Ice Reich (22 page)

And as he bent to kiss her stiff nipples her hair enclosed their faces for a moment like a tent to create an intimacy. "My God, Owen, I have felt so
alone
. . ."

He carried her to the blankets then, she curled in his arms with her face pressed into his neck. He knelt to lay her down gently. And then he held and stroked and kissed her for a long time, she unfolding to him, stretching, their bodies growing heated. And eventually her cries echoed in the grotto. Unheard by anyone but them.

Something was wrong. The
Schwabenland
was still coupled to the
Bergen
and the seaplane tender had righted itself, the repairs to its torn hull apparently done. Yet crewmen were running along its decks in seeming panic. Sailors were shouting orders and hoisting cargo back into the Germans' hold and the ship's stack was already smoking. The seaplane tender was preparing to get underway, some of its supply crates still scattered on the beach. Meanwhile, clouds were mounding over the crater. The weather was turning bad again.

The two spelunkers had been dirty but happy after their climb out of the cave. "Light!" Greta exclaimed with relief at the mouth of the lava tube. She hugged Hart and he kissed her again, grinning, and they marched along the crater shore in a contented mood of new partnership. But when the motor launch came to ferry the couple back to the ship they awkwardly reverted to a pose of proper distance. Out on the
Schwabenland
they saw the figure of Jürgen Drexler on the wing of the bridge, watching them stiffly.

"Let me talk to him," Greta whispered.

They left their gear on deck, the biologist removing one bottle from her pack and slipping it into her pocket. Schmidt met them on their way to the bridge.

"Did you go into the valley?"

They shook their heads.

He appraised them warily. "Come on, then. It should be safe."

"I'd like to see Jürgen alone," Greta said.

"No time for that now."

Ordinary seamen had been dismissed from the bridge but Heiden, Feder, and Drexler were there. There was an uncomfortable silence as the Germans studied the couple, trying to assess how much had happened. Greta let her gaze drift to the ship's wheel. Owen stared back evenly. Jürgen stood rigid, his humiliation at her recent absence plain. The political liaison couldn't keep his eyes from flickering from one to the other.

Finally Heiden spoke. "We thought you were dead."

"We went to Owen's cave," Greta said, now glancing at Drexler. He stonily looked back. "At my request. To study the underground biology of the island."

"You left the ship without permission," the captain complained. "You were absent without leave. That's tantamount to desertion."

"We're not in the navy, for Christ's sake," Hart replied.

"You go overnight and leave no word?" Drexler's voice was tight. "We were frantic with worry." He looked at Greta. "I thought you'd caught the disease."

She shook her head. "No, we left to investigate a scientific hypothesis. To explore."

"And did you find what you were looking for?" Feder asked slyly. He looked from the couple to Drexler, striving to keep a straight face.

Greta ignored him.

Drexler's gaze fixed on Hart. "That was irresponsible and in violation of every safety procedure and you know it. You could have killed her."

"That's ripe, coming from a guy who's had her culturing plague viruses. She's here, isn't she?"

"Looking like you dragged her behind a truck!"

"Listen, why don't you— "

"Enough!" The roar was Heiden's. He pointed at them as Drexler had, his finger accusatory. "You both know you broke every commonsense safety rule of this ship. Leaving like that was irresponsible, and caves are dangerous." He shook his head in disgust. "You're lucky you returned when you did or we might have left you behind. We're departing as soon as possible."

"Leaving?" Greta protested.

"Some of the men are sick. With the
Bergen
's disease, we think. It's time to flee before more die."

"Oh my God!"

"Who?" said Hart.

"A squad of the mountaineers. They were exploring that dry valley. Schultz, some others."

"How many?"

"Five. No, six. The mountaineers and Eckermann."

"What!"

"I thought it was time Fritz exercised his legs as well as his mouth," Drexler said grimly. "Now his wit has gotten him into trouble."

"Jesus Christ. Are they in the infirmary?"

"No, ashore."

"You'd better tell us what happened," Greta said worriedly, looking at Drexler with dismay.

