Chapter 11
Late in the afternoon the gathering dusk began to descend on New York City. The majority of the storm had long since passed through and now just a few random showers pelted down helter-skelter on the gloomy wharves of the Lower East Side. Standing off shore in the still somewhat choppy waters of the East River the steamship Kiel struck an unremarkable pose. The German flagged freighter was anything but distinguished looking. Running rust dripped over and down the sides from the gunwales like oozing sores. A small unrepaired gash in her stern from an unfortunate encounter with a pier gaped open, surrounded by crumpled steel. Her black hull was covered here and there by patches of green algae. The white stripe of her stack was now a sooty grey, and badly in need of repainting, as was the rest of the ship. She veritably cried out of neglect and overuse.
To the casual observer she was indeed nothing more than an old worn out rust-bucket cargo freighter plying the trade routes between New York, South America, and her namesake homeport of Kiel, Germany. But that's because the casual observer would fail to notice the carefully concealed antennas, the deck guns cleverly hidden behind the phony crane housings, and the fact that the Kiel's forlorn neglected exterior was all a ruse. The casual observer would have no way of seeing below decks, where radio operators, intelligence officers, and a host of other skilled crewmen walked through gleaming passageways past shining brass work, and popped to attention, giving crisp Nazi salutes as they went about their clandestine duties. Nor could he see that while the Kiel normally hobbled along at no more than about 10 knots, she actually possessed twin boilers of the newest German engineered design, capable of far greater speeds if and when the need arose.
Some sailors now stirred into action on the main deck just aft of the pilot house. The purposefully scruffy looking bearded deck seamen were rigging an accommodation ladder over the side. They lowered the heavy metal ladder down towards the water until it lay at a 45 degree angle against the side of the ship, and the brackish grey-green water of the East River lapped up and over its lowest rungs.
Meanwhile on the wharfs, three men emerged from warehouse #4, whose dilapidated façade mirrored the tired looking ship anchored off shore. The men walked to the end of a pier, entered a small motor launch, untied the lines and eased slowly away. The boat's small engine coughed and sputtered to life, frightening a group of rats who scurried quickly between the rotted timbers of the old wharf.
The small launch made its way out toward the hulking freighter and within a few short minutes pulled up to the accommodation ladder. The men made fast the lines and waited.
It was a short wait. In a few moments a group of five men emerged from below decks and walked toward the rails. One of the men stood well over six feet tall, with a robust full beard, and corpulent belly to match. He wore the visored cap of a ship's master, high boots, and an oil skin rain slicker. The other four were, by contrast, rather smaller, and of slighter build. Each of them wore dark suits with their hats pulled down low over their brows to ward off the windblown rain.
Kapitan Otto Kreuz escorted his guests to the rail. There he briefly shook hands with them, clicking his heels together each time. When he got to the last of them he spoke.
"Colonel Ito, it has been a pleasure to be of service to you and your men. I am glad that the Third Reich has had this opportunity to assist our friends from the East."
Colonel Ito regarded Kreuz with a disinterested look in his cold eyes. "The Imperial Japanese Government is grateful for your assistance," he said in a monotone.
Kapitan Kreuz went on. "My superiors in Berlin have instructed me to give you and your men all the assistance you need with your mission."
"Thank you Captain, you have been more than gracious, and the use of your vessel has been indispensable," Ito spoke in practiced, measured tones as he smiled a plastic smile; the kind of mirthless smile that spoke of a cruel heart within.
Kreuz put on a jovial expression. "So colonel, before you leave us, I must ask once again what it is that has brought you so far from your empire?"
Ito's cold eyes flashed hot for a fraction of a second, before once again returning to his serene disinterested demeanor. "You ask many questions Captain," he once again smiled coldly. "Too many questions."
With a snap of his fingers Ito signaled his three countrymen to follow and they carefully descended the slippery accommodation ladder to the motor launch below.
On the deck of the Kiel Kapitan Kreuz watched them go, and then turned to his First Mate Schmidt and scowled. "Ach! Got damned little monkeys!" He cursed his former guests. "Good riddance! What, have they lost their minds in Berlin?! What could be so important that they would divert us all the way to Panama, just to pick up some little monkeys?! And then deliver them all the way here to Moltke! …Ach!"
Schmidt smiled as his skipper cursed. "Mein Kapitan, perhaps it is better not to know. Sometimes it is best; especially since the orders came directly from the Chancellery."
"Yes Schmidt, I know. Whatever it is it has top priority from Berlin. Sometimes, as you say, it is best to know the least."
"We simply follow orders Mein Kapitan."
I need a glass of schnapps," Kreuz said as he headed toward the hatch and descended back down below decks.
A few minutes later the small launch arrived at the pier. The party of Japanese led by Colonel Ito stepped out on to the rickety structure and was escorted to the corrugated metal doorway of warehouse #4.
