"What!"
"You'll be issued enough pesetas to keep you at Vigo's finest for two months. And to light a lamp for our homecoming. But you go nowhere else if you care about the fate of your daughter. Early in the new year we'll have a family reunion. Then you'll be a rich man and I a powerful one. Not before."
"That's outrageous! That money is mine!"
"Think of me as your banker."
"Jürgen, you son of a bitch..."
"There, there, Otto," Drexler said, smiling. "We mustn't have acrimony among family members." He nodded toward Greta. "Now, say goodbye to your daughter. Tell her how important her cooperation is. Kiss her cheek, for me." He was in a good mood.
Kohl struggled to master his composure. He watched Jürgen nod to a guard, who hoisted the satchels and carried them down the quay steps for transport to the submarine. Then, resigned to the loss, Kohl went to speak briefly to Greta. She touched his hand before an SS guard escorted her to the launch as well. Next came Hart, his hands cuffed. The boat pulled away with this first load.
Drexler came back beside Kohl. "Was it a warm send-off?"
"She told me she didn't expect to come back."
"Ah. Well. She always underestimates me."
"And you me," Kohl said. "I'm not your puppet, Jürgen. I refuse to be any man's puppet anymore."
"Of course not, Otto. You're lord of Vigo. The newest Spanish don. And with patience, you'll have your new life."
They watched the motor launch aim for the waiting submarine. They could see Greta looking back at them, her expression invisible. Then she melted into the dark and Drexler put his arm around Kohl's shoulder and guided him to a waiting car. The German sulkily got in and Drexler bent to the open window.
"Your daughter and your money are safe with me. I think the stars promise luck for us, don't you agree?"
Kohl looked straight ahead. "Goodbye, Jürgen." When he said nothing more, Drexler shrugged and the car pulled away.
Otto half expected a detour and a quick bullet on the drive into town but it didn't come. A mistake, he thought. If you knocked down a person, you finished him. He suspected Jürgen didn't quite have the stomach required for his schemes.
Kohl was escorted to a hotel room with a view of the dark harbor. "Your accommodations have been paid for," he was informed. From the balcony of his room he could see the light of the motor launch as it ferried back and forth. The submarine was too low and dark to be visible.
Kohl sighed, sat on his sagging bed, and contemplated the ruins of his life. Then he took out the object Greta had pressed into his hand. "Keep this safe for me," she'd whispered.
It was a scrap of soiled white ribbon. He unwound it to find a pebble inside, dull and brown. He supposed it had something to do with Owen. With it was a scrap of paper, carefully inked.
"The issue is greater than us, Papa. You must stop this boat."
Kohl lay down on his bed. For the first time in many years, tears fogged his eyes. He was frightened at such sentiment.
For reassurance he felt the lining of his jacket where he'd sewn some currency inside. Then he considered what to do.
The
U-4501
was one of a new class of U-boat that was years ahead of its time. Its displacement was more than twice that of the standard German U-boat and it was thirty feet longer, giving the necessary range and cargo area to reach Antarctica. A new "schnorkel" provided the breathing capability to stay underwater long enough to escape the coast of Europe. Even its appearance was futuristic, with a streamlined conning tower that reminded Hart of a fancy prewar DeSoto. The submarine boasted interior amenities that earlier U-boats lacked: a freezer, a single shower, and a hydraulic system for faster reloading of its torpedoes. It could dive to six hundred and fifty feet. Yet despite all this it remained a claustrophobic tube, noisy and damp.
The vessel was crammed. Counting himself and Greta, Owen, Schmidt, and the soldiers, Drexler had brought thirteen extra people on board— unlucky thirteen, some of the sailors muttered— to add to the normal crew of fifty-seven. Bunks had to be shared, one sailor crawling into the heat and smell of the prior occupant as watches changed. Additionally, making space for a crude laboratory and Antarctic supplies meant provisions were stuffed into every available space. The sailors walked on tins of food in the torpedo compartments and one head was temporarily occupied by smoked meats and sausages. The boat was so tightly packed that the sailors joked that they had to lose weight in order to squeeze through to fetch their food.
