Deck Z - The Titanic

by Chris Pauls

  How long had he been out? Like an electric shock, Weiss remembered his valise and shouted through the linen: “Where am I? What do you want? Where’s the girl? If it’s money you want, take what I have, but you chose the wrong fellow!”

  A man chuckled. A bulky shadow passed in front of the ceiling light. Weiss’s labored breathing was hot and moist against the cloth.

  “Perhaps you should have accepted the girl’s dinner invitation,” the stranger said.

  Weiss silently cursed himself. Had he fallen for a con? Had Lou played him for a fool, and for what? A few coins?

  “Did you enlist her in this?” Weiss asked, hoping the answer was “no.”

  The man laughed. “Hardly, but I should pay her. On a vessel this size, I might have spent half the journey looking for you, but the idea of her in trouble led you right to me.”

  “Damn it, what do you want?” Weiss shouted.

  The man’s voice dropped to a whisper, close by Weiss’s ear. “I think you know, Herr Theodor Weiss. Tell me, how is your research progressing? It’s a shame about your facility in the Harz Mountains. Burnt to ashes. Such a terrible accident.”

  Weiss froze. The man moved away, retrieving something from behind him.

  The scientist heard his bag being opened. A muted Russian accent crept into the man’s voice. “It’s like a nesting doll, yes? Inside the bag, there is a steel container.” Weiss heard the sound of the container twisting open. “And inside the container, a vial. And inside the vial …”

  “Who are you?” demanded Weiss. “The Kaiser’s agent?”

  “If you like. Let’s say I’m the man who will take what you’ve stolen. The man who will kill you.”

  “That vial is a fake!” Weiss shouted in desperation. “I have hidden the real one. You’ll never find it!”

  “You did try to fool us once with a counterfeit, Herr Weiss,” the Agent growled, “and it’s plausible that you would do so again. I suppose there’s only way to know for certain.”

  Weiss flinched as the Agent lifted the pillowcase just enough to expose Weiss’s mouth. A hand pressed against the scientist’s forehead, pushing it back.

  “What do you say, Herr Weiss? Shall we make a monster?”

  “The vial contains cyanide,” said Weiss quickly.

  “Come, you can do better than that.”

  “I’d rather die than see the Toxic used as a weapon. I knew I would be pursued, and that I might have to kill myself to protect my secrets. Feed me the fluid, but know that when I’m dead, the true location of the Toxic perishes with me.”

  For a long moment, the attacker neither moved nor spoke. The only sound was the rumbling turbines powering Titanic west. Then all at once, the Agent released his grip on Weiss, speaking calmly and pacing in front of him. “Yes, it is a risk. All’s lost for me if this were to kill you rather than infect you. But are you actually that noble, to die rather than turn over the weapon? You seem the type. Then again, perhaps you are merely a good actor.”

  The Agent stopped pacing. “Another thing puzzles me: If you’re so intent on the Toxic not being used as a weapon, why did you not destroy it on Brocken Mountain?”

  “I will use it to find a cure for the plague!” Weiss shouted. “No one deserves such horror!”

  “I know who deserves it!” The man’s hand closed around Weiss’s throat and squeezed ferociously, cutting off his windpipe until pinpoints of light sparkled in the darkness behind his eyelids. “And I’m going to give it to them.”

  The Agent released Weiss, who choked and gasped. He heard the sound of the vial sliding back inside the steel cylinder and its lid being screwed back on.

  “The Toxic—or the cyanide—will now be tested on an innocent. Know that you have sentenced him to die.”

  “No! Dear God, don’t do that!”

  “Enough talk, Herr Weiss!” The pillowcase was raised again, and the Agent’s hand, cool and strong, gripped Weiss’s jaw. “Understand. No one escapes my punishment.”

  A pointed metal object forced its way into Weiss’s mouth. He desperately clenched his jaw against the unforgiving metal, but the effort was futile. The pliers dug farther in, cutting his tongue and latching onto one of his left bottom molars. Weiss thrashed as it was wrenched side to side with excruciating brutality. After three sickening cracks, the tooth gave way and was jerked from his mouth.

