possibly have concealed the charge. A soldier who didn't look a day over nineteen was peering behind a fire- extinguisher, another impossible hiding-place. There had been tension aboard the Hydra ever since the Alpenkorps had arrived, tension initially through the knowledge that at any minute they might be stopped by a British warship, tension because they were aboard the vessel of a country which Germany still officially treated as a neutral in the war. But the earlier tension brought on by the secrecy, by the storm, by the sabotage of a wireless set and the death of one of their men overboard – this tension had been serenity compared with the stark, livid tension which now gripped the Hydra 's illegal passengers.
It manifested itself in little ways. The lift of a rifle as Dietrich came round a corner. The kicking over of a bucket of sand by an Alpenkorps soldier hurrying past. The disorganized clump of those nailed boots on the ceiling when he was walking along the companionway of the lower deck. The sentry who guarded Grapos was still at bis post, his back to the port-holed steel door leading down to the hold where the Greek was imprisoned. Farther along the companionway Dietrich looked inside the half-open door which led down to the engine-room. He had one foot on the iron platform when a rifle muzzle was thrust in his face, reminding him of the muzzle which Volber had thrust at him as he opened his cabin door when they had taken over the ship. But this time he withdrew swiftly – the muzzle had wobbled slightly. la that brief glimpse he had seen below at least half-a-dozen field grey figures searching among the machinery while another man mounted guard over the chief engineer. The fear was a living mounting thing which he saw in men's faces as he climbed back to the top deck, faces damp, baggy-eyed and drawn with strain as they went on searching amid the ferry's complexities for something no larger than an attache case. This is a formula for driving men mad, he was thinking as he went on climbing, for slowly shredding their nerves to pieces.
On the open deck it was quieter because there were fewer searchers: Burckhardt had given strict instructions that despite the gravity of the emergency only those men who could cover their uniforms with civilian coats were to be sent up here. Even now he was not prepared to risk a British motor-torpedo boat suddenly appearing and flashing its searchlight over the deck to illuminate men in German uniform. So far as Dietrich could see there were no more than a dozen, hatless men flitting in the shadows. But here again he heard the disjointed hurrying clump of those heavily nailed boots pounding the wooden deck. It was quite dark now, the impenetrable pitchblackness of the night before dawn, and a cold wind was blowing along the gulf. He leant against the ventilator amidships to light his cigar and a soldier came round the side and cannoned into him. When he saw the silhouette of the hat against the match-flare he apologized and hurried away. Dietrich sighed. Again he had seen the lift of the rifle prior to recognition. He went to the stern and looked over the rail where the screw churned the sea a dirty white colour, stumbled over a piled loop of rope, and went back along the deck to the illuminated safety of the bridge. It was 4.45 AM.
The ten-kilogram composite demolition charge swayed at the end of the rope. The vibrations of the ship's engines shuddered it in mid-sway and the rock of the ship's movements reproduced themselves in the sway itself. The charge thudded regularly against the metalwork as it continued its endless pendulum motion, but the sound of the thuds was camouflaged by the same engine beats which shook it. A man standing close by might not have heard those warning thuds as the charge dangled and swayed and shuddered. The clock was set and the mechanism was ticking, but the most vital sound – the ticking – was muffled by the larger noises. Occasionally the vessel plunged its bows a little deeper into the waters of the gulf and then the charge would strike the metal heavily, its rhythmic sway temporarily upset by the unexpected jolt. For a minute or more it would sway erratically, its pendulum balance disturbed, then it would recover its poise and resume the same even swing backwards and forwards with the regularity of a metronome. It was suspended a long way down the shaft, suspended from an Alpenkorps scabbard which still held its bayonet, a scabbard which had been jammed inside the shaft at an angle which might hold it there indefinitely. And as it went on swaying none of the hatless men who thumped along the open deck in growing desperation had, as yet, carefully examined the ventilator shaft amidships.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunday, Dawn
'The Greek has escaped – I have instituted an immediate and intensive search of the ship.' Hahnemann reported the news to Burckhardt whom he had found on the bridge standing next to Dietrich. He waited nervously for the colonel's reaction, but Burckhardt, holding a pair of field-glasses, simply looked at him as he asked the question.
'How did it happen, Hahnemann? He was tied up in the hold and Private Kutzel was standing guard over him.'
'He must have freed himself in some way.' Hahnemann hesitated: the next item of news was bound to provoke an explosion. 'Kutzel is dead – I found him on the floor of the hold with his neck broken.'
'And his rifle?'
Dietrich smiled grimly to himself as he heard the question and he gave the colonel top marks for competence under stress. The weapon, of course, was vital, could make all the difference to the degree of menace posed by the escaped Greek.
'I found that on the floor close to his body…'
'Good. He shouldn't be difficult to round up. You said an 'intensive' search, Hahnemann. How intensive? How many men?'
'Fifty, sir.' Hahnemann at least felt confident that he had organized the hunt for Grapos on a sufficiently massive scale, even though there was something else which he dreaded mentioning. He wished to heaven that the Abwehr man wasn't standing there with his hands behind his back, his great shoulders hunched forward as he took in every word the lieutenant was saying. The colonel's reaction gave him an unpleasant shock.
'Fifty? You mean you have taken fifty men off the search for the missing demolition charge?' Burckhardt was facing the unfortunate Hahnemann now, his hands on his hips as he went on bitingly. 'When will you get your priorities right? An explosive with a time fuse has been planted somewhere aboard this vessel, an explosive powerful enough to sink us in the middle of the gulf before we ever go ashore. That, since it appears you don't realize it, is a far greater risk than one unarmed Greek civilian who is probably gibbering with fright in some cupboard. You will tell off no more than twenty men to look for him – the other thirty must immediately resume the search for that demolition charge.'
'He is armed, sir – with a rifle…'
'You said you had found Kutzel's rifle.'
'That is correct, sir.' Hahnemann's rigid stance reflected the extent of his unhappiness as he went on stolidly. 'I think the Greek must have surprised Private Wasserman also when he was asleep in a cabin on the lower deck…'
'Asleep!' Burckhardt changed the direction of his attack: what a soldier had been doing asleep during these vital hours was something he could inquire into later. Doubtless Wasserman had sneaked off into the cabin hoping no one would find him there. 'What has happened to Wasserman?'
'He's dead – strangled as far as we can tell. And his rifle and ammunition belt are missing so the Greek must have them.'
Burckhardt paused only briefly while he wished to God that the Abwehr man wasn't listening to all this, but he was still perfectly clear as to what must be done. 'You will still use only twenty men to hunt for the Greek. Issue a general warning that he's armed.'
'I have done that already, sir.'
'Then issue a special warning to those on the open deck -we don't want them starting to loose off at each other.' As Hahnemann hurried away he thought no, that would be the final disaster – to incur further casualties with the men shooting one another. Taking up a firmer stance, he stared ahead to where the searchlight beam shone down the gulf. It was 5.15 AM. A quarter of an hour to disembarkation. Coldly, he catalogued in his mind the risks and setbacks which had bedevilled the expedition since he had come aboard the Hydra.
A boatload of troops which had been very nearly capsized during the transfer from the Rupescu; one soldier sent into the sea by the Englishman, Prentice; one wireless set sabotaged by smashing the tuning-coil; the encounter with the destroyer which had almost proved fatal; a demolition charge of great explosive power planted
