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Off to Argentina, via Spain, at last. Very sad farewell. Wolfie says it’s merelyauf wiedersehen, and that we shall meet again in happier times. All our hopes now rest withOberleutnant Zur See Schäfferand the brave crew of theKriegsmarine, June 1945
Aleksey nodded faintly to himself: this rather confirmed what he’d seen in the background of the picture, in the sea behind the two figures.
He turned it once more and studied the long, grey hulk: a surfaced German U-boat.
Many things flittered across Aleksey’s mind as he stood with these photographs in his hand: should he tell Ben? Why would henottell Ben? Should he just burn them and forget this?
But mostly, he was thinking that ifhisfamily had helped smuggle a very much alive Adolf Hitler to Argentina after the war, he’d have hidden the fucking photographic evidence too.
He saw what he held in his hand as a great burden bearing down on him and he didn’t like it. He was tired. He was too old for any of this. He was broken, and did not think his body could withstand this additional weight.
* * *
Later that day, he decided what he wanted to do.
He knew that anyone calling him on his decision would probably say he was prevaricating. If they did, he’d pretend he didn’t know what that word meant, and that it didn’t exist in Russian.
They all took another walk to the lighthouse, and he sat for a while, listening to the other three speculating on how they could maybe build a glider, or construct some ramparts, perhaps toss the dog up, toss Tim, and other such suggestions.
It was a beautiful day again after the storm which had swept the island earlier. The seabirds nesting in the cliff were raucous and busy, their white wings catching the sunlight as they soared on thermals, screeching.
Hadhecome here?
Had he sat here like this, enjoying a spring day?
How had he pulled it off?
Aleksey actually had some knowledge of these events, gained in a previous life, and what he had discovered in the photographs gave lie to that understanding.
‘You’re quiet.’
He glanced to Ben and twitched his lips. ‘As opposed to my usual noisy self?’
Ben took his hand, entwining their fingers. ‘But you’re okay? You look…worried. I won’t try to climb it, promise.’
‘Oh, I thought the idea of catapulting the moron up there an excellent idea. Hopefully, he’d miss the tower entirely and carry on, sailing right over the cliff. I have had an idea, by the way.’
‘Oh, that’s never good.’
He flicked Ben’s ear for cheek with his free hand. ‘Seeing as we’ve had no hot water and consequently no showers or shaving, I was thinking…instead of sailing home tomorrow as we planned, we could cross this evening to St Mary’s, stay the night in the castle hotel, and then sail home from there tomorrow. I am now a master mariner, and feel quite—’ Ben clearly liked this idea a lot. Their three-day beards rasped as they kissed briefly.
Aleksey glanced around. Their two human companions were at the back of the light, pacing out its base circumference for some reason, and their canine ones were snoozing, so he pulled Ben closer and kissed him more thoroughly.
He felt a desperate need for this connection to the man who anchored his life, who made him safe.
It did not escape his notice that making something safe also meant disarming it.
* * *
The plan was easy once they checked the charts in the boat. St Mary’s was only an hour’s sailing or so away. Although they would have to cross a major sea lane by going this route, Aleksey figured that in daylight and good weather they’d be fine. It took no more than half an hour to pack what they wanted to return with, leaving most of the stuff behind to use another time. Aleksey announced offhandedly he wanted to quickly inspect the pavilion repairs while the other three prepared the boat.
When they were gone, he selected some of the photos he wanted, pocketed them, and lugged the other two boxes up to the attic where he planned to stow them safely until he returned. He poked around, wondering what was a good place and remembered the big trunk Squeezy had been fooling with. He opened it. The trench coat was lying on the top. He paused. He fished out the photo taken on the steps in front of the house. He glanced down at the faded brown material then back to the Fürhrer…in this very coat.
He wondered if the professor would make the connection.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Nine