  Before Weiss could scream, the man gagged him with fresh linen. Weiss choked hard and felt blood force its way out his nose. The gag quickly saturated with blood. Unbearable pain roared inside his mouth, making thought impossible. He heard his tooth skitter across the floor.

  A door opened and Weiss lifted his head in agony. Through the cloth, he saw the Agent’s imposing silhouette framed in a rectangle of light.

  “When I return, Herr Weiss, it won’t be a tooth my pliers pull next. There are many ways they can kill a man.”

  Weiss heard the door close before he lost consciousness.

  13

  DECK F. LINEN CLOSET.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 12, 1912. 12:10 P.M.

  Weiss came to, overwhelmed by pain. He could not say how long he had been out.

  Eventually, Weiss managed to regain some control of his faculties as the most intense spikes of pain receded to a throbbing, pulsating ache. He shook the pillowcase free from his head and blinked, disoriented, surrounded by stacks of white: a linen closet, not Lou’s cabin. He tugged uselessly at his bindings and swallowed blood, which still flowed from the empty socket and his lacerated gums.

  Weiss forced long, slow breaths through his nose till eventually he became calm enough to put a coherent thought together. He had to get free.

  The Kaiser’s agent was testing the Toxic. But if Weiss could get free, he could at least warn others, the ship’s doctors, the captain. They could help him quarantine any infected, then find the man who stole the vial. Yes, if they could do that, maybe it would be all right. All was not lost yet.

  How long has he been gone? wondered Weiss. No matter. If I’m still here when that man comes back, I’m dead.

  First, he had to get rid of the gag in his mouth. It kept him from spitting, and the accumulated blood in his stomach was making him sick. Eventually he would vomit. Some of the discharge might escape out his nose, but the rest would be forced back into his lungs. The gag would cause him to drown aboard the Titanic.

  Fighting off a surge of fear, he focused on his surroundings. A shelf on his far right held linens and bottles of laundry agents. They were no help. The left held no more promise, dominated by stacks of pillowcases and bed sheets. His valise was nowhere to be seen. He stomped his feet in frustration.

  The motion rocked his chair backward, and it teetered, precariously close to tipping over. Weiss quickly thrust forward, causing the seat to swing in that direction. Even though his feet were bound together, he got his legs under him enough to set the seat firmly back on the floor. The episode gave him an idea.

  Using the same motion, he jumped the chair off the ground and spun it sideways. The back of the room held more stacks of linens, but in the far right corner he saw something familiar. His cane lay just in front of a shelving unit atop two bags of dirty sheets. Weiss shimmied the chair toward the stick.

  He positioned himself so that a shelf was in front of him and his cane behind him. He estimated the distance, adjusted again, and after two calming breaths, leaned back. Locking his toes under the shelf, he felt for the cane with his bound hands. His fingertips found it just as his feet slipped, pulling the shelf toward him.

  As the shelf slowly began to topple, he grasped wildly for the cane until it was in his hands, then he threw his shoulder forward and slammed into the falling shelf. It fell back against the wall with a heavy bounce. He had done it.

  Weiss twisted the handle and activated the blade, then he slid the cane until the blade was behind the ropes that bound his wrists. The blade was sharp, and in short order he sawed through the bindings. With his hands free, he tore the gag
from his mouth and spit out the prodigious amount of blood that he’d been desperately trying not to swallow. After cutting the rest of his bindings, he wiped his face quickly with a sheet, then broke for the hall outside.

  Though still wobbly from the pain in his jaw, a surge of adrenaline at his escape propelled him down the corridor. As he approached the heavy metal doors at the end, a portly maid carrying a bag of dirty laundry came through them from the other side. She stopped in her tracks and stared at him in shock. Weiss hobbled past her without a word. Once through the doorway, he peered back over his shoulder. She wasn’t following. To keep from attracting further attention, Weiss quickly found a lavatory.

  Upon seeing himself in a mirror, Weiss understood the woman’s alarm. A terrifying amount of dried blood caked his beard and neck. His shirt and hands were also fouled. His left cheek was horribly swollen and bruised. He felt repulsed himself, and he gingerly washed his hands and neck as thoroughly as he could.

