Raider X Page 2

  She nodded at Thatcher as if she’d only then noticed him. “Who’s this then?”

  Hewitt grinned and slipped on a cockney accent. “Don’t you know? This here’s Harrison Thatcher. Come to save Queen and country he has.”

  Mrs. Henshaw smiled. “Looks like he didn’t know that was going to be the plan. Well, no matter, let’s get him set up with a pass so you gentlemen can go about your business.”

  She wrote something down on a piece of paper and offered it to Thatcher. “Pin this to your right lapel. Keep it there while you’re in this building. If you lose it, report to me at once. If you leave this building, this pass stays here.”

  Thatcher took the pass. “What if I forget?”

  Mrs. Henshaw’s hand dipped beneath the desk and when it reemerged, there was a nasty looking gun in her hand. “Then we’ll just have to shoot you, dear.”

  Thatcher looked at Hewitt. “Is it a requirement for everyone in this organization to have some sort of predisposition to violence?”

  “Just being careful,” said Hewitt. “Come on.” He turned back to Jeremy. “We’re all set from here on out. I shan’t need you for an hour or so.”

  Jeremy nodded and ducked back outside. Thatcher watched him go. “Not very talkative that one.”

  Hewitt eyed him. “Jeremy had his tongue yanked out by the Gestapo during a torture session in Holland. Despite that, he managed to escape and make his way back here. I’d rather say that speaks volumes about his character, don’t you think?”

  Thatcher swallowed.

  Hewitt pointed to an elevator. “You, on the other hand, are nothing right now but a rogue with a stay of execution. Whether you remain that or not is the question we shall have to answer.”

  Thatcher rode the lift in silence. At the third floor, Hewitt pulled back the grate and they walked down a musty hallway. Here and there, Thatcher saw another person pass from one door to the next. But all the doors were firmly shut. Each frosted glass window had cryptic letters and symbols on it, with nothing identified by common names.

  Hewitt reached a door toward the end of the long corridor, unlocked it and then ushered Thatcher inside. There was a heavy wooden desk and several chairs. By the window, sandbags had been stacked to protect against flying glass in case of another bombing by the Germans. On the wall was a huge map of the world.

  Hewitt helped himself to a decanter of brandy on the side shelf. He offered one to Thatcher who took it without a word. Hewitt sat down behind his desk and sipped the brandy. After a moment, he set the drink down and regarded Thatcher.

  Thatcher drank the brandy and found it stiff but good. He finished and nodded to Hewitt. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve probably been needing that since this morning.”

  Thatcher grinned. “Absolutely.”

  “Just don’t get addicted to the stuff. Last thing I need is you going straight on the piss.”

  Thatcher said nothing. Hewitt continued to study him. “Been one cocked up life you’ve led so far, hasn’t it?”

  “I haven’t done badly.”

  Hewitt sniffed. “I suppose that’s a matter of perspective. From my view, things had pretty much gone down the drain as of this morning. Barring my appearance, of course.”

  Thatcher shrugged. “From my perspective, they might be looking up.”

  “You haven’t heard the job yet.”

  Thatcher glanced at the map on the wall. “Well, it’s got to involve a boat or something, since you asked earlier about that.”

  Hewitt smiled. “How much of the news did you manage to get while inside jail?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “Have you heard of the commerce raiders?”

  “No.”

  Hewitt unlocked the side drawer of his desk and brought out a sheaf of papers and photographs. He passed these to Thatcher. Each photo showed what looked like a merchant ship.

  “They look innocent enough, don’t they?”

  “German cargo ships?” Thatcher passed the papers back. “What about them?”

  Hewitt stood and walked to the map on the wall. “They’re anything but true cargo ships. What they are, are carefully disguised war ships. Complete with cannon, torpedo, and even reconnaissance aircraft.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Hewitt stabbed his finger at the Indian Ocean. “Here’s where they’re most active. In this link between Indochina and Europe. We’ve got thousands of tons of shipping passing through here every month. Food, ammunition, fuel, supplies for our garrisons in the Far East. They’re busy with the Japs and a lifeline to us is essential for their survival.