"We don't really know," said Heiden. "Eckermann radioed from near the crater rim this morning. He reported they'd entered the valley the day before and by yesterday evening some of the men began developing symptoms. He said he still felt fine and was going back to help. The source of the contagion remains unclear, though he babbled about dust. In any event we can't take chances and jeopardize the expedition. They haven't radioed again and we've no sign of them. We're going to leave before someone comes down with the disease here."

"You're just going to
abandon
them?" Hart asked, incredulous.

"Under the circumstances we have no choice. We don't know where they are and can't help them medically if we did. Even if we could get them back aboard they might turn this ship into another
Bergen
. It's time to leave this cursed place. It was a mistake to send them, perhaps, but what's done is done. The crew is near panic."

"You're not going to catch anything out in this lagoon," objected Hart.

"And how do you know that, given that we have a ghost ship of a whaler tied to our side?" countered Drexler. "You don't know how or where that disease will strike."

"If there's a chance that those people are alive— "

"Gentlemen!" It was Schmidt, sounding impatient. "It seems to me that we have a more immediate question: whether to quarantine our two AWOL explorers."

"We're not a risk," said Greta.

"You don't know that."

"Maybe I do," said Greta. She turned to Drexler and Heiden. "The reason we went ashore is that Owen and Fritz found documentary evidence— a diary— that some Norwegians survived. They'd been in the cave; Owen and I went there to learn why. We... thought it would be quicker to just go without telling anyone." She glanced apologetically at Drexler. "We weren't trying to alarm you."

He looked at her gloomily.

She took a breath. "We found an interesting organism there, an algae or spongelike animal colony, tied to a subterranean heat source and possibly independent of the need for sunlight. My hypothesis is that this organic growth may have evolved toxins to stave off the bacterium. That's common enough in nature. Perhaps the Norwegians who lived drank cave water. We fell into an underground lake and inadvertently swallowed some of the water, so far without ill effect. And before we left the ship I filled this small bottle with a culture of the disease from my laboratory."

She brought it out of her pocket and held it up.

"At that time the solution was a cloudy white from the explosive growth of the bacteria. So I added some of the cave organism. As you can see, it has turned perfectly clear."

The Germans looked confused. Schmidt took the bottle curiously.

"What does this mean?" Heiden asked slowly.

"That there might be an antidote to this disease," Greta explained. "A naturally produced antibiotic. And if it kills this bacteria, perhaps it will kill others. Just like Fleming's penicillin."

"That British research was a failure," Schmidt objected. "Fleming couldn't find a way to efficiently grow, purify, or store his mold. He gave up. That's why German laboratories have developed a chemical alternative, prontosil."

"Yes, but penicillin worked better than chemicals in the tiny amounts Fleming could isolate," Greta countered. "His mold didn't damage healthy tissue. And this may work too, at least for an emergency." She turned to Drexler. "Can't you see, Jürgen? This could be far more important and exciting than a ghastly new microbe. Infection killed millions in the Great War. What if we had a way to battle it? We can't leave on the verge of such a discovery."

Drexler studied her, considering. Hart almost felt sorry for the man, his wound so obvious. Clearly, the political officer was still deeply in love with Greta and to have to listen as she lamely defended her leave-taking while standing next to the man she'd gone away with— well, it must have been tough.

And yet, the pilot could see Jürgen mentally squelching the pain, compartmentalizing it, as he thought furiously of the broader picture. Greta's betrayal, the risk of disease, a new microbe, the chance for the expedition to become a medical success, led to this island by... Jürgen Drexler. The German swung his gaze to Hart.

"What you say is intriguing," Drexler said carefully. "But all we have at this moment is a bottle of clear liquid and two people still alive after crawling through a hole in the ground." He considered. "And an opportunity for an immediate test." He nodded toward the captain.

"Yes," said Heiden cautiously. "It's obvious. See if this slime you found helps those soldiers."

"And Fritz," Hart amended.

"Exactly," Drexler agreed. "God has given us a chance to try for a miracle, perhaps.
If
you're right. And
if
we can find them."

"I'll find them," Hart said.

