OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Chapter 12

Carsten stayed topside, scanning the bay as it disappeared behind them. He rested a foot on the gunwale with his arms crossed over his knee, a cigarette pinched between his fore and middle fingers. The city was beautiful at night. He half smiled, knowing he would miss it. Boston gave him a respite from the usual grind in Germany. For several months, he'd enjoyed the leisure of a life where no one tried to kill him. That in itself made it worth his time.

Carsten made his way along the portside to the bow. The yacht coasted along easily over the quiet waves. The shadows of other vessels bobbed against the night sky. They passed islands and a lighthouse. There were few clouds and the moon smiled down, a narrow crooked sliver. It made for the perfect time to escape back to the fatherland.

As expected, harbor patrol stopped them, requesting their route and duty, and Carsten met the man they sent on board himself. He had orders not to disturb Mr. Healey for triviality. He presented the paperwork he picked up at the lawyer's earlier that day. The ink was still fresh and the harbor man seemed to know it.

"Healey," he said. "That ain't you."

"Naw," Carsten said easily switching accents. "I'm 'is assistant, Denny O'Brien. Mr. Healey's b'low decks preppin' fa bed. His dah'ter an' er gah'dian r doin' the same. Ya know how the rich set r. It's awl right der in the paperwork. Ya got any other questions?" He added with annoyance.

"Naw, naw." the man said. "Tell Captain Morris I said hullo."

Carsten nodded, wanting to turn away, but the man still held the paper and pressed him with a delving gaze Carsten didn't like. Carsten reached for the documents that the man hesitated to release.

"Be safe out there," the man added. "No tellin' where them Krauts'll pick up their damned heads."

Carsten cocked his head a bit to the side and forced a smile. The man seemed terribly brave despite not taking his own advice.

"Wool do that," Carsten replied. "Thank ya, sar." He added, offering his hand to the man.

They shook hands and the patrolman smiled and nodded before going to the decks of his own tub. Carsten called out the signal for the crew to continue on. The engines roared back to life and the vessels parted ways in the dark night. Carsten rested his hands on the rail. The patrol boat came about, disappearing in the dark back toward Boston. He gave a friendly wave, suspecting they spied at a distance. A great deal of suspicion had already been navigated to get them the paperwork. He walked away from the rail, proud he'd maneuvered them past the last obstacle before the transport.

Carsten entered the living quarters from a starboard side door on. He glanced at the useless pile of baggage and moved to a door that led into the crew area. The sterile atmosphere and bright lights made him squint. He found the ladder and took it down.

In the belly of the yacht, the huge engines cranked loudly. He walked along the narrow passages. The crew ran wire and fixed explosives to the hull. He made the rounds, wanting assurance that everything was going according to plan. His superiors would be little pleased if they didn't make a clean getaway.

Carsten found the current captain in the wheelhouse. The sinister-looking man passed him a wasting glance and the usual salute. Carsten smirked, returning the salute, and stepped to the helm. He surveyed the bay as the boat continued out to sea. The wheelhouse perch provided an impressive view.

"These Americans make it too easy," the captain said to him in their native tongue.

"Not for long," Carsten replied in German.

"Don't let the Führer hear you say that." the man laughed. He gave the impression of being hostile, but Carsten knew he was anything but.

"Why not? I like to live dangerously, my friend."

Carsten sat in one of the crew seats. He tucked his hands in his pockets and sunk deep into his jacket.

"You should get some rest," the captain said concentrating on his task. He knew the slouch well enough.

"There isn't enough time." Carsten scowled at the darkness. "Besides, I have to be sure those women don't cause any trouble."

"I think our guards can handle them," the captain said.

"You don't know Miss Healey like I do," Carsten said, placing his chin in his hand. "I have had enough time to read her files and see her in action."

The captain raised a brow questioningly.

"She shows a remarkable fortitude and intellect. Her intuition is strong," Carsten said. "She'll be waiting for her moment. I'm surprised she hasn't struck yet."

"Then let's not give it to her," the captain said.

"Once we return to the fatherland, it won't matter." Carsten moved the swivel chair to look at him. "They'll be dealt with."

"That's a shame." The captain smiled broadly at the sea. "She has nice legs."

Taken off guard, Carsten scowled at the captain. He clenched and unclenched his hand. The man insinuated something he didn't like. Despite helping her father get her into this mess, he wasn't keen on dragging women to their death, Even less did he like the usual violence afforded them, and one so attractive as Claire was going to tempt the less than honorable among them.

"Very nice legs," Carsten said, pulling the swivel chair back to better view the ocean and end the conversation.

***

Claire listened to the engines stop and then a man's voice call through the wind. She picked her head up from the pillow. Her aunt heard it too, rising up on her elbow to listen more closely. Claire jumped up and looked out the small porthole. The patrol bobbed alongside the yacht.

"What is it?" Aunt whispered.

"A patrol," Claire said. She climbed up on the bed to see better. "They've stopped us."

"Can they see you?" Aunt asked, forming an idea.

"They're at the bow-but maybe if we shine something at them," Claire said. She scanned the room. It was starkly bare, as if meant to be a prison. "Blast it all!" Claire hissed.

"Try the window," Aunt said.

"Shh!!! All right. All right," Claire said. She twisted the catch on the porthole. It gave easily but the glass circle wouldn't swing open. "They've sealed it shut."

"Leave it to your father to think of everything."

"Wait!" Claire said. "Flick the lights."

"What? Send them code?" Aunt half laughed. "I know a lot, but I don't know Morse Code."

"Just flick them," Claire hissed.

Aunt shuffled toward the switch. A series of bangs rattled the door. Aunt drew up short, clutching her fist over her heart. The door popped open and two of the ragged crew stood there with rifles slung on their shoulders, stimulating Claire to drop quickly to the mattress, paralyzed. While they didn't aim the weapons, they'd made their point just the same. The larger of the two spoke, waving Aunt back. He then held his finger to his lips and patted the muzzle of his weapon. The other chuckled in appreciation.

Aunt hesitated before sitting on the edge of the bed. Claire saw her terror-stricken eyes beholding the crewmen. After several tense moments, the silenced engines started up again and the yacht lurched forward. The crewmen laughed and said something incomprehensible. They flicked the lights off and shut the door. The bolt clacked.

Claire jumped up to look out the window. The patrol boat slipped away. She waved her hand, but no one saw her in the dark. She sank back down on the bed, frustrated.

"That was our last chance and we blew it!"

"Sh-shh-sh," Aunt said, flapping her hand. She got up and flicked the light back on. "It ain't over yet."

"By sunup, we'll either be drowned or shot."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Aunt whispered.

"What else is there to do?"