Schurz nodded. “In that case we’d better be off.”
“I would say so. I’ll help you cast off.”
He turned off his flashlight, pulled back the blackout curtains, and led the way down the narrow companionway. Spurning Schurz’s help he dragged the gangplank from its hold on the dock and dropped it onto the deck. He stepped on the rail, prepared to jump the small distance to the pier, and waved a hand.
“Good luck. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler!” It was said in a whisper.
Sneller jumped down lightly to the dock. He unwound the ropes that held the boat both forward and aft from the dock bollards tossing them lightly toward the Linderndsee already drifting from the dock, waving a hand in a last good-bye. Schurz waved in return and then dragged the ropes aboard, tossing them in a heap against the rail. He then hurried up the companionway to the small bridge, Sneller already forgotten. He pulled the blackout curtains farther to one side and studied the binnacle a moment. Then he pressed the engine starter, pleased to hear the engine catch at once. He brought the speed to SLOW and headed the boat for the entrance of the estuary to the sea. As the first slight wave of the Baltic lifted the prow of the Linderndsee, Schurz raised the speed and headed the ship toward Gedser, across the narrow arm of the Baltic. Then, for the first time that long, long day, he took a deep shuddering breath, feeling himself begin to tremble.
He had done it! He had actually gotten away with it! And he had done it alone. There was no point in even counting Petterssen, who not only had been more of a handicap than a help, but who would shortly be dead. He tried to control the trembling, but it seemed to be a thing outside of himself. For a moment he wondered if he should lash the wheel long enough to go below and take a stiff drink of schnapps to settle his nerves, but he knew this was no answer. He also felt a sudden desire to sing at the top of his voice, or to yell his exultation, but he knew how sound carried over water. And he still had seventy miles or so to go to reach Trelleborg in Sweden, and in this boat that would mean at least six hours at sea. Time to sing or yell when he had beached the boat at his final destination.
The trembling slowly abated under the constant need to keep an eye open for the sign of any ship, or any light; the steady burbling sound of the engine’s exhaust had a hypnotic effect that also needed to be fought against. No, schnapps was the last thing in the world he needed. He settled himself at the wheel, forcing his mind to forget the successful events of the day, even forcing himself not to think of the future. All there was, was the present, the boat and the sea and the many miles to go. The Linderndsee headed steadily out across the waters.
Below in the small cabin, Petterssen raised his tragic-looking face at the sound of the engine starting. The rumble of the gasoline motor, transmitted through the small boat in vibrations as well as sound was, he knew, a knell for him. There was no doubt in Petterssen’s mind that Schurz had no intention — had never had any intention — of allowing him to live to share that treasure in that crate on deck. Why, then, had he come along? Petterssen did not know. He only knew that he was tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of being afraid, tired of everything.
Should he turn the tables and kill Schurz before Schurz killed him? But to what end? He could not go back to Germany, and Sweden held no future for him; to his family and his friends he was a traitor. And what would he do with the treasure if he had it? He would have no idea where to go to dispose of it, to turn it into kroner, or any other currency. Besides, he didn’t want the treasure. If it hadn’t been for the treasure he wouldn’t be here now, waiting to be killed. Yet, maybe it was better to let Schurz kill him. Maybe that was the answer. He wondered exactly how Schurz planned to kill him. By gun? But the German had not had a gun on the train, he was sure of that; unless, of course, the captain had given him one when the two of them had gone up to the bridge. By knife? The thought was distasteful. He felt a shiver go through him. He hoped it was not by knife, although that was a distinct possibility. Certainly the German could not be considering attempting to throttle him, since he could break Schurz in two if he had a mind to. Still, by whatever method, he was sure that Schurz was fully prepared to handle the matter as efficiently as he had handled everything else in connection with getting the treasure.
And after he was dead?
Then Schurz undoubtedly planned to dump him overboard. That, at least, was not distasteful. The sea would be warm this time of year, and soft and comforting. Yes, letting Schurz till him was one solution to the pain he was feeling, a pain that had no source and therefore no cure. In fact, it was undoubtedly the only solution.
But it would certainly go better all around if he had some of that schnapps the captain had mentioned. Otherwise he might resist, might even avoid being killed, and that would never do. He came to his feet, bending a bit under the low overhead, and suddenly staggered as the ship dipped. They had entered the Baltic, then. He only had a few hours left of life. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that. How many people, he suddenly wondered, would have been relieved to know the exact hour of impending death? Probably more than one imagined.
He crossed the room and opened the lockers there one by one until he found the one the captain had referred to. He nodded as he considered the many bottles within. Yes, there was certainly enough schnapps there to drink oneself to death if one cared to, he thought a bit sadly, or if one had the time. Unfortunately, he always either got sick or fell asleep before he had had anywhere near enough to cause death. It was a pity in a way. It would have been the ideal way to cheat Schurz of the satisfaction of killing him. Still, one could always try. And in any event, enough schnapps to numb the thought of death when the moment came could do no harm. He took a bottle back to the bunk with him, opened it, and drank deeply.
The schnapps was of top grade, and it occurred to Petterssen that possibly in the past he had gotten sick or fallen asleep because he had never been able to get his hands on liquor of such fine quality. Maybe with this he could get enough down to never wake up. But the bottle was not even half-finished when he had to suppress a deep yawn and knew he would never make it to death in this fashion. It was such a pity; life was so unfair! He felt a lump in his throat and felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks. What a shame! A man of his talents, and he couldn’t even choose his own way of dying!
He looked around the cabin with reddened, swollen eyes, taking in the effects one by one. If he had gone to sea as a boy, as many of his friends had done, he would not be in the position he was in. Maybe he would have ended up the owner of a boat such as this, not big but big enough. In the evenings, after a hard day’s work, he could have come to a cabin such as this one, and instead of waiting for death could have rested, or read by the light of the lamp... the lamp! The lamp! He set the bottle at his feet and moved unsteadily to the table with the lamp on it. He studied the bottle of gas and then watched the steady flame of the lamp burning within the glass enclosure. He smiled and then began to giggle. He reached over to the tank and slowly turned the valve, watching the lamp begin to flicker and dim. One final twist and the light disappeared completely, leaving the curtained cabin in total darkness. Now Petterssen opened the valve fully, sniffing at the aperture over the glass enclosure. For a moment he felt a touch of panic — there was no smell! But the sudden wave of dizziness that washed over him convinced him that the gas was pouring out, smell or no smell. He groped his way back to the bunk and sat down, feeling for the bottle on the deck. He found it and raised it to his lips. Just one more drink and then to sleep, he said to himself. Just one more drink and then... He lay back on the bunk, inhaling deeply, and smiled at the thought of Schurz’s surprise and undoubted disappointment.