you: be like the Dentist. Make up your mind and act fast.'
Chapter 45 FUNKSPIEL
Colonel Chattan's aide shakes him awake. The first thing Waterhouse notices is that the guy is breathing fast and steady, the way Alan does when he comes in from a cross-country run.
'Colonel Chattan requests your presence in the Mansion most urgently.' Waterhouse's billet is in the vast, makeshift camp five minutes' walk from Bletchley Park's Mansion. Striding briskly whilst buttoning up his shirt, he covers the distance in four. Then, twenty feet from the goal, he is nearly run over by a pack of Rolls-Royces, gliding through the night as dark and silent as U-boats. One comes so close that he can feel the heat of its engine; its muggy exhaust blows through his trouser leg and condenses on his skin.
The old farts from the Broadway Buildings climb out of those Rolls Royces and precede Waterhouse into the Mansion. In the library, the men cluster obsequiously round a telephone, which rings frequently and, when picked up, makes distant, tinny, shouting noises that can be heard, but not understood, from across the room. Waterhouse estimates that the Rolls-Royces must have driven up from London at an average speed of about nine thousand miles per hour.
Long tables are being looted from other rooms and chivvied into the library by glossy-haired young men in uniform, knocking flecks of paint off the doorframes. Waterhouse takes an arbitrary chair at an arbitrary table. Another aide wheels in a cart of wire baskets piled with file folders, still smoking from the friction of being jerked out of Bletchley Park's infinite archives. If this were a proper meeting, mimeographs might have been made up ahead of time and individually served. But this is sheer panic, and Waterhouse knows instinctively that he'd better take advantage of his early arrival if he wants to know anything. So he goes over to the cart and grabs the folder on the bottom of the stack, guessing that they'd have pulled the most important one first. It is labeled: U-691.
The first few pages are just a form: a U-boat data sheet consisting of many boxes. Half of them are empty. The other half have been filled in by different hands using different writing implements at different times, with many erasures and cross-outs and marginal notes written by bet-hedging analysts.
Then there is a log containing everything U-691 is ever known to have done, in chronological order. The first entry is its launch, at Wilhelmshaven on September 19, 1940, followed by a long list of the ships it has murdered. There's one odd notation from a few months ago:
REFITTED WITH EXPERIMENTAL DEVICE (SCHNORKEL?). Since then, U-691 has been tearing up and down like mad, sinking ships in the Chesapeake Bay, Maracaibo, the approaches to the Panama Canal, and a bunch of other places that Waterhouse, until now, has thought of only as winter resorts for rich people.
Two more people come into the room and take seats: Colonel Chattan, and a young man in a disheveled tuxedo, who (according to a rumor that makes its way around the room) is a symphonic percussionist. This latter has clearly made some effort to wipe the lipstick off his face, but has missed some in the crevices of his left ear. Such are the exigencies of war.
Yet another aide rushes in with a wire basket filled with ULTRA message decrypt slips. This looks like much hotter stuff; Waterhouse puts the file folder back and begins leafing through the slips.
Each one begins with a block of data identifying the Y station that intercepted it, the time, the frequency, and other minutiae. The heap of slips boils down to a conversation, spread out over the last several weeks, between two transmitters.
One of these is in a part of Berlin called Charlottenburg, on the roof of a hotel at Steinplatz: the temporary site of U-boat Command, recently moved there from Paris. Most of these messages are signed by Grand Admiral Karl Donitz. Waterhouse knows that Donitz has recently become the Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the entire German Navy, but he has elected to hold onto his previous title of Commander-in Chief of U-boats as well. Donitz has a soft spot for U-boats and the men who inhabit them.
The other transmitter belongs to none other than U-691. These messages are signed by her skipper, Kapitanleutnant Gunter Bischoff.
Bischoff: Sank another merchantman. This newfangled radar shit is everywhere.
Donitz: Acknowledged. Well done.
Bischoff: Bagged another tanker. These bastards seem to know exactly where I am. Thank god for the schnorkel.
Donitz: Acknowledged. Nice work as usual.
Bischoff: Sank another merchantman. Airplanes were waiting for me. I shot one of them down; it landed on me in a fireball and incinerated three of my men. Are you sure this Enigma thing really works?
Donitz: Nice work, Bischoff! You get another medal! Don't worry about the Enigma, it's fantastic.
Bischoff: I attacked a convoy and sank three merchantmen, a tanker, and a destroyer.
Donitz: Superb! Another medal for you!
Bischoff: Just for the hell of it, I doubled back and finished off what was left of that convoy. Then another destroyer showed up and dropped depth charges on us for three days. We are all half dead, steeped in our own waste, like rats who have fallen into a latrine and are slowly drowning. Our brains are gangrenous from breathing our own carbon dioxide.
Donitz: You are a hero of the Reich and the Fuhrer himself has been informed of your brilliant success! Would you mind heading south and attacking the convoy at such-and-such coordinates? P.S. please limit the length of your messages.
Bischoff: Actually, I could use a vacation, but sure, what the heck.
Bischoff (a week later): Nailed about half of that convoy for you. Had to surface and engage a pesky destroyer with the deck gun. This was so utterly suicidal, they didn't expect it. As a consequence we blew them to bits. Time for a nice vacation now.
Donitz: You are now officially the greatest U-boat commander of all time. Return to Lorient for that well- deserved R & R.
Bischoff: Actually I had in mind a Caribbean vacation. Lorient is cold and bleak at this time of year.
Donitz: We have not heard from you in two days. Please report.
Bischoff: Found a nice secluded harbor with a white sand beach. Would rather not specify coordinates as I no longer trust security of Enigma. Fishing is great. Am working on my tan. Feeling somewhat better. Crew is most grateful.
Donitz: Gunter, I am willing to overlook much from you, but even the Supreme Commander-in-Chief must answer to his superiors. Please end this nonsense and return home.
U-691: This is Oberleutnant zur See Karl Beck, second-in-command of U-691. Regret to inform you that KL Bischoff is in poor health. Request orders. P.S. He does not know I am sending this message.
Donitz: Assume command. Return, not to Lorient, but to Wilhelmshaven. Take care of Gunter.
Beck: KL Bischoff refuses to relinquish command.
Donitz: Sedate him and get him back here, he will not be punished.
Beck: Thank you on behalf of me and the crew. We are underway, but short of fuel.
Donitz: Rendezvous with U-413 [a milchcow] at such-and-such coordinates.
Now more people come into the room: a wizened rabbi; Dr. Alan Mathison Turing; a big man in a herringbone tweed suit whom Waterhouse remembers vaguely as an Oxford don; and some of the Naval intelligence fellows who are always hanging around Hut 4. Chattan calls the meeting to order and introduces one of the younger men, who stands up and gives a situation report.
'U-691, a Type IXD/42 U-boat under the nominal command of Kapitanleutnant Gunter Bischoff, and the acting command of Oberleutnant zur See Karl Beck, transmitted an Enigma message to U-boat Command at 2000 hours Greenwich time. The message states that, three hours after sinking a Trinidadian merchantman, U-691 torpedoed and sank a Royal Navy submarine that was picking up survivors. Beck has captured two of our men: Marine Sergeant Robert Shaftoe, an American, and Lieutenant Enoch Root, ANZAC.'
'How much do these men know?' demands the don, who is making a stirringly visible effort to sober up.
Chattan fields the question: 'If Root and Shaftoe divulged everything that they know, the Germans could
