Richter began inspecting the vats for himself. “You are confident this is the solution? That we need not pursue other avenues of control?”
“No sir,” Dominik said. “Fire to destroy, formaldehyde to contain. I think you have your answer.”
Though he should have been pleased, the commander only grunted, still looking at the vats. Dominik glanced over his shoulder at Ettore, who had begun to slip closer. The man looked patently guilty, but the commander wasn't paying attention.
“And the method of dispersal?”
Dominik gritted his teeth. Revealing this bit of information would reveal a bit about their plan, but then, he thought Richter would soon not be in a position to disseminate the information to anyone. “It can be released as a gas, either as a bomb or with something like a crop-dusting plane. The effects on people in the containment area will not be pleasant, but it will leave buildings and infrastructure intact.”
He chanced another glance at Ettore and saw the man's hands clasped in front of him. Dominik wondered if he was up to the task after all. Worse, he wondered how much Frece suspected. The man was starting to look unnerved himself. Fortunately, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut while Richter was talking.
The commander tapped on one of the metal cylinders. “If you are so confident now, then why, may I ask, did you not come upon this solution quicker?”
“The effects of formaldehyde are not well known. It's toxic, and not an ordinary way to deal with fungus. On top of that, as you know, the lieutenant's policies made it impossible for us to import dangerous chemicals. We talked about trying a series of aldehyde chains at one point, but when we couldn't gain access to them, we gave up.” Actually, it had been Smit's rule about allowing prisoners access to dangerous chemicals and the lieutenant had only upheld it, but condemning Dietrich sounded better.
The commander's eyes darted momentarily to Ettore, then flicked back to Dominik. “So if you were not given access to these chemicals, how did you come upon the solution?”
Dominik's mind flashed back on the night when he had come upon Zofia in the lab. The tentacles had grown to every corner of the room, twisting and bending around her. They had stopped at Zofia, curling up from her body as if repelled. Strangely, Dominik had known, somehow known, it was because of what was inside her. The primary chemical in embalming fluid was formaldehyde, and the things in the room were avoiding it like a cellar mushroom avoids sunlight. Once he had deduced this, it hadn't taken him long to isolate the chemical and test it. Before any soldiers could find what had happened, he and Ari had returned with masks and eradicated the tendrils growing through the room. They had cleaned the broken glass and disposed of the evidence, burning it all in the laboratory's incinerator.
With a terrible smile, Dominik forced himself to speak. “Well, I'd say that was thanks to you, Commander. It was my daughter who showed us the way. Now, we wanted you to see it for yourself.”
It was the signal Ettore had been waiting for, and he rushed forward with the cloth in hand.
Like a snake, Richter's hand shot out and grabbed the man by the wrist. “What?” he barked. “What are you doing?”
Dominik stared, dumbfounded as Ettore grappled with the commander. Then, he shook his head and rushed, throwing his arms around Richter to try and restrain him. It was like grabbing a tree trunk. Richter's body was thick, his arms as powerful as a machine.
The commander shrugged Dominik off and pushed Ettore downwards, bending his hand back towards his own face. Ettore struggled, but he was no match; the cloth clamped over his nose, and within seconds, he went limp.
Ari was still standing a few paces away, flabbergasted.
“Ari! Do something!”
When Dominik rushed again, Richter shoved him into his friend, and their heads collided with a crack. The older man's glasses fell to the floor, and Ari dropped to one knee, his hands clutching his mouth.
Richter's face darkened in triumph. “Now,” he said, reaching for Dominik, “now that we have the answer, we don't need you any more. We're going to have fun with you lot. Oh yes, we're going to—”
Something swooshed through the air. An earthquake rocked Richter's body, and then the commander slumped towards him, as limp as a corpse. Dominik stumbled sideways, struggling to see what happened.
Thomas Frece was standing behind him, a metal chair in his hands. In all of the confusion, Dominik had lost track of him.
“I told you,” he said, out of breath. “I told you I was still useful.”
2
Harald was swimming over the chasm.
The man with red hair was there again, standing at the brink. He was waiting for him where the rocks began, the S.S. uniform blowing in the wind. Harald was close now, far closer than he had ever been, and he reached out. He didn't have fingernails, but claws. It was like this every time, but every time it shocked him, as if this body distortion was too terrible to remember. It slowed him, and he watched helplessly as the man raised the gun.
The woman's voice called out again, only this time, he could hear the words. “They're coming!” she screamed. “What do I do?”
And suddenly…
Suddenly.
The lieutenant woke in his own bed, sweating. The dream was getting longer. It was the seventh or eighth time he'd had it, and every time, it continued further. It was approaching an end, but what end, he didn't know. Sometimes, the man was ready to shoot him, and sometimes, Harald thought he could reach him first.
He looked at his watch and saw that it was after seventeen hundred hours. He'd gotten exactly four hours of sleep after being awake all of the previous day, continuing the search for Kriege. Richter would be with Kaminski and the others by now, having a look at the man's miracle solution. Harald got dressed and left the barracks, mumbling to himself as he went. Even from a distance, he could hear the party in full swing at the office bunker. He told himself he should join the men, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Zofia's death weighed on his mind. Lucja wouldn't want anything to do with him now, thanks to Richter. In spite of everything, he found he still wanted to talk to her. He needed to explain himself to her, to tell her that none of this was his doing. It was the only way to make things right.
His feet began to move, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of the prisoners' bunker. Someone had left the door unlatched, giving its occupants free reign. He supposed that was all right given that Kaminski was in the lab, but it was a little unusual. As he reached for the handle, the door swung open, and Lucja herself nearly barreled into him.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said. “You scared me!”
I scared you? My goodness! The door almost knocked me out!
The words were almost out of his mouth when he surprised himself by saying, “Where are you going?”
She smiled, but it didn't look like she had an answer.
“I asked you a question, girl. Where are you going?” Why was his tone so gruff? Was he trying to make her hate him?
“I was just going for a walk.” She pointed vaguely. “I'm tired of staying in there by myself.”
“It's not the night to be going for a walk, Lucja. Surely you know that.”
“I wasn't going far. And I like to walk when my father is away.”
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. She was alone in the room and wanted some fresh air. What could be more natural than that, especially given what she had been through? When he searched her face, however, he could swear he saw something guilty in it.