  “What these ships do is little short of piracy. They run false flags, show the colors of neutral or allied countries and then, when they get close enough, either sink or capture the ships. They take prisoners and the supplies.” Hewitt turned to Thatcher. “They are quite literally sinking us out of the war.”

  “I thought U-boats were a more serious threat.”

  Hewitt nodded. “The wolf packs are a problem. No doubt. But these commerce raiders have the ability to operate for months at a time, and they are quite adept at sneaking around the thousands of miles of oceans. Our navy boys are trying their damnedest to stop them, but they’re like ghosts these things.”

  “How many?”

  Hewitt sat back down. “Nine. We thought they’d stop there - be content with just the nine of them.”

  “They’re not?”

  Hewitt shook his head. “Intelligence reports that they’re getting ready to launch a new one. We’ve codenamed her Raider X. A tenth commerce raider said to be larger and more destructive than any of the others combined. If Raider X takes to the seas, Britain could be out of the war within a matter of weeks.”

  Thatcher looked at the map and then back at Hewitt. “And I’m supposed to do something about this?”

  Hewitt smiled. “We want you - quite simply - to destroy Raider X.”

  Chapter 3

  “You’re mad, of course.”

  Hewitt continued to smile. “Not at all. You’ve been selected as the appropriate choice for the job. You have certain qualifications that we feel would most likely project a positive outcome.”

  Thatcher looked at the brandy decanter and wondered if another shot would help steel his reserve. “That sounds rather sterile to me. Almost as if we’re discussing a business venture.”

  “Aren’t we? Isn’t war merely a larger function of national corporations eager for more resources, a larger market share, or some manner of trade?” Hewitt leaned forward. “In any event, it’s irrelevant. You are the man we want.”

  “Judging by what you told me about SOE, you ought to have many other suitable candidates for a mission like this.”

  Hewitt grinned. “Well, that’s the thing, see? We do have other operatives, but since we’ve invested quite a bit of time and money into their training, we’re rather reluctant to send them off on this particular venture.”

  Thatcher glanced at the brandy decanter again. “So, it’s that kind of operation then? I’m not supposed to come back.”

  Hewitt shook his head. “Not that. We’d like it if you did come back safe and sound. The likelihood of that happening is slim, however, and if we lose you, then there’s no drama as you were set to die anyway.”

  “Rather convenient.”

  “It is a war, after all. One must be pragmatic.”

  Thatcher sniffed. “Never fancied myself a pragmatist.”

  “You certainly seemed to be this morning. Jumped at the chance to change your fortune.”

  “Nor did I think I’d ever be of any good to the Crown.”

  Hewitt stood, walked to the window and looked outside. “There, you see? Your life’s not a complete waste after all. Do this little errand for us, get some semblance of respect back, and who knows what tomorrow might bring?”

  “My death, if what you say is true.” Thatcher shook his head. “Seems I’d be a damned fool to go through with this.”r />
  Hewitt waved his hands. “Ah, Thatcher. One man’s fool is another man’s hero. It’s all rather subjective at the end of the day. What matters is the mission gets done. Certainly no one here is going to think ill of you for accepting the assignment.”

  “And if I say no?”

  Hewitt shook his head. “Then that eager young captain at the jail is going to be plenty happy tonight; we’ll ship you back and have you shot at sunset.”

  Thatcher looked at Hewitt. But Hewitt busied himself with getting the papers and photographs into a neat pile before he stowed them back in the cabinet. Without looking at Thatcher, Hewitt chuckled. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult to find another sorry loser who’s about to end up on the wrong end of a headstone. Might even take less time to talk them into than it’s taking you.”

  “It’s not that I’m not-“

  Hewitt’s head snapped up. “What? That you’re not grateful? Well, that’s precisely what you are Thatcher. You’re an ungrateful bastard with a lousy lot in life. You’ve mucked about for years with little to show for it. What good have you done while you’ve been using up air during your time alive? Have you ever done anything for the greater good?”

