The Titanic Secret (17 page)

And one of the men stepped back just a little too far. He lost his footing, and in an instant tumbled backwards over the safety line, slid helplessly down the black curving hull of the submarine and splashed into the cold grey waters of the Atlantic.

11 April 1912
RMS
Titanic

‘That might be a lot easier to say than to do,’ Maria remarked, as they left the lounge and walked out of one of the side doors which gave access to the first-class promenade. ‘At the moment, we don’t even know on which deck Voss’s stateroom is located, far less its number. And in view of the fact that he’s probably still travelling with the four bodyguards Mansfield said he had with him in Berlin, if he is stupid enough to have left any incriminating evidence out on his desk in his stateroom, he might well have ordered one of his men to either guard the door on the outside, or even wait in the room.’

‘I know,’ Tremayne replied quietly. ‘I didn’t say it was going to be easy.’

They walked across to the rail and stared out towards the coast of Ireland, the emerald green of the fertile pastures clearly visible in the land which lay to the east and west of the ship. The
Titanic
had too deep a draft to safely enter Cork Harbour, one of the largest natural harbours in the world, and the vessel had come to anchor at Roches Point, the outer anchorage of Queenstown Harbour.

From the rail, they could see Queenstown quite clearly, the buildings dominated by the lofty tower and spire, grey stones and lighter-grey slate roof of the Cathedral of Saint Colman. Crowds of people were standing in the harbour, staring out at the waiting transatlantic liner, and Tremayne thought he could now see one of the tenders heading towards them.

Within a few minutes, two small paddle-wheel-driven White Star Line tenders became clearly visible, steaming out of the harbour and heading for the
Titanic
’s deep-water anchorage. Unlike the tenders which had been used at Cherbourg, these were comparatively small craft and, as they approached the ship, Tremayne could see that both their enclosed cabins and the open decks were crowded with people.

They found a vantage point where they could look down at the embarkation, and Maria guessed that probably over a hundred new passengers were joining the ship. And it wasn’t just the tenders which were buzzing around the liner. Quite a number of small craft had appeared beside the
Titanic
shortly after it dropped anchor, carrying shopkeepers and other vendors from the town who were trying to sell various local specialities, such as lace and other handicrafts, to the wealthy passengers on board.

Tremayne and Maria remained by the side rail of the ship until the embarkation process was complete. A shrill exchange of whistles between the tenders and the ship acted as a confirmation that all mailbags and the passengers had been transferred, and the tenders eased away from the
Titanic
to return to Queenstown Harbour.

Tremayne looked at his watch as the paddle wheels of the tenders turned the blue-grey water into white foam, and a distant rumble and vibration showed that the
Titanic
was weighing anchor and preparing to leave.

He glanced at his watch again. ‘Look, it’s just gone half past one, so why don’t we sit down and have lunch, and work out what our next step should be.’

Rather than go down to the dining saloon, they decided to stay on the Promenade Deck. They walked past the smoking room, where Tremayne could still see the three seated figures inside, and then entered the Verandah Café, right next door.

Intended to serve afternoon tea and light lunches, rather than the gargantuan feasts that were standard fare in the dining saloon, this restaurant and the adjoining Palm Court had been designed to look like gazebos. They had black and white chequerboard floors, elegant wickerwork furniture, and walls featuring trelliswork, the whole decorated with a profusion of silk flowers and plants. Sliding doors gave access directly onto the Promenade Deck, and opened the room to gentle sea breezes when the weather permitted, while the huge windows provided uninterrupted views of the ocean.

‘This whole situation just seems unreal,’ Maria said, when they’d placed their orders. ‘It’s one thing to sit in Mansfield Cumming’s office at Whitehall Court and listen to him outline some dastardly plot against the British Empire, but it’s entirely different out here on the high seas, living in luxury and surrounded by some of the wealthiest people in the world. I told you John Jacob Astor the Fourth is one of the first-class passengers.’

‘I know,’ Tremayne replied. ‘I meant to ask you how you knew him?’