"Owen!" Greta touched his sleeve, Jürgen's eye following her hand. "No."

Hart looked at Drexler. "I'm not leaving live men behind. I'll find them from
Boreas
. If they're alive, I'll land to either distribute the drug or ferry them out."

"Then I'll go with him," Greta announced.

"Out of the question," snapped Drexler.

"It's my discovery, Jürgen!"

"No. I'm not risking you again and you've neglected your cultures long enough. If you want to study this cave slime, the best place is your lab."

She looked frustrated.

"Hart, on the other hand, is our last fit pilot. Lambert is still bandaged up. And he's right, the airplane is the fastest way to locate the squad. Then we can decide what to do next."

Greta knew better than to protest further. She flashed a pained look at Hart.

The pilot met her gaze, then turned to Heiden. "This bowl is too narrow for takeoff. We need to launch and recover from outside the crater. Is the ship seaworthy enough to do that?"

"I hope so. That's been the point of our repairs."

"The plane's radio is still out. I'll fly, find them, and return. I want the skis attached to the bottom of the pontoons in case I have to land on snow."

"Will you need a man to come with you again?" Feder asked.

Drexler scowled.

"No," Hart decided. "It's senseless to risk more lives than necessary. Let me check on their condition and we'll proceed from there."

"What if you don't come back?" Schmidt asked.

He shrugged. "Sail without me."

"No!" Greta cried. "That's crazy!"

"I'll be back." He turned and took the biologist by her shoulders. "Greta, I'll eat the organisms myself and go with a mask. We can't wait to test this drug further, we have to bet on it
now
. Lives are at stake. I trust your judgment. Will this stuff help Fritz and those men? Will it keep me alive?"

"My God, Owen, I can't promise that for raw... pond scum, based on a single bottled experiment. Even drugs that work well for one person don't always work for another. Maybe the organism loses its effectiveness as it dries, or with time. And those men may already be dead. This is an incredible risk." Her eyes were troubled. "Please, don't go alone.
Please
."

"A short flight, a check on their situation, and I'm back." He turned to Schmidt. "If they're alive, if they're not too far gone, we can quarantine them on the aft deck where
Passat
was tethered. You can isolate me too."

"So, how long before you get back?" Feder asked.

Hart shrugged. "The valley is too dry for the skis so I'll have to find an ice field upslope to land. Four hours?"

"Six," demanded Greta.

"No!" said Feder. "The barometer is dropping again and this patched tub is going to be out on an ocean awash with icebergs. It must be quicker!"

"Eight," said Drexler. "Or more." He looked at Greta. "I'm not abandoning anybody either."

* * *

Hart launched as planned from the open ocean, climbed around the flank of the harbor volcano, and squeezed over the valley ridge beyond, flying below a thickening ceiling of dark cloud.

The valley was like a brown trough with the white platter of frozen lake running up its center, its eroded ice far too rumpled to land on. Despite the landscape's sterility the pilot flew to the second volcano without seeing anything: the beleaguered squad was surprisingly hard to spot from the air. He turned and dropped in elevation, going back the way he'd come. Still nothing.

Then a rock sprang to life and began waving frantically.

Hart waggled his wings and circled, studying the barren pumice slope to finally pick out the forms of still humans. The mountaineers were sprawled like scattered sticks. One stood apart, dancing energetically.

It looked like Fritz! Owen began looking for a place to land.

Glaciers nosed into the valley but were too steep and broken to serve as a safe runway. Hart flew over the enclosing ridgeline again and scouted the smoother slopes on the seaward side. There was a promising plateau of snow near the flank of the volcano that formed the island's snug harbor. The pilot put down there and climbed out, squinting at the darkening sky.

The wind was rising so he ran lines from the wings and tied them to metal swastika stakes he found in the back of the plane. "The first practical use of these damned things the whole trip," he muttered to himself, driving the stakes into the hard snow. He wrapped a tarp around the engine cowling and another around the cockpit bubble and set out with his backpack and the drug. The empty panorama was intimidating but the pilot admitted he actually liked being alone again for a moment. It reminded him of his independence in Alaska.