Hauling out of the pocket of his oilskins the torch he had been given by Stahl, he switched it on and examined his new quarters. The soft thing he'd landed on was a rubber dinghy equipped with a small outboard motor.
Thud! Newman nearly jumped out of his skin. Then he realized something heavy had been dropped on the lid, some object Anders had dumped to discourage anyone from exploring inside the locker. He went on with his examination. There was a lot to discover.
A long length of thick rope was coiled inside the dinghy, rope knotted at intervals. He found one end was attached with a reef knot to a metal ring at the rear of the dinghy near the outboard. It puzzled him, but he went on with his exploration.
Unwrapping two packets wrapped in a Polish newspaper he found one contained a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of vodka. Inside the other was a loaf of rye bread, a hunk of cheese and a knife for slicing the bread. Bread and some cheese – at least he was keeping to a regular diet.
Tucked into a pocket in the side of the dinghy he found a torch, a marlin spike and, inside tissue paper, a compass. 'I got everything ready,' Anders had said. A methodical man, Captain Anders. A practical man. But already he had reminded Newman of a British captain in the Merchant Marine he'd once known. The men who commanded ships all over the world were of a similar breed, irrespective of the political system they happened to live under. They were either very good or very bad. In Newman's opinion Anders came top of the poll in the former category.
Newman took only a small nip of the vodka. He followed it with a larger gulp of the mineral water. Immediately he'd swallowed the water he cursed his folly. There was a little matter of the inevitable call of nature. Then he remembered Anders and continued his search. He found the enamel jug with the tight-fitting top tucked under the outboard. Now all he had to do was to sit it out. Literally.
Forty-Five
He woke up aching, cramped and with a crick in his neck. Newman was lying in a foetal position, curled up inside the dinghy. His first thought was that the Wroclaw was moving, its engines ticking over with a steady hum. The sea had to be very calm – the vessel seemed to glide over the surface.
His second thought was the time. He checked his watch by the illuminated hands. 7 p.m. It couldn't be. He switched on the torch resting against his hand. It was 7 p.m. He recalled that the last thing he'd done before he must have dropped off into deep sleep was to wind up the watch. Then it had registered 7 a.m. He had slept for twelve hours.
That worried him – until he realized he was ravenously hungry. He made himself sandwiches with the rye bread and the cheese. As he ate, pausing occasionally to drink some mineral water, he tried to think what to do next, to work out the likely position of the Wroclaw. He realized very quickly it was impossible – he'd no idea when it had sailed from Rostock.
His next problem was to decide whether to eat all the food or whether to keep some in reserve. Instinct told him to curb his appetite. Then he remembered what Falken had said. Eat, sleep, pee – when you can. Something like that. He devoured all the bread and cheese, but drank only half the water. He didn't touch the vodka. It might dull his senses, make him light-headed.
Finishing his meal, he found the enamel jug, crouched to relieve himself, then put back the lid firmly. It had a rubber ring which made it practically watertight. Just as well – in case of spillage. He began to feel quite normal, but he ached in every limb.
Despite his confined space, he managed to do some exercises, stretching his arms, his legs, flexing and unflexing his fingers. Then, kneeling, he reached up and gently pushed at the lid of the cable locker. It wouldn't move, solid as concrete. This gave him a claustrophobic feeling and he recalled experiencing the same sensation in milder form when he was travelling inside Stahl's truck. God, he was going to be glad to get out in the open, to be able to move around again.
The vessel continued steadily on course, moving incredibly smoothly. The seaman who had shared the but with him inside Rostock docks had been right in his forecast. Smooth as a millpond. The Baltic, from what he had heard, was rarely like this. That was, if he was still in the Baltic. Could the vessel have turned north, passed Copenhagen, and moved up into the Kattegat between Denmark and Sweden?
There was no way he could calculate his present location. He had no data to work on. The time of departure from Rostock. The speed of the vessel. He began to feel disorientated. No idea where he was. Trapped inside this box. He took a deep breath as he had a moment of panic. That was when he heard someone moving the heavy object off the lid.
He did two things instinctively. Switched off the torch. Grasped the marlin spike, which he now realized Anders had left him as a weapon. He crouched, ready to spring, staring up. The lid was lifted.
The evening sky was a brilliant azure. Silhouetted against it was the wide-shouldered Anders. He dropped a folded sheet into the locker. He spoke quickly, his voice low.
`The ship will be stopping shortly – to make a transhipment. I don't know what it is – something to do with the bloody Russkies. Keep very quiet. I've arranged with my Chief Engineer to fake engine trouble when they've finished their business. That's when you leave. I'll be back..
`Where the hell are we?'
`In the Bight of Lubeck. In DDR coastal waters. Be ready to move fast when I come back. I must go..
The lid was swung closed on its hinges. Very quietly. Newman waited for the thud! of the heavy object being replaced. Nothing. Anders had either forgotten (unlikely) or someone had appeared and the Pole had not wished to draw attention to the cable locker.
Newman experienced a curious mix of sensations. The claustrophobic feeling disappeared – now he knew he was no longer entombed inside the locker. But he felt trapped, in great danger. That reference to the Russkies. Anyone could lift the lid, discover him.
From the brief words Anders had spoken Newman gathered they were in charge of this -secret transhipment operation, whatever that might be. He had little doubt that, if caught, he'd be treated as a spy and shot – to keep his mouth closed.
To take his mind off his new fear he switched on the torch and examined the sheet of paper Anders had dropped inside the locker. His palms were moist. He wiped them on his trousers and studied the sheet.
It was a section of a chart. He'd been astounded, perplexed, when Anders told him they were in the Bight of Lubeck. Geography had always been one of his good subjects. He'd felt sure that the direct route from Rostock to the Kattegat and across the Atlantic to Cuba was a course which would have taken them north of Fehmarn Island. The map confirmed his deduction.
Emerging from Rostock into the Baltic, the Wroclaw had sailed west and then south-west – instead of north-west – into the Bight, the great bay, of Lubeck. Why? Could the consignment of Skorpions be due to be landed secretly in West Germany – near Lubeck? It didn't make sense.
It was 9 p.m. by his watch when the Wroclaw, moving slowly, reduced speed even more, then – at precisely 9.30 – stopped. It was suddenly very quiet without the vibration of the engines. He heard feet clumping along the deck past the locker. Voices in the distance. He looked up and round three sides of the lid was a thin bar of light. That had kept the air inside the locker fresh. He eased himself up into a crouching position.
He raised the lid slowly, barely three or four centimetres. Five seamen, standing at the ship's rail with their backs to him, stared out across the sea. Now the Wroclaw was stationary it was rolling slightly. A sky like porridge, dense with grey clouds, had replaced the azure blue.
As the vessel rolled, Newman had glimpses of the Baltic. A large white power cruiser which seemed familiar was heading full speed for the Wroclaw, leaving behind a white wake. It was about half a mile away. Newman used his knuckles to hold up the heavy lid.
The ship continued its gentle roll, giving Newman further glimpses of the approaching cruiser. It reduced speed as it came close. Behind the glass of the wheelhouse Newman could just make out the head and shoulders of the man steering the cruiser. He wore a balaclava helmet, reminding Newman of his days training with the SAS. He lowered the lid carefully, sat down on the edge of the dinghy, which provided a cushion for his aching backside, and rubbed his sore knuckles.
