“Your commanding officer, Kapitanleutnant Dietrich, commands the convoy, I understand?” Martineau said. “Is he on board?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Where is he?”
“Port officer’s hut. The green one over there, Standarten-fiihrer.”
“Good. I’ll have a word with him.” Martineau gestured to the two suitcases. “See these go on board. We’ll be traveling with you as far as Jersey.”
Which was a turnup for the book. Richter watched them walk away, then nodded to a young seaman who’d been listening with interest. “You heard the man. Get those cases.”
“He was SD,” the sailor said. “Did you notice?”
“Yes,” Richter said. “As it happens I did. Now get on with it.”
Erich Dietrich was thirty years of age, a young architect in Hamburg before the war who had discovered his true vocation. He had never been happier than when he was at sea and in command, especially in E-boats. He did not want the war to end. It had taken its toll, of course, on him as much as anyone. Just now, leaning over the chart table with the port officer, Lieutenant Schroeder, and Guido Or-sini, he was in the best of humors.
“Winds three to four at the most with rain squalls. Could be worse.”
Schroeder said, “Intelligence is expecting big raids on the Ruhr again tonight, so things should be reasonably clear for us down here as regards the RAF.”
“If you believe that, you’ll believe anything,” Orsini said.
“You’re a pessimist, Guido,” Erich Dietrich told him. “Expect good things and they’ll always fall into your lap. That’s what my old mother used to say.”
The door opened behind him, Schroeder’s face dropped and Guido stopped smiling. Dietrich turned and found Martineau standing there, Sarah at his shoulder.
“Kapitanleutnant Dietrich? My name is Vbgel.” Martineau produced his SD identity card and passed it across, then he took Himmler’s letter from its envelope. “If you would be kind enough to read this also.”
Sarah couldn’t understand a word. He sounded like someone else, held himself like another person, the voice cold and dry. Dietrich read the letter, and Guido and Schroeder peered over his shoulder. The Italian made a face and Dietrich handed the document back.
“You noticed, of course, that the Fuhrer himself was kind enough to countersign my orders?”
“Your credentials are without doubt the most remarkable IVe ever seen, Standartenfuhrer,” Dietrich said. “In what way can we serve you?”
“I need passage for myself and Mademoiselle Latour to Jersey. As you are convoy commander I shall naturally travel with you. IVe already told your petty officer to take our cases on board.”
Which would have been enough to reduce Erich Dietrich to speechless rage at the best of times, but there was another factor here. The Kriegsmarine had always been notoriously the least Nazi of all the German armed forces. Dietrich personally had never cared for the Party one little bit, which hardly disposed him in Standartenfuhrer Max
Vogel’s favor. There were limits, of course, to what he could do, but he still had one possible objection on his side.
“Happy to oblige, Standartenfiihrer,” he said smoothly. “There is one problem, however. Naval regulations forbid the carrying of civilians on a fighting ship at sea. I can accommodate you, but not, alas, this charming young lady.”
It was difficult to argue with him because he was right. Martineau tried to handle it as a man like Vogel would have done, arrogant, demanding, determined not to be put down. “What would you suggest?”
“One of the convoy ships, perhaps. Lieutenant Orsini here is in command of the gun crew on the SS Victor Hugo, whose cargo is destined for the port of St. Helier on Jersey. You could go with him.”
But Vogel would not have allowed himself to lose face completely. “No,” he said calmly. “It is good that I should see something of your work, Kapitanleutnant. I shall travel with you. Mademoiselle Latour, on the other hand, can proceed on the Victor Hugo It Lieutenant Orsini has no objections.”
“Certainly not,” said Guido who had hardly been able to take his eyes off her. “A distinct pleasure.”
“Unfortunately Mademoiselle Latour speaks no German.” Martineau turned to her and carried on in French. “We must separate for the journey across, my dear. A matter of regulations. I’ll keep your luggage with me, so don’t worry about that. This young officer will take care of you.”