by Jack Finney
Now the rest of us were on the next lower deck, and we stopped a dozen paces away from, and out of view of, the main lounge. A few passengers were still crossing the area we stood in or coming toward us from the various corridors leading into it, all hurrying toward the lounge, eying us curiously and frowningly as they passed. And now the corridors were silent, and Vic said, “All right, we’ll go in now, please,” and he turned, walked on, then pushed open the swinging doors that led into the lounge.
I will never forget the sight of that enormous room as our group stopped just inside the doors. Standing, sitting or moving slowly and with difficulty through the crowd were hundreds of people, and the murmuring roar of their talk, the hubbub of hundreds of voices was, for a moment, terrifying. The knowledge of our position—three men facing a floating. hostile city—washed over me suddenly, and l glanced at Vic and at Frank, who had just rejoined us, to see how they were taking it.
Frank’s face was wooden, staring into that crowded room; there was no telling what thoughts were moving through his mind. But Vic’s eyes were darting, flashing with excitement, and his lips were actually curved in a faint smile. Staring at him, I knew he’d never been more alive; this was the biggest moment of his life.
I made myself step forward and began edging past groups and clusters of people. I reached the center of the huge, crowded room and stopped beside a small table of polished wood, putting a hand on it, ready to climb up on it. Then a sudden intuitive idea sprang up in my mind, and I turned instead to a large davenport a step or so away. A dark-haired man and a rather pretty woman sat there, a newspaper lying between them. Inclining my head toward the woman, I said quietly, “Would you mind if I borrowed that newspaper, please?” Staring, she shook her head mutely, then handed me the paper, and I took it, thanking her. Taking my time, I carefully spread the paper on the polished table top. A man who would protect the top of that table before he stepped on it, I knew, might still suggest menace, but not callousness or wanton brutality. He’d be listened to before anyone took action. And far across the room as I climbed onto the table and raised my hands, palms out and arms high, asking for silence, I saw Frank Lauffnauer grin in approval.
“Ladies. . . . Gentlemen,” I said slowly, my voice deep and firm. “A good many of you already know that I am from the submarine now lying off the starboard side of the Queen Mary. There is no point in trying to make you think I’m welcome here; a lot of you saw, and I’m sure all of you now know, that our submarine fired a torpedo which struck this ship. It was a dummy torpedo!” I raised my voice, overriding a beginning, excited murmur. The murmur died abruptly, and I went on as before. “It carried a harmless flash charge only and was fired as a warning. Now, let me assure everyone in this room”—again my voice rose—“that no one is going to be hurt. No one is going to be molested, or even so much as spoken to rudely—as long as you accept that warning.”
Very softly now, making them strain to hear, I resumed. “Any hotheads out there—and there are always a few—any wise guys, any heroes, any plain darn fools, listen to me now.” Rapidly, matter-of-factly, I said, “The submarine beside this ship carries torpedoes, twelve of them. They are live, they carry full warheads, and there was only one dummy.” Suddenly my voice rang through the room. “Any trouble, any interference with us”—I leaned toward them, my voice dropping again—“and those torpedoes will be fired into the side of this ship.”
Again I turned slowly on the table to speak to them all. “Behave yourselves,” I said conversationally, “do as you’re told, and no torpedoes will be fired. We will be off this ship within fifteen minutes, you’ll resume your voyage and have plenty to talk about at dinner tonight. Now, that’s all, except for one thing.” Again I leaned forward, grinning down at them as evilly as I knew how, bearded chin outthrust. “The stupid ones among you, the little handful of darn fools who never know the truth till it kills them, might want to test me out. Wondering if the submarine out there”—I jerked my thumb over my shoulder—“really does carry torpedoes. And whether the men aboard will really fire them. To the rest of you, I say—stop any fools you may hear talking trouble from getting the rest of you killed. You know you’re hearing the truth”—I gestured with my chin across the room to my right—“because there stands the captain of this ship and his officers, and they are not contradicting me. They know I speak the truth, and they stand as they do to save your lives.”
