"And yet there might be an even better strategy." It was Jürgen Drexler, catching the woman's eye. "If you would allow me to take a turn at the controls, Owen?"
"Certainly." The American surrendered the throttle and backed away. The trains began moving around the oval again.
Greta was watching the German with interest and Hart searched for something to continue their conversation. "I understand the Reich Minister is the most popular of Germany's leaders," he finally tried.
She kept her gaze on the railroad, speaking quietly so as not to be overheard. "He's a brave man, I think. But he's had much trauma in his life. Years of exile and poverty, a virtual political outlaw. The loss of his first wife. The wound. It explains perhaps the morphine, the weight, the clothes."
"He certainly likes to dress up."
Greta lowered her voice even further. "We Germans joke about it. The story goes that Göring's Forestry Ministry was going to harvest the Tiergarten to build him an adequate-sized wardrobe. But the chief forester had to report back that the trees were gone already, they'd all been sawed into his coat hangers! We don't laugh at him, we laugh with him, because we can identify with his appetites. Or at least we try not to judge."
"Yet he judges us." Hart saw Göring's hand stray toward the button that would release his model warplanes.
"We serve at his pleasure. It's different here in Germany, Owen. We're a society with a purpose, but to have such purpose you can't rely on the mob: it must be directed by a few great men."
"I don't think the American voter thinks of himself as a mob."
She shrugged. "Still, someone must be in charge."
Just then there was a familiar rattle and a Stuka swooped down, its rigid wheels like the talons of a raptor. Hearing the noise, Drexler calmly reached across the control panel and threw a switch. "I've watched you at the controls, Reich Minister," he explained. His train shunted onto a new line just as Göring released his bomb. The pellet landed squarely on the newly emptied track and Drexler's train rumbled calmly past the impact point.
"Ach! Touché, Jürgen!" Göring exclaimed. "I'm outwitted!" The political liaison's train accelerated. "And on you go to your destination!" He laughed.
With the Reich Minister's good humor the others laughed too. Drexler nodded in acknowledgment and stole a glance at Greta. She replied with an encouraging smile. Owen found himself irked by the demonstration.
"Do you consider yourself a man of strong opinions, Owen?" she whispered, still watching Drexler.
He looked at her curiously, wondering if he'd become a toy in some game he didn't understand. "I… am adaptable, I guess."
She nodded knowingly. "That's obvious."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you're here. In Germany. With us."
"No," said Hart, shaking his head. "You don't understand. I'm not with you, not against you. I'm simply on my way to Antarctica. Where politics don't apply."
"Ah! Wait until you get on the Schwabenland. A confined society, a long voyage. Humans wear politics as tightly as their skin." She was teasing him.
"Is that why Jürgen is necessary?"
She shrugged, watching the blond German as he stole a glance at them again. "Jürgen reminds us why we're here. He sees things clearly."
Drexler brought his train into the station. "I was admittedly fortunate that your attack coincided with the availability of a siding," he told the Reich Minister. "But there is a lesson here, no? A lesson for us in Antarctica, perhaps. If one way doesn't serve, another may suffice."
"Indeed, your twist has demonstrated the endless complications of war," Göring agreed. "Which is why battle is not as simple as it appears in the history books. Well. My Luftwaffe is out of bombs. Perhaps we should adjourn for dinner?"
There was no disagreement.
Greta moved off to congratulate Drexler. Over her head, he nodded at Hart.
The group filed down the stairs to a baronial dining room with timbered ceiling and glittering candles, more suits of armor posted in the shadows like hovering waiters. Two more lovely women— one a model, another an aspiring starlet, Hart gathered— joined the group. Göring took his place at the head of the table with the two actresses at either side and the model at the foot, facing him. There otherwise didn't seem to be assigned seating. Greta moved toward a chair and Drexler quickly moved forward to touch the back of an adjacent one as if asserting the spoils of victory. But at the last moment she unbalanced things by slipping sideways around Feder— "Alfred, I'd like to map out a sampling calendar based on your expected arrival and departure dates," she murmured— and swiftly plopped down between the geographer and Hart, giving the American pilot a quick smile. Owen sensed someone else looking at him. It was Kohl across the table, frowning and giving a barely perceptible shake of his head.
"And Owen," Greta said, turning away from Feder. "I'd like to learn more from you about America!"
"Well," Hart said, surprised by her continuing attention, "America is a bit what I suspect you to be: energetic and adventuresome."
"Ah. And unsettled?"
"You're describing yourself?"
"Perhaps."
"Hmm. Well, the frontier has closed. But the nation is uncompleted. America is an experiment, still playing itself out."
"Then perhaps that is me," she said, smiling.
Course followed course, Göring commenting on the food like a gourmand as he explained its origins or spicing or preparation. Given his girth and enthusiasms, it seemed almost appropriate when he finally turned the conversation back to whales.
"The most astonishing creatures," the Reich Minister said. "I believe the Creator placed them here as much for the nourishment of the soul as for the nourishment of industry. Of course, it is the latter that preoccupies me at the moment. To a strong nation the whale is as important as steel."
"Important for what?" Hart dared, genuinely curious. While he knew whaling continued in the world, he'd always thought it belonged more to a bygone era of sailing ships and Moby Dick.
"Fat, of course," the Reich Minister said, winking and patting his own stomach in self-deprecation. The others laughed again. "For margarine. And oil. Not for lighting anymore, no, we're no longer harpooning to read by. For munitions, Hart. Whale fat is a valuable ingredient of glycerin. And sperm oil is preferred for precision machinery such as fighter plane engines. The whale is vital for waging modern war."
"So this expedition isn't just for scientific purposes?" Hart asked.
"Science and national destiny are inextricably linked in the modern world," answered Heiden, making a rare contribution to the conversation.
"Well said, Captain!" exclaimed Göring. "Knowledge is power!"
"Knowledge is also progress," added Greta. "After all, what ultimately sets us apart from the whales is what we know."
"But this is a peaceful expedition?" persisted Hart, despite a frown of disapproval from Kohl.
Göring grew serious. "Life is competition, Hart," he said. "I don't draw the distinction between peace and war that the naive do."
"I think Owen's real question is whether the Schwabenland is a warship," said Kohl, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.
"No, of course not! Do you think we'd enlist an American in our navy? Your mere presence underlines Germany's peaceful intentions. No, no, no. We sail for knowledge, but knowledge with purpose: to explore Antarctica and to establish our rights."
"We stake our claim in peace," Heiden said.
"Exactly," the Reich Minister said. "And if the Norwegians get in our way, our spirits are prepared for war!"