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, Jurgen?" 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, Jurgen, 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 Jurgen 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 Jurgen, 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."
"Jurgen…"
"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.
"Two weeks, perhaps less."
"And when do we get back?"
"That depends on you, doesn't it?"
She summoned her courage. "Are you going to- " She couldn't bring herself to utter the word kill. "Are you going to leave us down there, Jurgen?"
Drexler was taken aback. He swallowed. "No." He shook his head. "At first I wanted to leave him. But what would be the point? You're about to help me achieve what I want. And eliminating him won't win you back. So if you cooperate I'll set him free. Possibly I'll put him in a life raft off some port of refuge. Port Stanley in the Falklands, perhaps, or Ushuaia in Argentina. Even Cape Town."
"And what about me?"
"That'll be your choice. I can't stop you from joining him."
She looked incredulous.
"I won't stop you from joining him- if that's still what you want."
He saw the look of new hope on her face and realized he may have been too soothing. "Of course, this promise is contingent on both of you doing your jobs properly."
"So you can play with disease."
"No! To combat it!" He grimaced, frustrated. "Listen, I know you hate me right now, but this trip isn't as awful as you think. When the time is right I'll explain my plan in full and you may see our mission- and me- in a different light. And then you can choose between us."
"Jurgen, I've chosen. Why can't you accept that?"
"I think I have, as much as could be expected. He is on this boat, after all."
"Then let me talk to him."
"No!"
"Look at this clutter. Let him help me down here."
"No. I trust you, but not him. If you wish to talk, talk to me. If you need some help, come to me."
"Sailors and soldiers of the Third Reich!" Drexler's voice crackled over the intercom. As many men as possible had crammed into the control room where he was speaking because it was easier to hear him in person than over the crude intercom system. Others cocked their heads toward the loudspeakers. All were curious about their fate.
"I bring you greetings from our Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler. And from his designated successor, Reichsmarschall Goring. We have set out on a long voyage to a distant destination. All of you, of course, are wondering about our mission. And you men of the navy must wonder about so many new faces here on board. I apologize about the added crowding. These soldiers, I assure you, are vital to our success."
Hart was lying on his bunk, frowning at the Nazi squawking. Next to his bunk an engineer had his head tilted up, listening.
"Our destination is… Antarctica." Drexler paused for dramatic emphasis. There was a murmur of excited comment throughout the boat. The engineer frowned. "A cold place, but not as dreadful as you might think. Our northern winter is Antarctica's summer and we hope to find tolerable weather as we go south. With strength, endurance, and will, we should be able to accomplish our task rapidly and go home." Greta stood in the passageway by her cubicle, looking somberly at her husband.
"And what is that task? The chance to change history is given to few men. To us of the U-4501, that opportunity has been granted! We are setting out for the distant continent to retrieve a new drug, an underground organism significant enough to affect the tide of the war. Security prevents me from explaining fully the purpose of this compound, but clearly, Berlin and U-boat Command wouldn't risk one of Germany's best submarines on such a distant mission unless it was vitally important."
Heads nodded.
"This isn't a combat mission. With luck, we'll never encounter the enemy. We're like a silent cat, stealing stealthily across and under the sea. Yet if we do meet opposition we must battle to the last ounce of human will. Because what we're attempting to accomplish on this mission could truly save the lives of our loved ones in the Reich."
Drexler looked at Freiwald. "There are rumors of Allied superweapons. Clearly, Germany requires superweapons of its own to defend the Fatherland. This is our mission, to obtain the key to a superweapon, and you men are the agents of deliverance. We're journeying to an Antarctic island and should be back home early in the year, as heroes and saviors. For a while our purpose will remain a military secret. But when it's finally revealed the world will gasp at your achievement."
He nodded, confident. "I believe divine providence has made this voyage possible. I put my faith in his will, and the will of our Fuhrer."
Drexler let his gaze sweep the control room, then lifted his arm. "Heil Hitler." And, rising like a phalanx of spears, the other arms in the room came up. "Heil Hitler!" came the roar through the boat. Hart pressed his hands over his ears.
Otto Kohl was tired, sore, and broke. His escape from Vigo had cost him all he had, buying him miserable truck, donkey, and cart rides across dusty mountains. His suit was filthy and torn, his feet blistered, his assurance and authority gone.
But the American Intelligence officer had come out of the embassy in Lisbon to meet him anyway. Now the German nervously licked his lips, considering for the thousandth time what he was about to do. Maybe he had been corrupted, as Drexler had claimed.
Or saved.
"Yes?" the attache said, a bit impatiently.
"My name is Otto Kohl," he began. "Your records will show I escaped from American army custody in France. I've been to Germany. And I have the most extraordinary story to tell you…"