Pandora's curse

before nightfall.

ABOARD THE U-1062

Oily smoke billowed from the port diesel and poisonous vapor rose from the battery compartment, forcing the crew to leave all the sub’s hatches open. Ira futilely waved a rag above the clattering forest of con-rods, cams, and lifters, trying to see what was fuming so badly. The noise of the faltering motor absorbed his string of curses.

“How’s it look?” Mercer shouted over the din.

Lasko wiped grease from his face. “Like we aren’t going to make it to Iceland, Kulusuk, or anywhere else.” He spat a black glob onto the deck. “Piston rings are shot in at least two cylinders, gaskets are failing all over the place, and if it weren’t for the oil I salvaged from the starboard engine, this pig would be dead in about an hour.”

“What can you give us?”

Ira scratched the stubble now fringing his otherwise bald head. “Four hours, maybe five. We can return to the Greenland coast, but we’ll be right back where we started from.”

“So we’ve got a decision to make.”

“Yup. Talk to the others. I’ll go along with whatever you decide. I have to stay here and coax her along.”

Mercer carefully backed out the narrow alley between the engines and ducked through two watertight hatches to reach the control room. He yelled up to the bridge at the top of the conning tower, where Marty was acting as lookout. Hilda Brandt sat at the helmsman’s station, making sure the boat stayed on course. Anika had just come back to the control room after checking on Erwin, who was resting in his bunk.

Marty clambered down the ladder and moved to Anika’s side.

“What’s Erwin’s condition, Doctor?” he asked her.

“He’s fine. I’ve got antibiotics keeping infection at bay and he didn’t lose enough blood for shock to be a concern. The bullet fragment in his shoulder should come out, but isn’t doing much harm in the short term. The one that passed through under his arm didn’t hit any major blood vessels or bone. I just wish there was something I could do for his pain.”

“Erwin’s a lot tougher than he looks,” Marty opined.

“That’s for sure.”

“Okay, folks,” Mercer began. “The good news is, we have enough brandy for an impromptu party. The bad news is, we can’t invite guests since it appears we won’t make it to civilization.” His tone then became serious. “Ira says the engine won’t last for more than five hours, meaning that if we continue east we’ll stop long before Iceland, and if we turn south we won’t reach Kulusuk either.”

“What are our options?” Anika asked, confident by now that Mercer would find a way.

“A: we don’t reach Kulusuk. And B: we don’t reach Iceland. That’s about it.”

“Can we return to the coast of Greenland to wait for rescue?” Marty asked.

Mercer shook his head. “I doubt anyone will find us. Remember, this is one of the most remote places on earth. Providing we find a suitable place to beach, our food’s just about gone, and without communications gear we’ll be marooned again.”

“We have guns. We can hunt seals,” Marty said reasonably.

“Once Rath gets the Njoerd under way, he’ll scour the coast looking for us. He’ll spot the sub from his helicopter on the first pass. If you think we can submerge until he flies away, you can forget about it. Because we know about the Pandora boxes, Rath won’t leave until he’s certain we’re dead.”

No one spoke for a minute because none could think of an argument. Their fear further chilled the control room.

“We have a third option.” It was Erwin Puhl. He stood at the hatchway connecting the crew’s quarters to the control room. His upper body was swathed in bandages. A wad of surgical tape at the bridge of his nose held the broken halves of his glasses together. “I heard you talking.”

Anika crossed to him in three strides, bracing his shoulder with hers. She led him to the seat behind the plotting table. Her expression was a mix of concern and annoyance. She didn’t want him out of bed, but the determination on his face led her to believe that any admonishments would be wasted. By the time she eased him into the chair, Erwin was trembling. In the dim light of the control room, his skin had become gray. A map of the Denmark Strait was flattened against the plotting table with the broom-handle Mauser pistol and the captain’s log. “Where are we exactly?” he wheezed.

Mercer indicated a spot about eighty miles off the coast of Greenland, a bit south of the fjord they had just escaped.

“And today’s date is the fifteenth, right? There is a ship coming through the strait tonight that will be about here in five hours. Well within our range.”

“There isn’t much shipping through these waters,” Mercer said. “How do you know?”

“Because another member of the Brotherhood of Satan’s Fist is on her to take possession of the last remaining icon that Rasputin commissioned — the one Leonid Kulik never destroyed.”

Realization struck like a punch. “The Universal Convocation aboard the Sea Empress?”

“Yes. The pope is returning the icon to the Russian Orthodox Church, and Brother Anatoly Vatutin is there to receive it.”

Mercer was silent for a second, thinking. “I remember when we first met you mentioned the Empress would be coming through the strait. I thought it was strange that you knew her route, considering it was supposed to be secret. Your colleague on the ship told you the sailing schedule.”

“That’s right,” Erwin agreed.

“Why is the ship this far north?” asked Anika.

“To take advantage of the spectacular aurora borealis created by the solar-max effect.”

Mercer didn’t like coincidences and he was suspicious about this one. He thought there could be another reason the Sea Empress happened to be in these waters, but he kept it to himself. “How sure are you of this information?” he asked Erwin.

The scientist’s voice firmed. “Positive. The top delegates had to approve the route long before they sailed. Brother Anatoly stole the schedule from Bishop Olkranszy, his superior at the convocation.”

After Anika translated the conversation for Hilda’s benefit, Mercer could see that the group was evenly mixed about their options and decided that this wasn’t the time for a vote. It would be smarter just to make the decision himself.

He had gambled many lives over the years, his own the most often, and the burden never got lighter. The five other survivors had put their trust in him and as their leader Mercer had to do what he felt was necessary. Life, he’d learned, wasn’t about making the most right decisions. That was simple. The true test was being able to minimize the effects of the wrong ones. And he felt he’d made so many of the latter in the past weeks that just one chance remained to put everything right again.

He carefully worked out the vector on the chart. “Anika, have Hilda steer one hundred and four degrees. Marty, run back to the engine room and tell Ira to open her up as much as he dares.”

His orders were carried out instantly. “I’ll be topside,” he said, his voice suddenly becoming thick in his throat. “I need some air.”

Like the night the Titanic sank a thousand miles south of their position, the ocean was as calm as a millpond. Darkness was creeping across the cloudless skies and already faint waves of light were appearing high in the heavens. The aurora was going to be breathtaking. Its added illumination would also reveal any drifting icebergs in plenty of time to maneuver around them. Mercer tightened the hood of his parka, jamming his fists into his pocket.

He was left alone on the bridge for a half hour until Anika bobbed up through the hatch. Wordlessly, she handed him two protein bars for dinner. They munched in silence. The cup of water had a skin of ice when she took a sip. Her eyes rarely left Mercer’s face. “Pfennig for your thoughts.”