I gave them several long seconds to take in what I’d said, to understand and accept it. Then, the moment a subdued murmur of talk began. I cut it off instantly by bringing my palms together, hard and loud, snapping them back to silent attention. “All right,” I said quickly, and—I knew I could afford it now and that it was a good idea, calming the frightened and saving face for the heroes—I spoke very courteously. “I have a request to make of you, please. It will be a great help to us if you will all occupy this side of the room.” Raising my arm. I pointed to the port side of the ship. Then, continuing to hold my arm out. finger pointing commandingly, I resumed, rapidly now, getting them moving, giving them no time to do anything else. “Please hurry!” I said, raising my voice urgently. “We will appreciate it greatly! No one will be harmed in any way. We are looking for one person only, an escaped criminal.”
Within no more than a minute the room in back of me—I glanced over my shoulder—was empty. Before me the room was now very crowded, people shifting about, finding places to sit or stand, then lifting their faces to stare up at me, waiting.
And now Frank and Vic stepped forward, walking toward me, and again I brought my hands together hard, palms cupped, the sound like a pistol shot. Instantly, before the babble of talk had fully died, I was saying, “All right! Walk forward past me, please! Let’s do it quickly and get it over with!”
After a moment’s hesitation, glancing at each other—“Step forward, please! Now!” I shouted—they began walking toward me, most of the men assuming forced, nonchalant smiles, as though to suggest they were coming forward only out of idle curiosity and of their own volition. Frank and Vic stood beside my table now. facing each other about a yard apart, motioning the group to file between them. Gesturing at others to join the line that was filing between Frank and Vic. I kept a steady watch on the two exits from the lounge on this side of the room, making certain no one tried to leave.
Six, seven, eight, nine minutes passed; perhaps two thirds of the hundreds of people in the great lounge had filed between Frank and Vic, and I felt that the mood of the crowd was changing. I sensed it in the way they moved, talked and glanced at us now—a beginning and growing belligerency in some of the men. Our control here was diminishing, trouble fermenting, and a sudden wild anxiety to be finished and off this ship surged through me. I was certain Kroll could not have immediately suspected that our boarding the ship had any connection with him. We were very obviously part of a navy submarine crew—even the captain had thought so until we told him otherwise—and I was sure Kroll had, too, and was here in this room now with all the others. By now he might be wishing he were not, wishing he had instantly guessed somehow who and what we were and had run to hide. But it was long since too late for that, and as he had not passed between Frank and Vic, he was among the thinned-out crowd of perhaps two hundred people still remaining in the room before me. It was time now to find him—quickly—and I turned to call to Frank and Vic. Then, as I did so—glancing down at the line of passengers moving toward them—I was looking into the eyes of Alice Muir staring up at me as she walked forward with the line.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t make myself understand, and it was an instant too late, a fractional second after my lips had opened and I’d involuntarily spoken, that I knew I should have simply glanced away and let her file on past us. Instead my reflexes took over, my mouth opened, and in stunned astonishment I heard myself saying, “Alice! What the devil are you doing here?” Then heads swung, people turning to stare, and as I jumped down from the table to stand staring at Alice Muir,
I saw Vic turn instantly to stand watching the exits.
Her eyes large with wonder, Alice answered me. “I’m on my vacation,” she said simply. “I told you I was taking it. Hugh, what’s happening?”
Just behind me Frank Lauffnauer spoke softly, and I swung around to see him looking not at me but at Alice. “You know her?” he murmured.
“Yeah.” I nodded abruptly: then the panic flared through me. “Frank, we’ve got to finish up and get off!” I said, whispering it harshly; the moving line of passengers had stopped, and they stood staring at us. “He’s out there somewhere!” I gestured savagely at the great room before us. “Let’s find him right now!”
Frank nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so,” he said quietly, then turned to Vic. Stay here,” he said. “We will find him.” Then we walked forward into the scattered crowd before us.
