The Passenger by F. R. Tallis Page A

replied.
    Lorenz took another chocolate. ‘Do you remember that old story about Günter Leidland?’
    â€˜What story?’
    â€˜His boat was scheduled to leave Lorient on Friday the thirteenth. As the date approached his men were getting more and more on edge, so he cast off on the twelfth and sailed to the other side of the dock, where he and his crew waited for a whole day before continuing their patrol.’ Lorenz studied the second chocolate before putting it in his mouth. When he spoke again it was as though he was thinking aloud. ‘It’s possible to convince yourself of certain things . . .’
    â€˜They’ll be all right,’ said Graf. Then, indicating the chocolates, he added, ‘Have you finished with these, Kaleun?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Lorenz replied, standing up. Graf pressed the lid back onto the tin, and Lorenz walked off. He found Richter lying on a bunk in the bow compartment. The injured man was feverish and talking in his sleep. A bandage had been wrapped around his head and only one of his eyes was visible. Lorenz noticed the iris oscillating beneath the papery lid. He tried to make sense of what the mechanic was saying, bending down so that his ear was close to Richter’s lips. A single, clear phrase interrupted the stream of poorly articulated syllables. ‘Stay away from me, you devil!’
    Lorenz drew back.
    â€˜What did he say?’ asked Voigt.
    â€˜Nothing,’ Lorenz replied. ‘He’s delirious.’

    J UHL HANDED THE DECODED MESSAGE to Lorenz who accepted it with a curt nod. His expression gave away nothing. As always, after a message had been received, the men watched him closely.He fancied that he could feel their frustration when, albeit for only a few seconds, he disappeared behind the curtain of his nook. When he emerged his features were still uninterpretable and set hard, like plaster of Paris. He marched resolutely to the petty officers’ quarters where he found Hoffmann sitting on a bunk, reading a damp, disintegrating newspaper. Torn strips hung out loosely from the front page. The electrician sensed Lorenz looming over him and stood up. ‘Herr Kaleun?’
    â€˜Well, Hoffmann.’ Lorenz steadied himself by reaching out to grip a rail. ‘How are you feeling today?’
    â€˜As good as can be expected, sir.’
    â€˜Yes, filthy weather.’ The electrician folded his newspaper. ‘We just got a message from headquarters,’ Lorenz added.
    Hoffmann looked bemused. He wasn’t accustomed to being taken into the commander’s confidence. His brow wrinkled as he tried to work out what was expected of him. Feeling obliged to respond, he made a guess: ‘Is it about the batteries, sir?’
    â€˜No,’ said Lorenz. ‘However, it does concern you.’
    â€˜Me, sir?’ Hoffmann looked over Lorenz’s shoulder at Juhl, who was as inscrutable as his superior.
    â€˜A personal communication from Admiral Dönitz,’ said Lorenz.
    Hoffmann’s face showed confusion and incredulity. ‘Admiral Dönitz?’
    â€˜Indeed.’
    â€˜Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake, sir?’
    â€˜Quite sure.’
    â€˜Admiral Dönitz?’ Hoffmann repeated the name in an uncomfortable, higher register.
    â€˜The Lion himself!’ Lorenz produced a sheet of paper and held it up ceremoniously as if he were about to read from a scroll. ‘You are informed, Elektro-Obermaschinist Hoffmann, of the arrival of a submarine,’ Lorenz looked over the top of the paper, ‘without periscope.’
    â€˜Without periscope . . .’ Hoffmann echoed.
    Lorenz handed Hoffmann the paper and pulled a bottle out of his pocket. ‘Congratulations.’ Suddenly, men began to crowd into the petty officers’ quarters. They extended their arms to shake Hoffman’s hand and reached in to slap him on the back. ‘I gather from Juhl here,’ Lorenz