Free Thunder Point by Jack Higgins

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
could
dive there, Henry, just like you did.”
    “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