"What's that?"
"You."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you really think I trust either one of you? That I'm relaxed about turning Otto Kohl loose to run around Spain while I carry out a secret mission to Antarctica? No, she's my guarantee, dear father-in-law. You won't do anything foolish because if you did, it would endanger her: if we fail, she'll be the first to suffer the consequences."
"You can't make Greta hostage to my behavior! That's not our agreement!"
"Exactly. I agreed only to let you go, but we said nothing beyond that. Now I've filled in the blanks."
"Filled it with blackmail!"
"I learned from the master."
Kohl fumed. "It's not as if I was going to talk anyway. I'm no traitor."
"Then you should welcome this arrangement. We're allies."
Kohl wished he'd never met Jürgen Drexler. "When do you return?"
"In less than two months, I hope. By that time you should know Vigo like a native."
"I'm not about to sit waiting in this runt of a port. Barcelona, perhaps. Or over to Lisbon, in Portugal. I have the money to go where I wish now." He gestured toward the two leather satchels on the dirt near the truck, watched by an SS guard. They were stuffed with currency, gold, and bank certificates that Kohl had assembled in Switzerland after they flew there from Berlin to refuel. "If I have to waste my time for two months, it shall be in some comfort," said Otto. He moved to pick up the satchels.
Drexler put a hand on his arm. "No, Otto. There's one other amendment to our agreement."
"What's that?"
"You'll get your money, as I promised. But not until our safe return. Just one more reason for you to wish us a bon voyage. It goes on the submarine with me."
"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.
PART THREE
1944
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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."