To Hart, who loved the expansiveness of sky and sea, the cylinder was grimly oppressive. From his assigned bunk in the aft torpedo compartment, he listened with disquiet to the rumble of pumps and gush of water as the U-boat dove after clearing Vigo's breakwater, imagining the ocean's dark squeeze as they began their long underwater run.
He was still lying there when Drexler suddenly appeared. It was the first time they'd been so close since Berlin. The German had exchanged his uniform coat for a navy sweater. He also wore an expression of distaste.
"Already seasick, Jürgen?" Hart needled.
"Simply sick of your proximity," said Drexler. "And I'll chain you up again if I have to. But I've refrained for now. I'd rather we put aside our personal differences and form the necessary professional partnership to complete our mission. The result may save many lives. Can I trust you to behave correctly?"
Hart pretended to consider this. "As much as I trust you."
"I saved you from the Gestapo: saved a man who planned to abscond with my wife. I did so on her promise that you'd be of use to us. Now I want
your
promise."
"You can't always have what you want."
"Ah, but I can, and now I do." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out something golden, then let it dangle from his hand. "Remember?"
It was the penguin locket, and Hart started despite himself. He looked at the tiny bird swinging back and forth with growing anger. "That's Greta's, you son of a bitch. You stole that from Greta."
"Like you stole her from me."
Owen lifted himself onto his elbows in warning. "You know, Jürgen, I
could
become a dangerous man. If I were you I
would
get out the handcuffs. Who knows what I might do?"
"You're the least of my fears," Drexler said, sneering. "I'm only trying to smooth our voyage. But if you make trouble,
you
have reason to be afraid of
me.
" With that, he turned and walked away.
The encounter left the pilot depressed, confirming his feeling of impotence. He felt as guilty for rushing to Berlin and endangering Greta as he knew she felt guilty for allowing them to be caught. Chains or no chains, he'd never felt so helpless.
He lay thinking for a long time, the German sailors glancing at him curiously as they passed: the enemy at last given a face. Then he suddenly swung out of his bunk. He couldn't allow paralysis. He had to be ready to act if opportunity came. He decided to explore and, if possible, talk to Greta.
At first no one addressed him as he moved through the hatchways. Still a ghost, thought Owen. But word of his movement went ahead of him and Captain Freiwald swung around the periscope to block him in the control room. His look was not unfriendly, only assessing.
"The American stirs," he said.
Hart swung his gaze around the control room. "Just admiring this latest example of German engineering. Too bad it's too late to affect the war."
"Colonel Drexler doesn't think so."
"Colonel Drexler is a danger to himself and to others."
Freiwald paused at that. "And what are we to make of you?"
"I'm a little uncertain of that myself, Captain." Owen glanced around at the half dozen crew members manning instruments. They regarded the American curiously. "I'm an American officer who left my unit without permission to try to rescue a German woman from this crazy war. I'm your enemy and yet I agreed to lend my spelunking expertise to this mission. But only after I was given a choice between this boat and a Gestapo basement, as was Frau Drexler." He paused a moment to let Freiwald digest this, noticing the German officer glancing toward a curtained cubicle where he assumed Greta had been assigned.
"There's a connection between you and our biologist?"
"We knew each other before the war."
"And yet she is married to Colonel Drexler, who forces you on this voyage?"
Hart nodded. "Life gets complicated."
"And what cave does the colonel wish you to explore?"
"Hasn't Jürgen told you where we're going yet?"
"No."
"Believe me, you're happier not knowing. I doubt we'll be coming back."
Freiwald frowned. "Is that a threat?"
"No, simply a prophecy. But there's a solution." He raised his voice slightly. "I'll accept your surrender now and we can sail for Norfolk. The war is over, Captain."
Freiwald laughed. "Unfortunately it isn't. Not for you or for me. And my loyalty remains with my country, so I think I'll decline your terms." He scrutinized the American, his curiosity not satisfied. "My crew informs me that, in talking to Colonel Drexler just a few minutes ago, you used the adjective 'dangerous' to describe yourself."
