody demanded.
Allenbee glared at him and pointed the machine pistol straight at his chest.
“Sit down, Peabody, or I’ll kill you where you stand,” Allenbee said in a voice that meant business.
* * *
Captain Leiger held the sub at ten meters, its conning tower just below the surface, and watched the St. Simons light spin slowly around, casting its long finger of light across the dark, rain- swept channel. He inched the sub around the northeast tip of Jekyll Island and entered the deep channel.
He swung the periscope around, fixed it on the dark, brooding shoreline of the island, marking the distance. He would hold his course due west, five hundred meters off the shoreline until he reached the northwestern tip of the island, then surface and swing into the inlet. The yacht dock was a few hundred meters south of the point.
Because he had to maintain his distance from the island, Leiger could not check the bay and the sound. If he had, he would have seen Tully Moyes’s forty-foot shrimp boat, the
Aboard the
“You mean to kill this man, Frank?” Moyes asked.
“I don’t think he’ll have it any other way. He’s not the surrendering kind.”
“You got a plan?”
“Nope. I’m going to get on that island and hope to hell I can get the drop on him.”
As they passed the northwestern tip of the island a blazing streak of lightning lit up the entire cove. In its garish white-hot light, Moyes saw a streak on the surface of the water fifty yards off the port side. Ripples running against the wind-borne waves. He peered through the darkness. Another crack of lightning and then another rent the sky. In the flashing lights of the storm, the ripples turned to waves, then suddenly the conning tower of the U-l7 broke the surface of the water.
“Christ a-mighty!” Moyes yelled, “A damn sub, fifty yards off our port.”
Keegan scanned the turbulent waters. As the sky continued to blaze with lightning, he saw the gray tower rising out of the water and slicing through the small breakers. Beyond it was Jekyll Island and the yacht pier.
“He hasn’t seen us yet!” Keegan yelled.
Moyes yelled back, “He’s heading for the Jekyll Island dock.”
The sub’s nose burst through the surface. The long eel-like monster bounded atop the inlet, heading straight for the dock. The
There was no turning back. If they tried to run, the U-boat would shoot them to bits. But, thought Moyes, if the U-boat’s rear ballast tanks were still full, he could ram her. A lucky strike on the conning tower could tip her over. If the hatches were still open, the sub would flood and sink. The dock approach was forty feet deep and the heavy shrimp boat would run right over the bastard.
Moyes’s decision was instantaneous. He slammed the throttles full forward.
“I’m gonna ram the son of a bitch!” Moyes yelled to Keegan above the howling wind. “Brace yourself.”
Moyes snapped on his floodlight as the hatch swung open and two German crewmen clambered on deck. Startled, they turned to see the bright single eye of light bearing down on them, closing fast. The first man ran toward the machine gun in front of the conning tower. Keegan focused the binoculars on the gray shadow, saw a face appear in the tower. The man was wearing a white, billed cap and he turned immediately toward Moyes’s boat, his eyes wide with surprise. He appeared to be shouting orders to the gun crew. Keegan swung the glasses down to the deck as the two gunners pulled a tarp off the heavy deck gun and loaded it. Keegan ran out on the slippery deck, steadied the automatic shotgun against the rail and fired two bursts. The first ripped into the deck a foot or so behind the German sailor. But as he grabbed the butt of the heavy gun, the second blast caught him in
