"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."