Free The Sea Break by Antony Trew Page A

felucca off to his ship.
    He had not seen Olympia Stavropoulus again—not untilthis night in the Polana. And her chilling bright-eyed stare confirmed what he’d long suspected: that he’d made an implacable enemy.
     
    The launch went alongside the Hagenfels and a tall man in a tropical suit got out of the sternsheets, carrying a roll of paper under his arm. He spoke to the African coxswain in Portuguese . “Wait for me. I won’t be long.” Then he went up the gangway to the upper deck where he was met by an officer who saluted. “I am Günther Moewe, sir. Navigating Officer.” He was formal and precise.
    The tall man smiled faintly. “I am von Falkenhausen. You are expecting me?”
    Moewe nodded. “Of course, Herr Baron.” So this was the Freiherr! Somehow he had not expected such a big man, nor one with so much charm. He looked young for a Kapitän zur See.
    “Come this way, sir,” said Moewe, “the Captain is expecting you.” It was not yet noon and the second officer hoped that the Captain would not be drinking when this distinguished naval officer was shown into his cabin. They went along the steel deck and up two companion ladders to the accommodation below the bridge. Moewe knocked on the door and they went in. Lindemann was sitting at a desk in the large day cabin, writing. He got up at once, bowed, and shook his visitor’s hand. “Welcome on board, Herr Baron.” This was done before Moewe could perform the formal introduction he’d been rehearsing. It was not often one had the opportunity of introducing such a distinguished man. Von Falkenhausen and Lindemann were soon relaxed and at ease and this irritated the second officer, who was a stickler for ceremonial. Nor did he approve of the tray of beer and the bottle of schnapps.
    Lindemann showed his visitor to a chair and sat down opposite him; Moewe remaining standing, cap under arm, until Lindemann looked up and said: “Thank you, Moewe.I shall not be needing you.” The second officer said: “Very good, Herr Kapitän,” and withdrew.
    The two men made small talk while Lindemann poured the beer, and von Falkenhausen took the brown-paper wrapping from the roll he was carrying and unfolded the charts.
    “These are the latest, amended and up-to-date.” He passed them to Lindemann. “They are from the British Admiralty so they ought to be good.”
    Lindemann looked at him curiously, taking in the frank brown eyes, the scarred left cheek. “How did you get them, Herr Baron?”
    “From a contact in South Africa. I picked them up at Ressano Garcia yesterday.”
    Lindemann looked at the charts. “This is excellent. You have everything here. Eight of them. North and South Atlantic, and Indian Ocean from the East African to the Australian coasts.”
    “They are small scale, but they are all we need, Kapitän.”
    Still looking at the charts, Lindemann said quietly: “When do you think we go?”
    “It is impossible to say. It is almost the period of no moon. I think the signal from the Wilhelmstrasse will come soon.”
    “When will you join us?”
    “On the night of sailing, Kapitän.”
    “We shall be very glad to have you with us.” It was evident that Lindemann was sincere.
    “I too. I shall be glad. It is a long time since I was at sea.”
     
    It was a dark night, the thin moon had not yet risen, and to seaward sky and sea merged so that there was no horizon. In the headlights of the car there was little to be seen but the bush on either side of the road and occasionally the loom of a tree. The winding road was rough in places where the tar skim had broken and the car bounced and bumped. Through breaks in the dunes they saw the lights of the fairway buoys, and beyond them those of Chefine and Inhaca. A cool wind came in fromthe sea. A few miles down the road they turned left on to a dirt-track and soon after they saw, in the thin reflection of the tail lights of a car which had pulled off the road, two dark shapes.
    Widmark slowed down.