Deck Z - The Titanic (16 page)

DECK F CORRIDOR
.

SUNDAY, APRIL
14, 1912. 11:22
P.M
.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” exclaimed Hargraves, stomping at the flaming hand triumphantly and pulling the linen from his face. “You did it with a butter knife no less!”

The men slapped Andrews on the back, laughing and shouting. They all removed their masks and whooped in celebration. Marvelous relief hung in the air like confetti.

“Well done,” said Weiss. “Do you think the doors truly closed?”

“I can’t say for certain, Mr. Weiss,” answered Andrews. “But I think I closed them all!”

Captain Smith laid a weary hand on Andrews’s shoulder. “That was some work, Thomas. I’ve seen men do much less with better tools at their disposal.”

“What’s wrong, Lou?” Weiss asked, seeing that Lou wasn’t sharing their jubilation. “We did it!”

“That little mutt saved my life,” the girl muttered. “Now she’s gone like the rest of them.” She sat against the wall and put her head against her knees, exhausted and cheerless.

The smiles faded on the men’s faces. Captain Smith said, “The girl’s right. Many are dead, and we should temper our joy. We are not
out of the woods yet. First, we must reach the bridge and discover what has transpired elsewhere on
Titanic.
”

“Certainly,” said Hargraves, “the time has come to abandon ship.”

Andrews blinked. “But there may still be hundreds of healthy people aboard
Titanic,
sir. We must gather the healthy and assess the damage. Surely, if we’ve contained the contagion, we won’t abandon
Titanic
now?”

“Exactly, Mr. Andrews,” Captain Smith said. “But that’s a job for
Titanic
’s officers and crew. Mr. Hargraves, you’ve proved yourself more than a hero today. Continue with us to the top deck. If it comes time to abandon ship, we’ll be sure you make it off safely.”

The rush of their success and narrow escape was wearing off. “I have a pressing matter to attend to as well.” Weiss eyed the men in turn. “You know by now it’s not exaggeration to say that entire nations could be at risk if the infection escapes this ship. I must find the madman who stole that damned vial from me.”

“Did I hear you right?” said Hargraves, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying
you
brought this disease aboard?”

Lou looked up from the floor.

Weiss stammered. He had forgotten not everyone present knew the story. “Yes, well, I was … searching for a cure. But the vial was stolen from me when—”

“How could you?” Lou sprung from the ground and lunged at Weiss. “My mum’s dead because of you! Worse than dead!
You
brought this sickness onto
Titanic
!” She threw fists at the scientist’s face and chest. Weiss didn’t attempt to block the blows. Finally, Andrews grabbed the girl from behind and restrained her arms.

Something inside Weiss collapsed upon seeing the rage and pain in the girl’s face. “It … it
is
my fault,” he conceded. “To believe that I could be responsible for something so evil. I was a fool to think I
could safeguard this Pandora’s box …” He choked on his own words. “I’m surely doomed to hell for what I’ve done.”

“Murderer,” Lou whispered.

“That’s enough,” said Captain Smith gently, touching the girl’s shoulder.

“He killed my mother!” Lou’s red face screamed defiance.

“Louise,” Smith said, “none of us can change what’s done. We must leave judgment to God.”

“All of this. The monsters, the dead. It’s all your fault!” said Lou to Weiss. She shook free of Andrews, backed away from the men, straightened her skirt, and spat at Weiss.

“I deserve that,” Weiss said, eyes on the floor. “I deserve your hatred.”

“You deserve
worse,
” shouted Lou. She turned and ran, sprinting up a set of stairs just down the corridor from the watertight door. Weiss started after her, but Captain Smith extended an arm to hold the German back.

“Let her mourn,” counseled Smith. “Later you can make your peace with her, if she’ll allow it.” Captain Smith motioned with Kabul to the stairwell where Lou had just made her escape. “I believe you had no intention to set this scourge loose, but there’s still a ledger to square. Begin by stopping this man from bringing it into the world.”

Weiss bowed his head and nodded. “Up top is as good a place to start looking as any.”

“I’ll escort you, Mr. Weiss,” said Hargraves, bouncing the fire ax in his hands. “Till we find him. Wherever you want to go.”

“Good man, Hargraves,” said the captain. “As for me, I need to remind Mr. Ismay who is in charge of
Titanic.
”

“Let’s hurry then,” Andrews said. “I doubt the straightest path to the boat deck remains to us. It may take some minutes yet to reach the bridge.”

Bruised and fatigued, the four men hobbled up the stairs together. Weiss was uncertain where he should begin searching, but the German agent was likely to be among the top decks, as far from the contagion as possible.

The floor suddenly lurched as they reached the first landing, sending the four men sprawling. The ship groaned from deep within, structural and ominous, accompanied by a long echoing screech. The stairwell railing vibrated violently with a low metallic hum as the men found their bearings.

“My God,” said Hargraves. “What have the monsters done?”

Smith shook his head. “No zombie can rock a ship like that.”