‘I just recognized him,’ she said simply. ‘He’s one of the richest men in America, in the world. He was talking to Isador Straus. He’s a partner in the Macy’s department store in New York, and probably another millionaire. There seem to be millionaires everywhere you turn, and then there’s the two of us, living amongst these people under false pretences: I certainly couldn’t afford to buy a first-class ticket on this ship. I come from Philadelphia, and my father’s just a clerk in a local factory. I was the first member of my family ever to have a passport, or to leave the States. A first-class suite on this ship probably costs close to what I earn in a year. And here we are, trying to decide how to kill three of these wealthy passengers purely on the say-so of a man sitting hundreds of miles away in an office in London. As I said, it’s just unreal.’

Tremayne didn’t reply for a moment, just stared out of the window at the Irish coastline, past which the ship was now slowly moving. Then he looked back at her.

‘Unreal it may be,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got a great deal of respect for Mansfield Cumming. If he says there’s a plot, I believe him until I can prove that he’s wrong. So that means we have to check out Voss, and find out the names of those other two men. We can’t simply ask for the information from a steward or one of the officers, because if they do end up going over the side, anyone on board who had any contact with them, however tenuous, is going to be an obvious suspect. So whatever we do, we have to be stealthy about it. And there is one obvious way of finding which stateroom Voss is occupying.’

‘I know,’ Maria replied. ‘We wait until he finishes lunch or dinner, and then simply follow him. All we have to do is keep close enough to him so that we can see which stateroom he enters, but not so close that he takes any notice of us.’

‘Just what I was going to suggest,’ Tremayne said, ‘but with one refinement. Voss looks to me like the kind of man who enjoys his food, so I suspect that he’ll have dinner in the dining saloon every evening. We already know from the steward that the meal starts there at seven sharp, and of course he will have to dress for the evening, which means he’ll have to return to his stateroom no later than six to get ready. So what we’ll do is relax for the moment, then I’ll make sure I’ve found him by about four o’clock, and after that I’ll stick with him.’

As a plan, it had the virtue of simplicity, but a lot depended on how observant Voss turned out to be. There weren’t that many people travelling first class, and if he kept on seeing the same face every time he turned round, he might well decide that his bodyguards could be usefully employed finding out a lot more about the young couple who seemed to be dogging his footsteps. Or maybe even deciding that they really weren’t wanted for the remainder of the voyage.

And Maria had been right. They were travelling in the newest and most advanced transatlantic liner in the world, living in sumptuous luxury, with stewards, bar staff and waiters at their beck and call, a kind of floating paradise, a foretaste of heaven.

But if Mansfield Cumming was correct and Voss already had blood on his hands, Tremayne and Maria both knew that he and his four hired thugs could very quickly turn their personal heaven into a most unpleasant kind of hell.

11 April 1912
HMS
D4

Hutchinson reacted instantly.

From his elevated position at the top of the conning tower, he had an unobstructed view of both decks of the submarine, and he could see things that the seamen working under his command were unaware of.

The submarine and the oiler were linked together by the mooring lines, and were moving slowly forward at about two knots, in a mercifully calm sea that was disturbed only by the slight swell. He could see the sailor, the member of his crew who’d fallen overboard, desperately trying to grab hold of something, anything, as he was swept down the side of the submarine. But there were no handholds he could grasp, and no lifebelts which could be thrown to him.

There was just one chance to save him.

‘The heaving line,’ Hutchinson bellowed at the men standing on the after deck of his boat. ‘Throw him the heaving line.’

The line was of course still attached to the mooring rope, but that was actually an advantage because it meant that one end of the line was already secured.

One of the men looked up at him, then into the water beside the submarine, and immediately realized what he had to do. There wasn’t time to coil the line and throw it, and it lay in an untidy heap beside the bollard on the deck of the boat. The seaman simply grabbed the pile of rope and lobbed it straight over the side, right into the path of the man in the water.

‘All stop!’ Hutchinson instructed down the voice pipe. The last thing he needed was the rope – or, much worse, the man – getting minced by the submarine’s propellers, both of which were still turning slowly.