  Weiss recoiled sharply the second he touched his left cheek with a cloth. The ache made him clench his teeth, which shot bolts of slashing pain through his skull. He cleaned up as best he could before leaving the bathroom.

  Titanic’s enormity now confronted Weiss directly. He was dizzy, on the verge of passing out, and could hardly visualize where he was, much less where he should go. The German staggered forward a few steps and then collapsed to the floor with his back against the wall.

  How would he ever find the unfortunate person the man had infected? Moreover, how in the world would he ever find the German agent and recover the Toxic? It felt impossible. Weiss’s present condition left him only one choice. He had to seek medical assistance for himself first. He couldn’t do anything until he stopped the pain.

  Dr. O’Loughlin opened the third-class examining room door and Weiss stumbled in, holding the side of his face.

  “You have to help me …”

  O’Loughlin squinted at Weiss’s swollen jaw. “I should say,” the doctor said. “Have a seat, and let’s see how you are.”

  Weiss leaned his cane in the corner and collapsed into a chair. Dr. O’Loughlin tried to stick a thermometer in Weiss’s mouth, causing the German to retch and vomit black, dead blood all over the floor. O’Loughlin recoiled.

  “I’ve swallowed a lot of blood,” Weiss said between coughs. “I’m also in terrible pain.” It was a detail he would have mentioned if the surgeon hadn’t been so intent with his thermometer.

  “What in the devil … ?”

  “I’ve been attacked and lost a tooth. I need something for the pain,” Weiss said, blinking away the agony. “But that’s not the sole reason I’m here.”

  “Attacked? On Titanic?” said O’Loughlin, fetching a beaker, some powders, and a glass mixing rod. He filled the container with water, mixed the solution, and poured it into a cup. “Drink this,” he said. Weiss complied, feeling a measure of relief almost immediately. O’Loughlin crossed his arms. “I’ll need to alert the Master-at-Arms.”

  “And the captain as well,” Weiss replied.

  O’Loughlin grunted dubiously and examined Weiss’s mouth. “Good lord. It looks as if the tooth has been pulled by a butcher, not a dentist.” He placed a wad of sterile gauze on the wound. “Bite down, and give that some time. The cotton should stop the bleeding and keep the socket from becoming infected. Now what about this attack?”

  Where to begin? In the cold light of the doctor’s office, Weiss saw how unlikely his tale would seem. Still, he had no choice. From now on, he must put his faith in the truth. He removed the gauze to speak. “My name is Theodor Weiss. I am a doctor like you, a bacteriologist, and I was in possession of a deadly bacterium, a new strain of plague, which the German government wants to use as a weapon.”

  O’Loughlin blinked, and then laughed, long and loud—as if this were a joke, or Weiss were simply mad. “Of course, and I’m the man in the moon!”

  “No, you must listen! The vial containing plague bacteria was stolen from me, violently, as you see. We must act quickly. I’m afraid the thief plans to expose one of the passengers. This is a mutation of the plague that decimated Manchuria. Surely you heard about it?”

  The smile faded from O’Loughlin’s face. “Of course. Some fifty thousand people died. But that plague was contained. It’s over.”

  “This is not the same plague. It’s a mutated version, and much worse. I was there. I … it’s too much to explain how I have it, but you must believe me. One drop from that vial, in the mouth, the eyes, or an open wound … on an enclosed ship like Titanic …” Weiss’s voice trailed off.

  “Then help us identify your attacker,” O’Loughlin said.

  “I never saw his face. And he took my bag with the vial and my credentials.” Weiss looked at the doctor in despair. “I have no proof, but still you must believe me. We don’t have much time.”

  For a long moment, O’Loughlin considered the situation. “All right, tell me more about this sickness.”

  Weiss shifted forward in his seat eagerly. “It starts like the flu. Chills, abdominal pain, and headaches last seven to eight hours, but that’s just the beginning. Then, there is a second stage. Sores appear, and a murky, infectious discharge emerges from the nose and mouth, also the ears. This progresses much more quickly, three or four hours at most.” Weiss took a breath before finishing. “And in the final stage? The victim bleeds from his eyes and is lost to violent madness. Please tell me, have you seen anyone with these symptoms?”