  Thatcher chewed his lip. “Probably not.”

  Hewitt considered him. “At least you’re honest. That puts you in a slightly different category.”

  “You asked me earlier if I wanted to live.”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you I did.”

  Hewitt jabbed a finger at him. “If that’s true then this is your chance.”

  “By running off on a suicide mission? Sounds a bit contradictory to me.”

  Hewitt sat again. “If you’ve got such a lust for life, then carry out your assignment and let that zeal for living bring you through this. Despite the odds, despite the incredible danger, if you want to live badly enough, then perhaps God will smile upon your hapless soul and grant you that which you so dearly wish for.”

  “He might just as well turn the other cheek.”

  “Indeed he might. He certainly seems to be with Jerry running amok. But then again, perhaps he’s just waiting for an opportune moment to step in. He might even be waiting for you, Thatcher. Imagine that.”

  Thatcher grinned. “You really believe the crap you espouse?”

  Hewitt kicked his feet up on the desk. “It’s not me who’s got to believe it, Thatcher. It’s you who has to decide if you believe in yourself enough to get done what needs getting done. Me? I’m perfectly content sitting here in my office, dodging German bombing raids, and waiting for a better day to turn up.”

  “I don’t have that luxury.”

  Hewitt’s eyes lit up. “Ah! So there’s some sense getting through to you. That’s encouraging.”

  “Are you this sarcastic with your other operatives?”

  Hewitt’s feet came down with a thud. “You’re my only operative right now, Thatcher. And that’s all you need to be concerned with. So mind your manners.”

  “Touchy.”

  Hewitt stood and walked around the desk. When he stopped, he leaned in until his face was a mere inch from Thatcher’s. “Now you listen to me and listen good: you do as I say. I am your handler. It’s my job to steer you into your operational environment. It’s my job to lay out the specifics of this job and see you get cracking on it. It’s even my job to try to get you out safe and sound. What is not my job is taking any degree of insubordination from you. I will brook no attitudes. I will tolerate no idle chatter. Nor will I allow you to question my motives or how I might interact with others who have come before you. Is that understood?”

  Thatcher looked into Hewitt’s eyes. Something had changed in them. And for the first time, Thatcher saw that Hewitt was serious. Apparently about a lot of things.

  “Understood.”

  Hewitt’s frown broke into a smile and the tension evaporated from the room. “Well, good then. Let’s have another drink.”

  Thatcher drank the brandy Hewitt offered him. “You mind me asking what happened?”

  Hewitt sucked down his brandy and then refilled it quickly. “What happened was I trained a crack operative. Trained them until I couldn’t train them anymore. Until they were as ready as they could ever be to do what they were supposed to do.”

  He rose and set his glass down on the cabinet, peering at the map of the world again. “And as soon as they hit the ground they were snapped up by the Gestapo. Someone had sold us out. They knew we were coming. And they were ready.”

  Thatcher swallowed. Hewitt looked at him.

  “Yeah, that’s right. They’re dead. But not before the Gestapo had a field day with them.”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  “You know what the Gestapo does to women, Thatcher? They rape them and beat them and sodomize them mercilessly. They keep them alive naked and freezing while their doctors conduct all sorts of horrible experiments. We know this based on reports we’ve gotten from the very lucky few who have escaped.”

  “Your operative was a woman?”

  “Why so surprised, Thatcher? You’ve never known a woman who was a criminal? Or a woman who could do the job of a man, only better?”

  “Sure, but-“

  “She was gold, my boy. Top drawer stuff. But by the time they got done with her, by the time they finally shot her dead, she was no more than a shell. And there wasn’t one bloody thing I could do to save her.”

  Wonderful footsteps to be following in, thought Thatcher. “I don’t suppose they returned the body to you for proper burial here?”

  Hewitt shook his head. “Not a chance. Espionage agents aren’t granted the same treatment or consideration soldiers are. That is, if the Gestapo even played by the Geneva rulebook, which they don’t appear to. Lucy was,” Hewitt cleared his throat, “she was my most apt pupil.”

