The Holcroft Covenant [antikvár]

Prologue MARCH 1945 The hull of the submarine was lashed to the huge pilings, a behemoth strapped in silhouette, the sweeping lines of its bow arcing into the light of the North Sea dawn. The base was on the island of Scharhörn in the Heligoland Bight, several miles from the Germán mainland and the mouth of the Elbe River. It was a refuelling station never detected by Allied Intelligence, and in the cause of security little known among the strategists of the Germán High Command itself. The undersea marauders came and went in darkness, emerging and submerging within several hundred feet of the moorings. They were Neptune's assassins, come home to rest or going forth to press their attacks. On this particular dawn, however, the submarine lashed to the dock was doing neither. For it, the war was over. Its assignment was intrinsic to the origins of another war. Two men stood in the weil of the conning tower, one in the uniform of a commanding ofRcer of the Germán Navy, the other a tall civilian in a long dark overcoat, the collar turnéd up to ward off the North Sea winds, yet hatless, as if to defy the North Sea winter. Both looked down at the long line of passengers who slowly made their way towards the gangplank at midships. As each passenger reached the plank, the name was checked off against a list, and then he or she was led - or carried - aboard a submarine.