As with the dilapidated exterior of the Kiel, so the run down rusty faded exterior of warehouse #4 concealed something quite different within. As the men entered the long dusty building though, it was not immediately apparent. The metal door closed sharply behind them, the sound echoing loudly in the cavernous structure. Here and there bales of hemp rope and shipping crates were strewn about. A thick layer of dust rested on everything and the building appeared to be unused and abandoned.
Colonel Ito looked about with a look of disapproval etched on his otherwise stony countenance. He spoke a few words of guttural muffled Japanese to his three men who answered back, each with the same short words.
Hans, the man who led them in, was tall with short cropped blonde hair. He motioned for them to continue to follow him towards the far wall on the other side of the dirty building. With some reluctance and wariness they followed, stepping over and around the many obstacles. Upon reaching the far wall Hans bent down and grabbed a small handle. A moment later the wall slid open to the left to reveal a small passage.
Even the short statured Colonel Ito had to bend slightly to enter as he and his men followed Hans in. Reaching down, Hans slid the wall closed behind them. At the other end of the passage was another small door, but this one was of heavy oak panel and rested on thick brass hinges.
Hans carefully knocked a pre-arranged coded series of knocks. A few seconds later a small window panel slid open and a pair of cold suspicious eyes gazed out and locked on to the men. Just as quickly the panel closed and the door opened. Hans motioned for them to enter. They entered, and the heavy door closed behind them.
They found themselves in a small dimly lit room containing several radio sets, two of which were manned by radio operators wearing headphones. A teletype machine in the corner of the room suddenly clattered to life spitting out a paper message that was quickly snatched up by one of the operators, who then disappeared, message in hand, through a small door into another room.
Hans motioned for the Japanese to wait, and then disappeared into the same room. A moment later a tall man with closely cropped light brown hair emerged.
"Colonel Ito, Welcome!" He said with a broad smile on his face. "Welcome to New York City!" He chuckled. "Or at least that small part of it that belongs to the Third Reich eh!?"
Ito's expression barely changed.
"You must be Herr Moltke," he spoke in his usual toneless voice.
"Yes, I am Moltke. Please step into my office gentlemen," he motioned to Hans. "Hans get us some schnapps, I'm sure our guests are tired from their journey, and could use a drink."
Ito and the other Japanese filed into Moltke's small office and sat down on two chairs and the small sofa. Moltke went and sat behind his dark wooden desk. A picture of Adolf Hitler adorned the wall to his left, a swastika flag hung behind him. Other than that the office was sparsely furnished and undecorated. A small pile of communiqués lay in an in-box on his desk beside a telephone, and what looked like some kind of code machine was next to the phone. As his guests seated themselves, Moltke carefully and deliberately closed the wooden lid of the machine's box.
"So Colonel, I hope your stay on the Kiel was a pleasant one."
"It was sufficient for our purposes Herr Moltke," Ito answered.
"Were there any problems in Panama?"
"None."
Moltke continued to smile but couldn't help feeling, as he looked into the eyes of Colonel Ito, that he was looking at one of the coldest hearted killers he'd ever seen. Even in Germany Ito's reputation was well know. Being one of the more senior operatives of the Gestapo's Foreign Division, Heinrich Moltke made it his business to know his counterparts in other State Security Organizations. Colonel Ito of Japan's Kempetai was well known for his calculated ruthlessness and efficiency. If the Imperial Government had sent Ito…Moltke thought to himself…they were definitely taking the AG Project seriously.
"The Third Reich is always eager to assist our comrades from the Japanese Empire," Moltke went on. "Your mission is of the highest importance to our leaders. The Fuhrer himself has expressed great interest in the AG Project. We have…"
Ito seemed to ignore him, and spoke before Moltke was finished. "Do you have a car available for our use Herr Moltke?"
Moltke was not used to being so rudely interrupted. He took a sudden dislike to Colonel Ito. He glared, and was about to say something when Hans entered with a bottle of schnapps and a tray full of glasses.
Regaining his composure, he remembered his instructions from his superiors in Berlin. As Hans poured, Moltke spoke again to Ito. "Yes Colonel, we have a car, and operating funds available for you and your men."
"Very well then, we…"
"However!" Moltke held up his hand, and took pleasure in purposefully interrupting Ito. "Colonel, you must understand that there are many questions still to be answered," he held his glass for Hans to fill. "As you well know, this project is being given a very high priority in Berlin; as well I know it is in Tokyo."
Colonel Ito stared blankly as Moltke continued to speak.
"Whether we like it or not Colonel, we must work together."
"But of course Herr Moltke," Ito smiled his icy smile.
"If we are to work together Colonel you must brief me more on the details of your requirements and your mission in New York, so that the resources of your own government and the Third Reich can be better utilized to both our advantage."
"Naturally Herr Moltke," Ito cleared his throat before continuing. "Our mission here is simple, it is to retrieve the journal of the American archaeologist Garston."
"It was Garston who made the discoveries in the Caroline Islands, was it not?