DECK B. CAFÉ PARISIEN
.

SUNDAY, APRIL
14, 1912. 11:45
P.M
.

Ismay was enduring a brandy while a wealthy Indian doctor explained to him how he could cure aching joints, rheumatism, and a variety of other maladies with some sort of needle nonsense. Ismay hadn’t heard a word, his mind preoccupied with preparations for docking in New York. Even arriving in the middle of the night, it was hard to see how he could avoid a press nightmare.

The jolt caught both men off guard, forcing them to catch their balance. The Indian didn’t miss a beat, continuing to jabber on about the therapeutic effects of his stickpins. It was the chandeliers that worried Ismay with their sharp swing forward and the anxious tinkling of the glass. Ismay knew that rough waters would only cause a sway—and on his way to the lounge, the ocean’s surface had been as smooth as a shaving mirror. Ismay mumbled an excuse and headed toward the wheelhouse.

Outside, he stopped in his tracks at the sound of scraping on the open promenade. A great mass of ice leaned against the rails. As the iceberg passed, bits sliced off and scattered across the deck. Just up the way, a few night-owl passengers picked up the shaved ice and made snowballs, playfully tossing them at one another. One of the gentlemen hollered to Ismay: “Say, is there any danger from this?”

“None!” returned Ismay through a clenched smile. “Just a bit of ice is all!”

Anyone could have followed Ismay’s path to the wheelhouse: A deck chair kicked into the rails. The fragments of a clay water pitcher bashed off a table. A dented whiskey flask rifled off the bridge’s steel exterior. He arrived to discover that First Officer William Murdoch had relieved Officer Wilde and was now at the command.

“For the love of God what’s happening!” Ismay’s eyes were wild, and his face was colored an unnatural shade. Murdoch had always been intimidated by J. Bruce Ismay; now the tycoon was absolutely frightening.

“We received an urgent notice from the crow’s nest of ice straight ahead,” replied Murdoch. “I gave the order ‘Hard a’starboard,’ but we still seem to have collided.”

“I can bloody well see we’ve collided! What of the damage!?”

“We don’t know yet, sir,” admitted Murdoch. “The phone’s just been repaired. Shall we alert the passengers that we’ve encountered an iceberg?”

“The passengers are enjoying winter sports on the promenade!” yelled Ismay. “I think they have an inkling we’ve hit ice! I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

“Mr. Ismay,” said Murdoch, trying to remain composed. “I’m going to have to ask you to please leave the bridge so we can right this ship.”

“I’ll leave when I’m damn well ready! Has there been more word from Smith?”

“Nothing as yet,” said Murdoch. “Please remove yourself, sir. We’ve important work to do.”

The crew stared at Ismay as if he were some sort of animal. “What are you lot gawking at?” he barked. “Full speed ahead!”

STAIRWELL BETWEEN DECK F AND DECK Z
.

SUNDAY, APRIL
14, 1912. 11:47
P.M
.

“Could that have been another vessel, Captain?” Andrews asked.

“I know what it feels like to collide with another ship. That was ice, sure as fate, and what lurks under the waterline is far more dangerous than what’s seen floating above,” replied Smith.

The four men got back to their feet in the stairwell. Captain Smith nodded to the architect. “Change in plans, Mr. Andrews. We must head below and assess the damage.”

“
Titanic
is safe, Captain, that I can assure you,” said Andrews definitively. He freely admitted ignorance and doubt about many things, but his faith in the ship’s design was resolute. “Even if we’ve struck ice, as you say, it would have to be a more violent collision than the one we just felt. Besides, the watertight doors are already lowered. She’ll make it to New York, I’ll wager. You’re better served up top where—”

“You and I are going below,” the captain retorted.

“Yes, Captain,” said Mr. Andrews. “Of course.”

Smith turned to Weiss. “And you, Mr. Weiss, must delay your search. I need to enlist your services. Mr. Andrews, your notebook.”

Andrews handed the captain his notebook and pen. Smith thumbed his way to an empty page, scribbled a command, and signed it.

Weiss’s face collapsed. “Respectfully, Captain,” said Weiss, “I believe my focus should be recovering the vial of the Toxic.”

“By the time you find that needle, this haystack could be at the bottom of the ocean. Locate Mr. Murdoch on the bridge and deliver this order. I want lifeboats prepared as a precaution. He should expect to hear from me soon. Once this message is delivered, then you and Mr. Hargraves are free to search for your thief.”

Weiss agreed reluctantly. “Yes, Captain.”

“Very good,” said Smith. “Mr. Andrews?”

Andrews nodded, summoning the will to plunge yet again into the unknown. “Below we go.”

Neither Weiss nor Hargraves spoke as they made their way up the stairs. Following Mr. Andrews’s directions, they were to proceed to Deck Z, down a narrow hallway, then straight up a series of hatches directly to the bridge. Weiss was happy to have Hargraves along in case of more monsters, but even more to help with the thief. He could prove more dangerous than Weiss could handle alone.