  “You mean discharge from the eyes? Certainly not!”

  “Anything,” Weiss said. “Dizziness, nausea?”

  “I see that every day, of course. It’s seasickness, not the plague. Not half an hour ago I sent a seasick cook who felt puny to rest in his quarters, simply as a precaution.”

  “Is this cook a veteran of the sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how is he seasick? I need to examine him.”

  “I assure you, Timothy is merely suffering a bout of seasickness. That or perhaps he visited a certain Southampton district prior to sailing and got more than he paid for. Time will tell.”

  Weiss calculated in his head. “Please, we have to treat this with the utmost urgency. If this man has been infected, he will become highly contagious within hours. Allow me to examine him.”

  O’Louglin bristled. “You? Examine my patient? Ridiculous.”

  Weiss stood and looked O’Loughlin square in the eye. “You have not seen what I have. This horror does not kill its victims. It destroys them from the inside until they lose their minds and they become insatiably violent creatures. But there’s still a chance if we move now. I cannot put it any plainer than that.”

  O’Loughlin paused for only a moment. “We’ll go to him. But don’t mistake me. From this moment, you are the one under guard. Unless I find your plague on board, you will not see the light of day until we reach America.”

  14

  DECK E CORRIDOR.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 12, 1912. 4:10 P.M.

  O’Loughlin led Weiss down the third-class stairwells and past streams of passengers: gentlemen in tailored suits on their way to the smoking lounge; ladies in handsome afternoon gowns en route to the promenade deck; young people wearing modest bathing costumes searching for the swimming pool. Weiss watched them hurry along—so many that they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. Horror would rage across the populous Titanic if the cook was indeed infected and not found in time. Weiss would happily trade his freedom to be wrong.

  Weiss and O’Loughlin arrived on Deck E and set off for Timothy’s room, a shared accommodation next to places for washing potatoes and other kitchen preparations. As they passed the second-class purser’s office, O’Loughlin stopped and stuck his head inside the door. “Mr. McElroy,” he called. “Ring up to the bridge and have the Master-at-Arms meet us in the cooks’ quarters right away.”

  A uniformed man with a neatly trimmed black mustache looked up from behind his mahogany counter. “May I inquire as
to the purpose of your request, sir?”

  “No, you may not,” O’Loughlin replied.

  As O’Loughlin and Weiss continued down the corridor, Weiss asked, “There are telephones aboard?”

  “It’s a big ship,” returned O’Loughlin. “Otherwise, it would take the captain’s orders half an hour to reach the boiler rooms.”

  The corridors were less crowded as they moved into Deck E’s service areas, and Weiss picked up the pace to a half-trot. O’Loughlin stopped so he could catch his breath. He pointed to a cabin at the end of the corridor. “He’ll be up there.”

  Weiss sprinted away, despite O’Loughlin’s shout to stop. The doctor ran after the German, who stood in the doorway of an unoccupied room.

  “No one’s here,” Weiss said.

  “Why,” asked O’Loughlin, “would Timothy defy my direct orders to stay in his quarters?”

  Weiss studied the scene carefully. The room wasn’t unlike his own, with spare bunks lining the walls on either side. Personal lockers took up much of the rest of the space. A beat-up banjo rested in the far corner. As he crossed to one of the bunks, a chattering rat scurried past and disappeared out the door.

  The bottom bunk’s sheets were turned down, and its pillow had a single dark stain. He examined it closely, as his heart pumped so hard it felt close to bursting from his chest. The stain was fresh and all too familiar; it could be nothing else. They’d found the person who’d been infected with the Toxic, but the cook had already progressed to stage two.

  Weiss carefully examined the rest of the bed and the sheets. He found more ooze near the bottom of the pillow, indicating that the fluid had seeped from the gums. Weiss showed O’Loughlin.

  “This is the discharge I told you about,” said Weiss. “Do you believe me now?”

  “I don’t know what to believe. But something isn’t right.”

  “This bedding will need to be burned,” said the German. “Please make sure it’s taken care of.”