Göring pursed his lips in consideration and then slowly shook his head. "Which is why trying to harness it would be opening a Pandora's box. When you play with a witches' brew like plague, it can bounce back at you." He nodded significantly at Drexler. "As those mountaineer troops of yours learned too late."
Drexler put up his hand. "Conceded. But I discovered something else on that island, Reichsmarschall. An underground organism which some on the science team speculated might neutralize the microbe's effects."
"How is that significant?"
"Because when opening Pandora's box, one must possess immunity from its effects, as the Spaniards did from the European diseases that destroyed the Aztec and Inca empires."
"Obviously," Göring said impatiently. "So if you found a cure, why didn't you bring it back with you?"
"The expedition was in crisis. Men were dying, the ship in danger. The antibiotic's effectiveness on humans had not been fully demonstrated. After a futile effort to reach the SS squad during which our small supply of the antibiotic was depleted, the cave where the substance was found was blocked by a cave-in. For safety reasons we had to destroy the microbe as well; with the limited containment equipment we had, there was no way to ensure nonexposure. But now— "
"How has anything changed?" Göring said, tired of Drexler's obliqueness.
The SS colonel played his card. "Sir, just two days ago we made a remarkable capture that set our thinking on an entirely new course. Do you remember the American pilot, Owen Hart? He was here, at Karinhall."
"I remember the name, from the reports. Not the face."
"He was one of the mission's casualties— we thought. But it turns out he survived the microbe after all. Not forty-eight hours ago, he made a secret flight to Berlin to contact my wife. Once in custody, he admitted he'd survived the disease after ingesting the antibiotic. He's living proof a cure exists."
Göring frowned, idly twisting one of the rings on his left hand. "Contacted your wife?"
"Yes. You see it's Greta, my wife, who did much of the pioneering work on these discoveries in Antarctica. Hart, now an officer in American Intelligence, was apparently given a mission by his superiors to abduct Greta and force her to use this biology against us. Fortunately, her loyalty to the Reich allowed me to foil such a plot." He glanced sideways at Kohl. The German businessman swallowed and nodded in faint support.
"My point," Drexler went on, "is that we may be in a biological arms race. And the fortuitous arrest of Hart gives us the upper hand. If we could return to Atropos Island, we could collect enough disease spores to culture and grow the microbe. We could also collect the antibiotic organism and begin reproducing that as well. We then destroy the source of both, strike before the Americans, and force an end to the war."
"Your wife will help with this?"
"Of course. Her loyalty to the Reich and myself is beyond question." The other two sat as if made of stone.
Göring folded his hands and rested his chin on them. "Infection, plague— this isn't the kind of war I like to fight. How many millions do you intend to kill?"
"How many tens of millions have already died?" Schmidt responded. "The nation that can force a successful conclusion to this war before the last, greatest battles will have performed a humanitarian deed. We will have saved lives."
Göring tapped his fingers, considering. "This is fraught with difficulties."
"And it seems foolhardy to involve my daughter in this dangerous scheme," Kohl interjected worriedly.
"She's necessary," Drexler said with irritation. "The risk is acceptable to save Germany."
"You want to take your wife with you?" the Reichsmarschall asked. "She'll go?"
"If I explain the need."
"Well. Remarkable woman. Still, Otto is right. This is an extreme gamble."
"At this point it seems a gamble Germany must make."
"Yes." Göring thought, then pointed to a clock. "The key problem, of course, is time."
Schmidt nodded. "Time to get to the island, time to get these organisms, time to mass-produce them. With the Allies pressing, it will be difficult."
"But here, gentlemen, I have information that may make your task less hopeless than it seems." Göring paused, considering, then winked. He enjoyed demonstrating that he still occasionally played a part in the Reich's inner councils. "This is most secret, of course, but Germany is not as finished as the enemy believes. The Fatherland is going to strike back this winter, hitting the Americans and British where they least expect it. The Führer is confident this will bring victory. I'm less so but am confident our offensive will prolong the war. Enough perhaps to enable you to deliver us some kind of a miracle." He pondered. "This will require just a single submarine?"
"To win the war," Drexler promised. "When we return we'll need biological facilities to mass-produce both the disease and its antidote. A laboratory— perhaps located in a mine— should suffice. Germs are far cheaper than tanks or airplanes."
Göring laughed. "Our mines are getting crowded, so much has been moved there! Still, it would be nice to be in control of events again. Well." He seemed to have regained some of his old energy. He boosted himself to his feet, grunting a bit in pain. "Let's discuss the details of this further over dinner, Jürgen. I agree with Otto that the odds are stacked against us, but the idea of having an option of last resort intrigues me. We'll determine if this is truly feasible and you can tell me more about Antarctica."
"I'd be delighted, Reichsmarschall."
"Open it."
Drexler stood before the steel door in immaculate uniform, his jackboots shining and his pistol freshly oiled. With a clank the steel door was unlocked and hauled open by a thick, brutish SS guard, his arms roped with muscle and his head jutting forward. An animal set to guard animals. Drexler stepped through, the guard throwing on the light from an outside switch.
Greta jerked awake. She was on a bunk, huddled for warmth. The cell was otherwise bare except for a steel bucket. Drexler carried in a camp chair and sat. "Hello, Greta."
She sat up, blinking in the harsh light. She looked disheveled, exhausted, and very small. It was painful to see her in such surroundings. Humiliating. Yet it's necessary, he reminded himself. Necessary for her to understand how desperate their situation really was. Show no emotion, Drexler told himself. Feel no emotion. Every time you've surrendered to your heart, you've regretted it. Still, he found it difficult to begin.
It was Greta who finally spoke. "So, you've come to look? Does this please you? What you've done to keep me in Germany?"
Her sarcasm shattered his hesitation. It was he who was in control. "Do you think I enjoy seeing you like this? My wife jailed for trying to run away with an American Intelligence officer? The Gestapo is actually becoming suspicious you may have revealed key information to the enemy. I've spent all my political capital keeping this arrest quiet to protect both our reputations. Your impulsive selfishness has nearly destroyed me, Greta. Ruined me."
"All I wanted was to be let go."
"You know the Reich can't do that. The only debate your keepers have is how slowly you both should die. This is the reality of war, Greta: this cell is your situation without my protection, without my fine home, without my life and career and connections. Wake up! Because what can happen in a place like this is indescribable. All that stands between you and that is me."