  Thatcher let silence claim the room for a minute until he judged enough respect had been shown for the dead. “I don’t fancy ending up the same way, Mr. Hewitt.”

  Hewitt watched him for a moment before nodding. “Then you’d sure as hell better be all that I hope you are. And a whole lot more.”

  “You’re going to train me, then, too?”

  Hewitt’s smile wasn’t full of joy. “No time my young friend. You’re going in as you are right now. In fact,” he checked his watch, “you leave in a matter of hours.”

  Thatcher looked outside. The sun was making up for its extended absence. Thatcher could hear birds singing somewhere off in the park. Voices from the sidewalks below drifted up to him.

  Would he ever see this again? Would he ever appreciate it as he did right then?

  He looked at Hewitt. “Then I suppose you’re going to want to start briefing me properly.”

  “Let’s get started,” said Hewitt.

  Chapter 4

  “You’ll be traveling aboard a regularly scheduled transport ship, the SS Archimedes,” said Hewitt. “It departs out of Poole around five this evening.”

  Thatcher frowned. “That’s not much time. How are you getting me down to Poole?”

  “We’ve got a small plane waiting to fly you down,” said Hewitt. “A Defiant, I believe. Ever ridden in one before?”

  “Uh…I don’t even know what that is.”

  Hewitt grinned. “I think you’ll enjoy it at least. Not a bad way to travel.” “Fantastic,” said Thatcher. “Tell me about the commerce raider. What’d you call her, Raider X?”

  Hewitt nodded. “We give them all letters to keep them straight, but with Raider X, we don’t know much. Our agents have managed to secure a bit of useful information, however. Specifically, the name of her captain. Klaus Schwarzwalder.”

  “Black Forester?”

  Hewitt grunted. “Brilliant, you’ve still got a grasp of German. That’s good to hear.”

  “Been a while. Might be a tad rusty.”

  “Fortunately on this jaunt you won’t have much need of it to make you look as though you’re German. We’re not sending y
ou in undercover. This is a straight sabotage mission.”

  Thatcher glanced around the office and saw it was devoid of any family photographs. Likely Hewitt had little use for such things - if he even had one to begin with. “What’s so special about Schwarzwalder?”

  Hewitt leaned back. “Often you can tell a lot about the nature of the coming mission by who is in charge. Schwarzwalder, for example, was classically educated at Mürwik Naval School as well as Preußische Kriegsakademie.”

  Thatcher blinked. Hewitt had just given the name of the Prussian Staff College in perfect rendered German. “You speak German.”

  Hewitt shrugged. “When you deal with them all the time, you tend to pick up the language. But I’d never hold up under scrutiny.” He waved his hand. “In any event, Schwarzwalder comes from a wealthy family in the south of Germany, but his upbringing was strictly northern. He’s got quite a reputation.”

  “I’ve heard something of Nazi reputations.”

  Hewitt shook his head. “That’s just it: Schwarzwalder is no Nazi. If anything, he likely despises them. After a sterling career, he retired only to be called back into action. He was pressed into service in this war. With a wife and three sons, he knew better than to defy Hitler. No telling what might have happened to his family if had done so. It’s the way with a lot of naval captains; they didn’t subscribe to what Hitler espouses, but rather than see their lives torn apart, they reluctantly agreed to go back to sea. We expect that Schwarzwalder is much the same.”

  “How does that have any bearing on my assignment?”

  “Well, for one thing, it means your survival chances are better than if someone else was captaining the ship. Other commerce raider captains are likely to leave any survivors floating in the ocean until they either freeze to death or the sharks finish them off. Schwarzwalder likely won’t let that happen.”

  “‘Likely?’” Thatcher smirked. “You don’t sound all that positive.”

  Hewitt scratched his face. “Well, we can’t be, can we? Raider X has supposedly only just put to sea. Schwarzwalder is on his premiere cruise with her as we sit here. That said, his actions are likely to be more genteel than others. He won’t be merciless with civilians, in other words.”