25 May 1945. 500 miles north of Puerto Rico. I envisage using the Anegada Passage through the Leeward Islands into the Caribbean Sea with a clear run to the Venezuelan coast from there.
26 May 1945. The Reichsleiter called me to his quarters and informed me that it was necessary to make a stop before reaching our destination and requested to see the chart for the Virgin Islands. The island he indicated is a small one, Samson Cay, south-east of St. John in the American Virgin Islands, but in British sovereign waters being a few miles south of Norman Island in the British Virgin Islands. He gave me no indication of his reason for wishing to stop there.
27 May 1945. Surfaced off the coast of Samson Cay at 21.00 hours. A dark night with a quarter moon. Some lights observed on shore. The Reichsleiter requested that he be put ashore in one of the inflatables, and I arranged for Petty Officer Schroeder to take him. Before leaving he called me to his quarters and told me that he was expecting to meet friends on shore, but as a precaution against something going wrong he was not taking anything of importance with him. He particularly indicated the briefcase which he left on the bunk and gave me a sealed envelope which he said would give me details of my destination in Venezuela if anything went wrong and the name of the man I was to hand the briefcase to. He told me to send Schroeder back for him at 02.00 hours and that if he was not on the beach I was to fear the worst and depart. He wore civilian clothes and left his uniform.
Travers came back in at that moment. “Still at it?”
“I’m on the final entry.”
The Admiral went to the drinks cabinet and poured Scotch into two glasses. “Drink that,” he said, passing one to Baker. “You’re going to need it.”
28 May 1945. Midnight. I have just been on the bridge and noticed an incredible stillness to everything, quite unnatural and like nothing I have experienced before. Lightning on the far horizon and distant thunder. The waters here in the lagoon are shallow and give me concern. I write this at the chart table while waiting for the radio officer to check for weather reports.
There was a gap here and then a couple of lines scrawled hurriedly.
Radio report from St. Thomas indicates hurricane approaching fast. We must make for deep water and go down to ride it out. The Reichsleiter must take his chance.
“Only the poor buggers didn’t ride it out,” Travers said. “The hurricane caught them when they were still vulnerable. Must have ripped her side open on the reef where you found her.”
“I’m afraid so,” Baker said. “Then I presume the current must have driven her in on that ledge under the overhang.”
“Where she remained all these years. Strange no one ever discovered her before.”
“Not really,” Baker said. “It’s a bad place. No one goes there. It’s too far out for people who dive for fun and it’s very dangerous. Another thing. If the recent hurricane hadn’t broken away the overhang, I might well have missed it myself.”
“You haven’t actually given me the location yet,” Travers remonstrated.
“Yes, well, that’s my business,” Baker said.
Travers smiled. “I understand, old boy, I understand, but I really must point out that this is a very hot potato.”
“What on earth are you getting at?”
“Number one, we’d appear to have positive proof after all the rumor and speculation for nearly fifty years, that Martin Bormann escaped from Berlin.”
“So?” Baker said.
“More than that! There’s the Blue Book list of Hitler’s sympathizers here in England, not only the nobility but Members of Parliament plus the names of a few of your fellow countrymen. Worse than that, this Windsor Protocol.”
“What do you mean?” Baker asked.
“According to the diary, Bormann kept them in a similar survival case to this.” He tapped the aluminium briefcase. “And he left it on the bunk in the Commanding Officer’s quarters. Now just consider this. According to Friemel’s final entry he was in the control room at the chart table, entering the diary when he got that final radio report about the hurricane. He shoves the diary in his briefcase and locks it, only a second to do that, then gets on with the emergency. That would explain why you found the briefcase in the control room.”
“I’ll buy that,” Baker agreed.
“No, you’re missing the real point, which is that the case survived.”
“So what are you getting at?”
“These things were built for survival, which means it’s almost certain Bormann’s is still in the Commanding Officer’s quarters with the Blue Book, the Windsor Protocol and Hitler’s personal order concerning Bormann. Even after all these years the facts contained in those documents would cause a hell of a stink, Henry, especially the Windsor thing.”
“I wouldn’t want to cause that kind of trouble,” Baker told him.
“I believe you, I know you well enough for that, but what if someone else found that submarine?”
“I told you, no one goes there.”
“You also told me you thought an overhang had been torn off revealing it. I mean, somebody
“The conditions were unusually calm,” Baker said. “It’s a bad place, Garth, no one goes there, I know, believe me. Another thing, the Commanding Officer’s compartment is forward and aft of the wardroom, on the port side, that’s what Friemel said in the diary.”
“That’s right. I was shown over a type VII U-boat. The Navy had one or two they took over after the War. The captain’s cabin, so-called, is across from the radio and sound rooms. Quick access to the control room. That was the point.”
“Yes, well my point is that you can’t get in there. The forward watertight hatch is closed fast.”
“Well you’d expect that. If they were in trouble, he’d have ordered every watertight hatch in the boat closed. Standard procedure.”
“I tried to move the wheel. Corroded like hell. The door is solid. No way of getting in there.”
“There’s always a way, Henry, you know that.” Travers sat there frowning for a moment, then said, “Look, I’d like to show the diary to a friend of mine.”
“Who are we talking about?”
“Brigadier Charles Ferguson. We’ve known each other for years. He might have some ideas.”
“What makes him so special?”
“He works on the intelligence side of things. Runs a highly specialized anti-terrorist unit responsible only to the Prime Minister, and that’s privileged information, by the way.”
“I wouldn’t have thought this was exactly his field,” Baker said.
“Just let me show him the diary, old boy,” Travers said soothingly. “See what he thinks.”
“Okay,” Baker said. “But the location stays my little secret.”
“Of course. You can come with me if you want.”
“No, I think I’ll have a bath and maybe go for a walk. I always feel like hell after a long jet flight. I could see this Brigadier Ferguson later if you think it necessary.”
“Just as you like,” Travers said. “I’ll leave you to it. You know where everything is.”
Baker went out and Travers looked up Ferguson’s personal phone number at the Ministry of Defence and was speaking to him at once. “Charles, Garth Travers here.”
“My dear old boy, haven’t seen you in ages.”
Travers came directly to the point. “I think you should see me at your soonest moment, Charles. A rather