At least half of the two-hundred-odd people—motionless, eying us as we moved among them—were women. And perhaps a third of the remaining men were obviously younger than fifty. We found Kroll in less than two minutes—at the back of the room standing behind a large marble pillar. As we spotted him, Frank nudged me. “Say nothing,” he murmured. “I am sure it is him, but we will make certain; walk past him.” After a glance, I looked away as though this were not our man.
Suddenly, startlingly, directly beside my ear, Frank’s voice barked out, Komme hier! Geschwind!” And the man’s head started to turn, then instantly stopped. It was the barest beginning of movement, and now he stood looking past us as though he hadn’t understood. But he couldn’t control the actions of his heart and blood vessels; his face was flushing, and Frank grinned and walked toward him. “I think we have our man,” he murmured, and then we were beside him. There was no mistaking it now. This was the face in the photographs; we had found Reinhold Kroll.
Frank searched him quickly, the passengers nearby watching in wonder. And Kroll’s eyes were closed now, squeezed shut as though to shut out the reality of what was happening to him, and I almost felt sorry for him. He was unarmed; aboard the Mary, finally, and well out to sea, he’d been utterly safe, he’d thought; he’d never dreamed of this happening. “All right, Herr Kroll,” Lauffnauer said softly. “Come along now.”
But Kroll gripped the front of Frank’s sweater in his fists, bending his knees to stare into Frank’s eyes, and his face was agonized, beseeching. “Sind sie ein Deutsch——You are a German?” he said frantically, the words spilling out. “You fought for Germany perhaps?” He stared at Frank with desperate hope.
Frank brought up an arm and knocked Kroll’s hands down. “In two wars.”
“Then you must not do this! You must not! Nein, nein! It is for Germany! I go back to Germany! To restore her honor! To lead her again to——”
Frank slapped his face—a vicious blow to the jaw with the flat of his hand, swinging the man s head around. But immediately he swung it back to stare at Frank. “Germany has had enough of Führers,” Frank said. “And so have I. Besides, you could not even begin to be one, not you. Come on now!” He grabbed the mans arm, swinging him around toward the exit a hundred feet away. We are in a hurry!” And he began leading the man—wild-eyed now and stumbling, his mouth agape; I thought he might actually be going to cry—toward the doors. He resisted, dragging his feet on the thick carpeting, and I caught up his other arm, and, half leading him, half carrying him. we hurried him across the lounge, then out through the swinging doors.
The instant they swung closed behind us, Frank had a spring-blade knife out, its blade snapping open, then its point pricking into the back of Kroll’s neck just under the base of the skull. “Now! Instantly!” Frank said viciously, and I think he might have killed the man if he hadn’t obeyed. “To your cabin! Schnell!” And the man turned into a corridor.
At his cabin the man unlocked the door, opened it, and Frank shoved him inside. “Please!” The man turned to me now. “This is not right! It is unfair! This is not my money; for years I have kept it——” He turned suddenly; Frank was at a small trunk, green-enameled, metal-bound in brass, which stood on end and opened, in a comer of the room. Frank was snatching out the suits and shirts that hung in it. And now—his face sagged and his eyes closed—Kroll knew, his last futile hope gone, that we knew the secret of the trunk.
It stood empty now, its inner surfaces of black-and-white checkered cloth exposed, and Frank’s hand shot forward, the tip of the knife in his hand slicing in through the cloth. “Lieber Gott, Heber Gott,” the man beside me was murmuring, his voice low and helpless.
Frank was cursing, and now he reached out, thrust his fingers into the cut cloth and ripped it down, exposing a sheet of aluminum in back of it. “It’s metal, not cardboard,” he said over his shoulder, then he set the tip of the knife blade against the aluminum and began pushing, using both hands and gradually increasing the pressure. The blade suddenly penetrated—it was thin-gauge aluminum—and Frank began twisting the knife, slowly enlarging the hole, careful not to twist too hard and snap the blade. Presently he paused and glanced up at me over his shoulder. Protruding slightly from the ragged metal hole was a little section of paper—white and imprinted with fine black lines. Stepping closer, I could see, in small letters on a tiny scroll, the name Franklin—we were looking at a little portion of a hundred-dollar bill, and we knew the entire inner surface of this trunk was packed solid with large-denomination bills, a half-inch deep all around.
