Polar Shift Read Free Page B

no orders existed.
    Zahn’s complexion turned the color of a cooked beet. His opposition went beyond personal animosity. Zahn had serious doubts about Petersen’s ability to run the ship with the inexperienced polyglot crew at his command. He wanted to call the captain a burned-out fool, but his stern discipline again took hold. He turned to the other officers, who had been witnessing the uncomfortable confrontation.
    â€œThis will be no ‘Strength Through Joy’ cruise,” Zahn said. “All of us, navy and merchant marine officers, have a difficult task and bear heavy responsibility. Our duty is to do everything possible to make things easier for the refugees, and I expect the crew to go out of their way to be helpful.”
    He clicked his heels and saluted Petersen, then strode from the wardroom followed by his faithful Alsatian.

    T HE GUARD at the top of the gangway had glanced at the tall man’s document and handed it to an officer supervising the boarding of the wounded.
    The officer took his time reading the letter. Finally, he said, “Herr Koch thinks highly of you.”
    Erich Koch was the murderous Gauleiter who had refused to evacuate East Prussia while preparing his own escape on a ship carrying looted treasure.
    â€œI like to think that I have earned his respect.”
    The officer hailed a ship’s steward and explained the situation. The steward shrugged and led the way along the crowded promenade deck, and then down three levels. He opened the door to a cabin that contained two bunks and a sink. The room was too small for the three of them to enter at the same time.
    â€œNot exactly the Führer suite,” the steward said. “But you’re lucky to have it. The head is four doors down.”
    The tall man glanced around the cabin. “This will do. Now, see if you can get us some food.”
    A flush came to the steward’s cheeks. He was tired of being ordered about by VIPs traveling in relative comfort while ordinary mortals had to suffer. But something in the tall man’s cold blue eyes warned him not to argue. He returned within fifteen minutes with two bowls of hot vegetable soup and chunks of hard bread.
    The two men devoured their food in silence. The professor finished first and put his bowl aside. His eyes were glazed with exhaustion, but his mind was still alert.
    â€œWhat is this ship?” he said.
    The tall man scraped the bottom of his bowl with the last of his bread, then lit up a cigarette. “Welcome to the Wilhelm Gustloff, the pride of Germany’s Strength Through Joy movement.”
    The movement was an ongoing propaganda stunt to demonstrate the benefits of National Socialism to German workers. Kovacs glanced around at the spartan accommodations. “I don’t see much strength or joy.”
    â€œNonetheless, the Gustloff will again one day transport happy German laborers and party faithful to sunny Italy.”
    â€œI can hardly wait. You haven’t told me where we’re going.”
    â€œFar beyond the reach of the Red Army. Your work is too important to fall into Russian hands. The Reich will take good care of you.”
    â€œIt looks as if the Reich is having trouble taking care of its own people.”
    â€œA temporary setback. Your welfare is my utmost priority.”
    â€œI’m not concerned about my welfare.” Kovacs hadn’t seen his wife and young son for months. Only their infrequent letters had kept hope alive.
    â€œYour family?” The tall man regarded him with a steady gaze. “Have no worry. This will soon be over. I suggest you get some sleep. No, that’s an order.”
    He stretched out on the bunk, hands clasped behind his head, and shut his eyes. Kovacs was not deceived. His companion seldom slept and could snap fully awake at the slightest provocation.
    Kovacs examined the man’s face. He could have been in his early twenties, although he looked older. He