"Garston was a spy for the Americans," Ito answered. "We were watching him for some time. He was spying on the Imperial Japanese forces on the islands."
Moltke listened attentively as Ito continued.
"His archaeological activities were a cover of course, and we knew that. Naturally we had agents in his camp. It was through these agents that we learned about Garston's discoveries."
"So he truly was an archaeologist?" Moltke asked.
"No matter," Ito responded. "He was a spy."
"But you allowed him to continue his archaeological investigation of the Nan Madol ruins?"
"Yes," Ito's voice was cold and mechanical. "As you know Herr Moltke, the mysterious ruins of Nan Madol and the remains of the sunken city in the harbor of Pohnpei are still to this day unexplained."
"The legends are fantastic," Moltke spoke with a slight amount of awe in his voice. "Too fantastic to believe; legends of giants, and huge stones that moved themselves."
"Indeed Herr Moltke the legends are fantastic. But we believe that they can be explained by science. A long lost science of the Ancients."
"Yes Colonel, our scientists agree, and if we can harness that power," Moltke paused. "The possibilities are enormous. On this point our two governments are in agreement. And it must be kept out of the hands of the Americans and the British."
"Precisely Herr Moltke."
Heinrich Moltke paused for a moment, and then raised his glass of schnapps. "So, let us drink to that. Let us drink to the Japanese Empire, the Third Reich, and the power of the Ancients."
Ito mechanically raised his glass; his three men carefully duplicated his movements like sycophants. Moltke downed his glass in one gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before letting out a long breath. Ito and his men downed the strong liquor, obviously not enjoying it as much as the German but doing their best to hide their distaste.
Moltke laughed. "It's an acquired taste gentlemen. Maybe next time I'll have some sake eh? Perhaps you'll bring me a bottle from Tokyo Colonel Ito," he looked over at Hans. "Hans, another round," He held out his glass. "This is the finest schnapps, direct from the Fatherland; a gift from Berlin."
While Moltke was instructed to give as much assistance as possible to the Japanese agents, he was also instructed to extract information. The government of the Third Reich did not want to be left in the dark about any aspects of the project, and didn't fully trust the Japanese.
"So Colonel, please continue," Moltke said.
Ito watched without expression as Hans refilled his glass, and then droned on in his dull mechanical voice. "We believed that the American agent Garston had made significant discoveries. We knew that he was in communication with American Intelligence. We had wanted to bring him in but had allowed him to continue with his work."
"He was making progress, and you allowed him to continue," Moltke interjected.
"Yes Herr Moltke, we allowed Garston to continue with his work," Ito then smiled his chilling mirthless smile. "Of course he did not realize that he was working for the Imperial Japanese Government."
Moltke smiled, and arched his eyebrows slightly. "And the Third Reich."
Ito paused at the German's remark and gave him a bland stare for a brief moment. "Precisely. It appeared that he was getting very close to unlocking the secrets of the Nan Madol ruins."
"Which is crucial to the AG Project," Moltke added.
"Yes. Finally when we felt the time was right we arrested him."
"So where does the journal come into it?" Moltke asked.
For a fraction of a second Ito's eyes flashed a murderous look, the only emotion the man ever seemed to display. Then just as quickly his expression resumed its blissful icy serenity. "We believe that the journal contains information that is crucial to unlocking the secrets of Nan Madol and the other ruins. Without which there is no AG Project."
"But I though you said that you arrested the agent Garston. Weren't you able to extract all the information you needed from him?"
Ito stared at Moltke for a moment before speaking. "Garston proved to be a very difficult subject when we interrogated him."
"You weren't able to break him," Moltke said knowingly.
"I assure you Herr Moltke our methods are normally very persuasive, but Garston was more difficult than expected."
"Where is Garston now?"
Ito's expression mirrored no emotion within, as he spoke chillingly. "Mr. Garston unfortunately…eventually succumbed to our methods."
"I see," Moltke said matter-of-factly, without batting an eye. "So what happened to the journal? Why didn't you get it when you arrested Garston?"
"Garston knew we were coming for him. An informer tipped him off. Apparently he was able to smuggle the journal out of the Carolines to Guam, where it was mailed from the US Postal Office there."
"How do you know this?"
"Because we captured the courier, after he mailed it. He was persuaded to tell us the address to where it was mailed."
"And the address is here in New York?"
"That is correct Herr Moltke. It was mailed to a certain Doctor Henry Jones Junior at the New York Metropolitan Museum."
"And who is this…Doctor Jones?"
"Another archaeologist like Garston," Ito answered a disinterested tone in his voice. "It doesn't matter, all that matters is that he has the journal and we will get it from him. Who he is, is not important. We will do whatever it takes to get the journal. If Jones is a problem we will simply eliminate him. We have wasted enough time already."
Moltke raised his glass of schnapps. "Well then," he smiled broadly. "Here's to your…and our success gentlemen."
The Japanese raised their glasses and dutifully downed the fiery liquid.