“Where’d you get it?” I said to Kroll.
He answered, not moving, eyes staring upward. “In France. During the war. It does not matter.”
“American money?”
He shook his head, face expressionless. “No, francs and English pounds—over two million dollars’ worth. I bought with it American and Swiss currency on the black market.”
Frank had thrust a forefinger into the jagged metal hole and was tugging and yanking frantically till he cut his finger, the blood welling up and staining the bills that pressed against it, and I grabbed his wrist. “We can’t pull it apart here!” I yelled; I was wild to be off the ship. “We’ll take it along!” He nodded quickly. We pushed the trunk closed, snapped the hasps and each grabbed a handle. Then we walked to the door, Frank first. He opened it, and I turned to Kroll, who was staring at the ceiling, silently weeping.
I glanced at my watch. We’d been aboard the Queen Mary twenty-one minutes, and I yanked the handle from Frank’s hand, heaved the trunk up on my back and began to run with it, down the corridor toward the lounge. As I ran toward it, Frank following, the trunk bobbing on my back, l became aware of a sound. I recognized it partially. It was a sound associated in my mind with a regular, frequent and normal shipboard activity of some sort. Running toward it, the sound increasing in volume, I was only curious about it. I knew the sound well enough, but couldn’t quite recognize what it was at the moment. And as I jogged heavily out of the long corridor, the trunk bouncing on my shoulder muscles, I swung toward the lounge and Vic. Then I stopped; so suddenly that Frank Lauffnauer bumped into the trunk on my back, and he cursed in German. The sound was louder here, and now l suddenly recognized what it was, and I think Frank did too.
“Get Vic!” I yelled, and he simply nodded, already moving—running—toward the lounge doors ahead, and I swung toward the deck on the port side. I ran as fast as I could possibly move, and burst out onto the deck so fast I had to fend myself off from the rail with my free hand. The staccato clacking was loud and clear now, all around me, and for an instant I couldn’t locate it. Then I was swinging around, my back to the rail, head thrown back to stare up at the source of the sound. It was several decks above me. Then I saw the searchlight-type lamp facing the sea to the west, and the seaman beside it rapidly and steadily manipulating the clattering Venetian-blindlike shutters.
How long he’d been sending I didn’t know, and it no longer mattered. I swung around and, leaning over the rail, stared out to sea, eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon; then I saw it. It was the merest speck, a slight
imperfection marring the line dividing sea from sky. As I stared, the speck lengthened, and, straining my eyes, forcing them, l could see—either actually or in my mind—the never-to-be-mistaken sight of a destroyer, heeling over in a fast, racing turn. I knew she was heading straight for us, and I was shoving at the rail, turning to run into the ship.
The wide area here before the lounge doors was still empty of people, and I ran straight across it toward the deck and the boarding ladder on the other side. Frank and Vic might already be on it, running down its steps toward the waiting launch. In any case, I had our trunk—I never thought of abandoning it to get down those stairs—and I pounded up onto the deck on which we’d boarded the ship. Swinging the trunk over the rail onto the ladder, I swarmed over the railing myself. The ladder was empty, and the tiny launch at its foot, its exhaust muttering. Frank and Vic were still aboard, and all I could do now was hurry down those hundreds of stairs.
I tried running, but had to stop; the empty trunk bounced high off my shoulders at every running step down those stairs, the metal handle twisting in my fingers, and I very nearly lost it. I walked then, as quickly as I could, slowing each time the trunk began to bounce, and even in the panic nibbling at my nerves and the edges of my mind, I had time to understand what had happened.
The captain had done it. Standing in the lounge with his officers, he’d instructed them all; and when I’d sent one of them out to tell the rest of the ship what was happening and warn them from interfering, that officer had also passed the word from the captain. Ever since that moment someone had manned the signal lamp, glasses on the horizon, waiting for a ship that could be signaled in the one silent way our submarine—the whole bulk of the Mary between it and that ship—could not detect.