Hart shrugged. "Any man is dangerous when pushed into a corner. Yet I'm not as dangerous to you as Jürgen, I promise."
"Just don't threaten my boat, Hart. I have a fondness for the
U-4501."
"I respect a man's fondness for the things he loves." Then he stepped around the captain and moved on.
"Greta?" He stopped outside her curtained cubicle.
"Owen?"
"Are you all right?"
One of the SS men suddenly filled the passageway. He was thickly muscled and his face was mapped with a relief of scar tissue. Wounds from the front, Hart guessed. The man's iron-gray hair was in a stubby crew cut: Bristle-Head, the pilot mentally dubbed him.
"You're not to talk to Frau Drexler."
"She may be ill. She gets seasick. I need to check on her."
"We're submerged. There is little roll."
"She may be sick anyway."
Bristle-Head leaned into his face. "You're not to talk with Frau Drexler. Stay away from her. Away from this part of the boat. You've no business with the colonel's wife."
"I like this part of the boat."
"If you try to stay I'll tie you up in the engine room."
Hart considered. Then the yellow-haired giant Hans came through a hatchway as well, towering over them both. The pilot studied their faces. "In America, this is called an ugly situation." He turned. "Greta," he called softly. "There's something I haven't told you about the island. Something that will give us a chance."
Then he looked defiantly at the SS men and retreated.
* * *
While the new submarine could cruise for days underwater, progress was still swiftest on the surface. As they came abreast of Africa the Germans elected to risk surfacing at night. With the swells came motion as the submarine's sausage shape rolled. Word filtered through the boat that the woman, who'd kept closely to her cabin, was queasy.
Drexler had been uncomfortable approaching her ever since she'd tried to escape with Hart. Now he used her seasickness as an excuse to look in on her. "Are you ill?"
"I'm all right. I have a bucket."
"I can have Schmidt look at you."
"God no. Please leave me alone."
He considered. "Perhaps it would help if you were more active."
"Jürgen..."
"Come with me." It was not a request. He pulled Greta out of her cabin and led her to ladders that descended two decks to the boat's lowest level.
She looked down sulkily. "What's there?"
"Our future."
The compartment at the bottom had a clearance of only six feet and was shaped like a trough, the bulkheads curving inward toward a narrow deck above the keel. "I had them set this storage compartment aside for you," he said encouragingly. "As your laboratory."
She glanced around. There were two metal cabinets and a number of wooden crates on the floor, but no sink or workbench. Pipes and cables snaked over the surfaces. It was cold this low in the boat. The light was clinical and harsh near the ladder, shadowy and inadequate in the recesses. They could feel the throb of the engines just astern in the soles of their feet.
"Cozy," she said without enthusiasm. Something moved in the dark and she peered closer. Caged animals, she realized with a start, recognizing their smell. She went to inspect. "You brought animals? Is this an ark?"
"To test your drug. I didn't think humans would readily volunteer."
"I had no idea they were on board."
"We've kept them out of the way so as not to make the sailors uneasy. One of the men, Jacob, looks after them. So. Will all this work?"
"For what? To win the war?"
"Greta, I'm trying to help you. Will this satisfy your needs?"
She bit her lip. "It's impossibly cramped and inadequate. But... perhaps, with modifications. We need a bench, a drain."
He nodded, encouraged. He went to a crate and lifted a lid. "Your old biology books. I had them brought along to help." He lifted the one on top. It was the text on whales he'd given her on the
Schwabenland.
The memory startled her. It had been so long. She looked around again. "It's actually like a refuge down here," she acknowledged. "Less crowded."
"The roll is less too, near the keel."
She even laughed at that. "Convince my stomach."
"In an emergency you're to come here. This is your battle station. The hatch will be sealed and you'll be isolated, but out of the way and as safe as any of us."
She shrugged.
He reached out then to tentatively touch her shoulder but she pulled away. "Greta, I'm sorry things came to this. That everything's so awkward. But now, in the end, maybe we still have a chance to do some good. Together."
She was in no mood to reply to this and they stood, in separated silence. "When do we get to Antarctica?" she finally said, in order to say something.