The Camilla rose on a gigantic roller. As the wave passed beneath the boat, it pitched wildly to the port side. Then it fell downward into the trough and, at the same time, righted itself and rolled over on its starboard side. Jenny was unable to keep her grip on the top of the companionway. She was thrown across the deck and into the sea.
The cold was like nothing she had ever felt: shocking, numbing, paralyzing cold. She fought her way to the surface and tried to gasp for air but she swallowed a mouthful of seawater instead. She sank below the surface, gagging, choking, taking more water into her stomach and her lungs. She kicked to the surface and was able to take a small breath before the sea pulled her down again. Then she was falling, sinking slowly, pleasantly, effortlessly. She was no longer cold. She felt nothing, saw nothing. Only an impenetrable darkness.
The Rebecca arrived first, Lockwood and Roach in the wheelhouse, Harry and Peter Jordan on the foredeck. Harry tied a line to the life ring, tied off the other end in a cleat on the prow, and threw the ring overboard. They had seen Jenny come up for air a second time and disappear below the surface. Now there was nothing, no sign of her at all. Lockwood brought the Rebecca in hard and straight; then, a few yards from the Camilla, he reversed the engine, bringing the boat to a shuddering halt.
Jordan leaned over the prow, looking for any sign of the girl. Then he stood and, with no warning, dived into the water. Harry shouted back to Lockwood, "Jordan's in the water! Don't get any closer!"
Jordan surfaced and removed his life vest. Harry screamed, "What are you doing?"
"I can't get deep enough with this damned thing on!"
Jordan filled his lungs with air and was gone for what seemed to Harry like a minute. The sea was beating against the port side of the Camilla, forcing it to roll from side to side and driving it toward the Rebecca. Harry turned over his shoulder and waved his arms at Lockwood in the wheelhouse.
"Back off a few feet! The Camilla's right on top of us!"
Jordan finally surfaced, Jenny in his arms. She was unconscious, her head to one side. Jordan untied the line from the life ring and tied it around Jenny beneath her arms. He gave Harry a thumbs-up sign, and Harry pulled her through the water toward the Rebecca. Clive Roach helped Harry lift her onto the deck.
Jordan was furiously treading water, waves washing over his face, and he looked exhausted from the cold. Harry quickly untied the line from Jenny and threw it overboard toward him--just as the Camilla finally capsized and dragged Peter Jordan under the sea.
PART FIVE
61
BERLIN: APRIL 1944
Kurt Vogel was cooling his heels in Walter Schellenberg's luxuriously appointed anteroom, watching the squadron of young assistants scurrying feverishly in and out of the office. Blond, blue-eyed, they looked as though they had just leapt from a Nazi propaganda poster. It had been three hours since Schellenberg had summoned Vogel for an urgent consultation about "that unfortunate business in Britain," as he habitually referred to Vogel's blown operation. Vogel didn't mind the wait; he didn't really have anything better to do. Since Canaris had been sacked and the Abwehr absorbed by the SS, German military intelligence had become a ship without a rudder, just when Hitler needed it most. The old town houses along Tirpitz Ufer had taken on the despondent air of an aging resort out of season. Morale was so low, many officers were volunteering for the Russian front.
Vogel had other plans.
One of Schellenberg's aides came out, jabbed an accusing finger at Vogel, and wordlessly waved him inside. The office was as big as a Gothic cathedral, with magnificent oil paintings and tapestries hanging on the walls, a far cry from Canaris's understated Fox's Lair at Tirpitz Ufer. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows. Vogel looked out. Fires from the morning's air raid smoldered along Unter den Linden, and a fine soot drifted over the Tiergarten like black snow.
Schellenberg smiled warmly, pumped Vogel's bony hand, and gestured for him to sit down. Vogel knew about the machine guns in Schellenberg's desk, so he kept very still and left his hands in plain sight. The doors closed, and they were alone in the cavernous office. Vogel felt Schellenberg feeding on him with his eyes.