Now it all depended on whether or not the man in the water would be able to grasp the heaving line as he drifted past it.

Hutchinson watched and hoped, because that was all he could do.

The water was cold, only a few degrees above freezing, and the man would be both shocked and chilled, and weighed down by his sodden clothing.

As he neared the rope, Hutchinson saw him slip beneath the waves, and for one sickening instant he thought they’d lost him. Then the man’s head and hands appeared. He grabbed for the rope, and suddenly Hutchinson saw that he’d gripped it, was holding onto it with both hands.

‘Haul him in,’ he yelled. ‘Gently.’

The two men on the after deck began pulling on the heaving line, dragging their comrade towards the safety of the submarine. It seemed like minutes, but in fact it could only have been thirty or forty seconds before they were able to grab his arms and drag him onto the deck of the boat, where the man just lay for a few moments, panting and spitting out water.

‘Get him below, right now,’ Hutchinson ordered. ‘Then get those clothes off him, as quickly as you can. Get him dry and get him warm. And give him a hot drink.’

Only then, once he was sure that his crewman was being taken care of, did he turn his attention back to the oiler alongside.

‘Right, gentlemen,’ he shouted across the gap. ‘Now we’ve watched the afternoon’s entertainment, perhaps we can get on with what we were
supposed
to be doing.’

He checked the deck, where two crewmen were standing beside the fuelling point, waiting for the hose.

‘Are you ready?’ Hutchinson asked, and one of the crewmen gave him a thumbs-up gesture. He made a final check of both decks of the boat, then called out again to the crew of the oiler, telling them everything was prepared.

Another heaving line was thrown from the oiler, snaking across the black deck of the submarine. One of the crewmen seized it, then they both started hauling on it, dragging a thick black hose across the narrow gap between the two vessels. As soon as they were able, they grasped the nozzle at the end of the hose and wrestled it down onto the fuelling point.

Hutchinson waited for a few moments while they checked that it was locked securely in place. ‘We’re ready,’ he called out to the oiler crew. ‘You can start pumping.’

The hose twitched and throbbed as the diesel fuel poured down it, and Hutchinson turned his attention to the security of his boat, checking that the mooring lines were still tight, and that both vessels still had their bows turned to face the slight swell. Then all he could do was wait until the tanks were completely full.

The entire operation took almost an hour from start to finish, but he was surprised by how straightforward the actual mechanics of the refuelling had turned out to be. Of course, the conditions were almost ideal, with only a flat calm sea and virtually no wind. How easy it would be to perform the same manoeuvres in poor weather or a rough sea was another matter entirely.

As Hutchinson waved his goodbyes – and grateful thanks – to the crew of the oiler, which would now have to loiter in the same general area until he returned, he hoped that the second refuelling, much further out into the ocean, would prove to be just as easy to complete.

But, knowing what the weather conditions were normally like in the north Atlantic in April, he had his doubts.

11 April 1912
RMS
Titanic

Tremayne and Maria spent most of the afternoon relaxing, making use of the ship’s ample facilities. Acting, in short, just like a wealthy, upper-class couple enjoying a luxurious voyage across the Atlantic. They talked to a handful of the other passengers, exchanging the kind of aimless and polite conversation of people with little interest in each other, and who knew that once the voyage ended they would be unlikely to ever meet again.

The only unusual event which occurred was another one of the pageboys bringing them a message in a white envelope, but this one wasn’t addressed to Tremayne.

‘It’s from my boss in Washington,’ Maria told him, when she’d opened it. ‘I guess Mansfield must have contacted him to ask about Bauer and Kortig, and he’s supplied me with an accurate description of the two men.’

‘Without encrypting the message?’ Tremayne asked. ‘That’s a bit sloppy, isn’t it?’

‘No, there’s no need. He’s just referred to them by their initials – JB and LK – and I don’t think there’s much doubt that they
are
the two men we saw with Voss last night. Bauer is the fat guy, Kortig the skinny runt. Here, see what you think.’