“Sir, our instructions were to secure the cargo to prevent any breakage or accidents. There simply wasn’t room for—”
“Go back!” the man shouted, cutting off the diver’s explanation. “First team! Go. Now!”
The captain stepped in. “There is no more time. The Americans are on scene. We cannot run the risk of being discovered.”
The armed man swung around and stomped directly to the captain. His face was looking down on the much older man, close enough to feel his hot breath.
“We leave nothing behind! Do you understand me? We are wasting time!”
The captain reached into his pocket for his pistol. Two other members of the ship’s security detail raised their automatic weapons and pulled the charging handles. It was a signal to the captain that he was no longer running things.
The captain immediately pulled his hands out of his pockets and raised them to his waist, indicating he wasn’t going to argue the point. He pointed at his three best men, the same ones who’d accompanied him to the Baltic recently.
He waited on the deck to ensure there was no interference by the security guards as the final preparations were made for the last launch of the mission. As he waited, the old sea captain studied the rapidly clearing skies. The new moon allowed the heavens to brighten in all their glory.
It only took him a moment to identify the constellation Cygnus. Known to some as the Swan. For the captain, and others like him, it was der Nordkreuz. The Northern Cross.
Within minutes, the men were tucked into their submersible and headed into the Milwaukee Deep toward the wreckage of U-1226, the submarine on which the captain’s great-grandfather had perished.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Den
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
“It took you long enough,” Ghost barked as the three operatives entered the Den. “I was told all three of you were at Tangier.”
Gunner scowled. “We were. We had the weekend off, remember?”
“Yes, I’m aware. I also know how long it takes to drive that damn speedboat of yours up the Potomac.”
Gunner shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “Well, um, Ghost, it was our day off. We had a pretty good buzz going.”
Several of the analysts in the Den snickered at Gunner’s statement, or at his being dressed down by Ghost.
“Almost toast, actually,” added Cam, who was on the verge of being drunk when they got the call. She still had a little buzz despite Sammy loading them up with alcohol-soaking, greasy cheeseburgers and coffee for the ride up the river.
Ghost shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t fault them for blowing off steam. They’d earned it. He walked to the center of the room and motioned toward the wall of monitors.
The Gray Fox team gathered around him. “This is a stock photo of the Sea Searcher I, a research vessel operated by the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in Massachusetts. This outfit is highly respected and well funded by philanthropists around the world.” He paused as he pointed to a second monitor.
“This is the actual vessel adrift in the Atlantic roughly two hundred miles, or maybe a little less, off Puerto Rico’s northern shoreline.”
“Is it under power?” asked Cam.
“No. This is live satellite footage from a stationary bird that covers this part of the Atlantic and the islands separating it from the Caribbean Sea. Zoom in, please.”
The analyst zoomed in to reveal the carnage on the deck of the ship near the submersible.
“Not pirates again,” Bear lamented.
“No, not this time,” began Ghost. “Here’s what we know. A Mayday went out just after midnight Atlantic time. The crew member reported the captain was extremely ill and that three members of a submersible dive had already died. She also reported several others were deathly ill. In the middle of the Mayday, she began to have a seizure of some kind, and then the radio went silent. Before she died, her last words were what have we done.”
Ghost stopped to take a deep breath. He rolled his head around his shoulders to relieve some tension before continuing. “For hours, the Coast Guard base in San Juan tried to reach them. At sunrise, they sent a chopper and discovered dead bodies strewn about the deck. Here are the photos they took from above.”
Ghost looked at the analyst and nodded. The gruesome photos appeared on one of the monitors in the form of a slideshow. Cam closed her eyes, pulled her hand to her mouth, and turned away. Gunner lowered his eyes and grimaced. The bodies were covered in a combination of vomit, blood, and some type of white foam around their mouths and orifices.
“Gotta be poison,” opined Bear. “There’s no evidence of gunshot wounds or even blunt force trauma. All of the bodily fluids are around the face and head.”
“What was their mission?” asked Gunner.
Jackal got involved in the briefing. She made a few keystrokes on her computer, and the picture of the captain appeared.
“This is Captain Tobias ten Brink. Well respected in the marine research field. Former USGS scientist. From all I can find, an aboveboard guy. He was leading an expedition to confirm a theory based upon a prior Woods Hole research mission.”
“What was it?” asked Gunner.
“Just by accident, the prior expedition discovered a shipwreck at the bottom of the Puerto Rico Trench, the deepest part of the North Atlantic. It’s within the boundaries of the infamous Bermuda Triangle.”
“Are we getting set up for some kind of conspiracy theory here?” asked Cam as she continued to study the monitors.
“No, but we may have stumbled upon something else,” replied Jackal. She once again returned to her keyboard and brought up an image of the wreckage.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Cam.
“A U-boat,” muttered Bear. “That conn is in amazing condition. Looks like a type IX, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Very good, Bear,” said Ghost. “The Germans had an exceptional underwater naval program throughout the war, causing the Allies fits. They came into the Gulf of Mexico