As they ran, the adrenaline that had fueled Weiss through the previous twenty-four hours quickly gave way to fatigue and an overwhelming guilt. The child’s accusations cut deep, and his wounded shoulder throbbed with each step. Weiss was sure he’d never been on his feet so long without rest, and his thigh muscles ached.

Weiss looked over to Mr. Hargraves, who appeared nearly as exhausted. His fine clothes were ripped and stained, and the gentleman’s hair was wild.
I can only pray that none of us have been infected through a scratch, doomed like all these poor souls.
Then Weiss’s thoughts ran to the first person he’d known to die from the plague—his sister, Sabine.

Six days after their twelfth birthdays, he fell ill with fever, chills, and muscle cramps. It was the bubonic plague. The doctors were never sure how he survived; they only said that some percentage always did. But Theodor was certain that he infected Sabine. She simply would not leave her brother alone and allow him to be sick all by himself.

The twins drew each other pictures from their sick beds—the two of them flying over mountains or taming lions—but the fun lasted only two days before they succumbed to painful swellings and dreadful aches. After more than a week passed, Theodor felt his strength begin to return, though he remained far from whole.

Theodor wasn’t allowed to hold Sabine’s hand. Instead, he stood outside her door and whispered encouragement, knowing that somehow she would hear. He could feel Sabine succumbing to the fever. He could hear her breathing, ragged and labored as the disease ravaged inside her. He filled his own lungs with air, trying to breathe for his twin.

As he felt her slip away, he promised to cure the sickness. Theodor imagined Sabine smiling at the sound of his words. There was nothing else he could do.

How would Sabine judge him now? He remained so far away from keeping his promise.

“According to Mr. Andrews, here’s where we veer off for the bridge,” said Hargraves.

“Yes, of course,” Weiss said. “To the bridge.”

Weiss and Hargraves made their way along the narrow Deck Z corridor that led to the hatches. They scanned their surroundings constantly, alert for sounds or signs of movement. Pipes painted bright white hung overhead, reflecting the light and making the hallway appear longer than the others. Weiss caught his breath and wiped his face with a ragged sleeve.
Pull yourself together,
he told himself.
There’s still a chance.

Weiss and Hargraves suddenly heard the pounding of feet running toward them. Not shuffling, but running. They stopped and prepared to meet whoever it was. Around a corner up ahead a man emerged. It was Emil Kaufmann. He was carrying a gun.

Kaufmann stopped running and smiled—a tight, smug grin—then approached confidently. “You’re a hard man to track down, Herr Weiss,” said Kaufmann. He raised his gun and trained it on Weiss’s forehead. “But surely you knew there was no real chance of escape to America. It’s time to end this. The Kaiser would like the Toxic back, if you please.”

Weiss stared blankly at Kaufmann. “I … I don’t have the Toxic, of course. You took it from me.”

Hargraves set down his ax and reached inside his coat.

He must have one of the captain’s guns,
Weiss thought desperately.
The odds are even.

But Hargraves did not withdraw a gun. He produced a stainless-steel cylinder, ten inches long, and slightly bigger than the glass vial it contained. “I have the Toxic,” he said in fluent German.

“
You?
You have the Toxic?” asked Weiss in shock.

“Ah, so it’s you,” said Kaufmann. “Excellent. This will be even easier.” Kaufman chuckled. “From the looks of you, I can see why you’ve had difficulty reporting to Herr Moltke.”

Hargraves slipped the cylinder back into his jacket, joining the laughter. “I’ve had an eventful voyage.” Then he swiped the knife-stick from a stunned Weiss and threw it behind them, back into the stairwell.

“Please, both of you, listen to reason,” pleaded Weiss. “Don’t take the vial back to Germany! Mr. Hargraves or whoever you are, you’ve seen its horrors firsthand!”

The Agent ignored Weiss and addressed Kaufmann. “May I have the honor of silencing this traitor with your pistol?”

Kaufmann considered the request, then handed his revolver to the Agent with a nod. “Certainly. You’ve earned the right. Let justice be served.”

The Agent took the gun and promptly shot Kaufmann in the chest. Kaufmann’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened to speak, but only a gurgling sound emerged as he slumped to the floor.

“But …” Words failed Weiss. Nothing made sense.

“Herr Moltke has different ideas than I about how to use your discovery. I have certain needs that must come before Germany’s. We are both traitors in our own way, Herr Weiss. We are both interested in doing what is … right.”

Weiss still didn’t understand, but he knew the Kaiser’s man meant him ill. Weiss glanced down the corridor to the hatch that led, eventually, to the bridge. He could make a break for it, but he would be gunned down inside of ten steps.

“I need to conserve my ammunition, Herr Weiss,” said the Agent, sliding the revolver inside his jacket. As his hand emerged, it held a familiar tool, the corridor lights glinting off its needle-nosed tip.

“Since you have fought bravely beside me, I will try to make this quick.”