The realization made her ashen.
And if she left it? If they lived they could still return to Germany with the disease and enough of the cure organism to begin culture and reproduction. If they lived, they could still hunt Owen and herself down.
Schmidt groaned, stirring. Unless she wanted to kill him right now, she didn't have much time.
What would her nuns say?
What would Owen say?
Schmidt moaned again. Damn him! She brought the cylinder down on his head and he slumped a second time, lying still. She taped his mouth, hands, and ankles. Why hadn't he stayed away? Then, grimly tucking the drug tank under one arm, she climbed out of the U-boat and hurried back to the motor launch, jumping aboard.
"It's done," she whispered.
Owen said she'd done the right thing. The only thing.
"They're murderers, Greta. They tried to kill me." The couple were driving hard for the beach, fearful that Schmidt might somehow stagger out of the laboratory and sound the alarm. Every yard of cold water gave them an added feeling of safety.
"It was the SS that tried to kill you, Owen. Not the sailors." She shivered, her eyes moist.
"Nonsense. Those bastards gave the Nazi salute when
Jürgen laid out his plans. They're part of it."
She leaned on him. "I know, I know. But to condemn sixty men, fellow Germans, to— "
"They condemned themselves."
"Do you think that will keep them from my dreams?"
"Dreams! What about our waking nightmare! God willing, you've saved millions of people. Millions! The only person you haven't saved yet is yourself."
A white shelf appeared out of the dark: the beach. They crunched against it and Hart cut the motor. "From here we walk." He'd thought about their situation while waiting by the sub for Greta to return. "If we take the launch they'll hunt us by sea but if we leave it they'll comb the island first. That should buy some time."
Her face drained. "If we leave it, Jürgen will reach the submarine."
Owen nodded, looking at her hard. "I want him to, Greta."
She said nothing.
"I want him to catch the plague."
She looked out at the night in horror.
"Listen, Greta, I can't make this choice for you. I can't and expect you not to doubt me the rest of our days. So you can take the cylinder back right now, save those men, and sail for Germany. You'll be a savior to those sailors, and far more likely to survive than if you come with me. You can be loyal to the Reich. You can save your husband. Or you can throw it all away— every bit of it— and come with me on this one wild crazy scheme to get away from this island. A chance that will probably kill us both."
She actually smiled at that. "You're so persuasive. So why would I ever come with you?"
"Because I love you."
She nodded. "You make a good argument," she said finally. "It's exactly the one I would make." For an instant she looked up at the stars, seeming to search for something. Then she said: "I go with you."
He smiled. "Then let's hurry, before dawn comes. We'll share the antibiotic when we get out of sight of the sub."
Drexler led his men down off the crater rim at dawn, cold and exhausted. The storm was blowing itself out but it had been an abominable night of grim slogging and futile shouts and fired flares. The three SS men had simply disappeared. What a foul island!
Jürgen was frustrated. The mouth of the cave had been blown up as he'd ordered. Had the idiots somehow killed themselves? There was no sign. Or gotten lost in the storm? Again no sign. Something tickled in the back of his mind; some part of their search that remained uncompleted. Yet he couldn't think what it was. Now everyone was half frozen and uneasy. They needed some food and warmth and rest in the submarine.
The launch was where they'd left it, grounded on the beach. But the sentry was missing. Jürgen scowled in disgust.
"Where's Johann?"
The SS sergeant frowned. "He was supposed to stay with the boat. He should be right here."
"I know he should be right here! Where is he?"
"Perhaps he went back to the U-boat in the storm?"
"How could he get back to the U-boat without this launch, idiot?"
The sergeant stiffened. "Yes, sir."
Drexler fumed. The elimination of Hart hadn't left him feeling triumphant this time. He dreaded having to face Greta and tell her the American was missing again, lost in the cave or the storm. He doubted she'd believe him. It would be a relief to finally be done with her, he told himself. Yes. A relief.
"This damn island is swallowing my men! I don't like it! I want to get out of here!" He looked at the others. There was no disagreement. "Well. Into the launch."
They motored to the U-boat. "Have you seen Johann Prien?" Drexler called to the sailors as they climbed wearily aboard.
"Came alongside last night," one replied tiredly. "As you requested."
Drexler frowned. "What?"
"To get the woman. The packs."
"Greta? My wife?"
"Yes. He said you sent a message and then she went with him." He peered curiously at the group, noticing the missing SS men were not there.
"I sent no message." The man looked surprised and a glimmer of dread began to shine on Drexler's brain. "You actually saw Johann?"
"Yes, of course. In the boat."
"I mean, you saw his face? You recognized him?"
The sailor began to comprehend. "No… It was dark. No one could recognize anyone last night."
Drexler's men were already dropping down the hatch into the submarine. The colonel's disquiet was growing. "Could this man have been the American?"
"I thought the American was with you."
"Jesus Christ. And Greta went with this man?"
"Yes." The sailor looked at Drexler with a cringe of sympathy.
"Fuck." It was a snarl. "Fuck! Where's Dr. Schmidt?"
"Below, I suppose. I haven't seen him."
Drexler dropped down to the main deck and yanked off his parka, stomping aft in his boots. "Max?" he roared. He found Freiwald. "Where's our damn doctor?"
The captain looked at Drexler with dislike. "I don't keep track of your party, Colonel. How would I know? Try your laboratory."
Drexler peered down. The hatch was closed but that was normal. He climbed down and opened it. "Max?" No answer. There were shards of glass on the deck. The chamber stank. He dropped into it with a premonition of dread. "Great God."
It looked like a bomb had hit. The planks of the workbench had splintered and the deck was littered with shards of petri dishes and their microbial goo. There was a stench reminiscent of the underground lake. All the containers so laboriously carried from the cave were empty. Schmidt lay writhing, trussed in tape. His head was bloody.
The U-boat captain descended the ladder after Drexler and then stopped in fearful shock. "Get out of here," the SS colonel ordered. "Close the hatch."
Jürgen began cutting Schmidt free. As the tape was yanked painfully off his mouth the doctor howled. He gasped for breath.
"Was it Hart, Max? Did that pilot do this?"
Schmidt spat, clutching his head. "Frau Greta Drexler" — Schmidt pronounced the name with acid— "did this. She caught me by surprise and shoved me into the lab bench. She contaminated the ship."
Now Drexler was ashen, remembering the horror of the Bergen. "She's a serpent," he muttered. "I married a Medusa."
"Is she insane?"
"She is when the American is around."
"I thought he was supposed to be dead."
Jürgen ignored this. "Do we still have the weapon? Do we still have the cure?"
Schmidt sat up, holding his head, and looked around with a wince. "I secreted the spores away because I remembered her emotional fit the last time. But not the drug. It looks like she dumped what we had and took the concentrate with her. Did you bring more from the cave?"