When Claire and her aunt reached the bottom of the ladder, they found themselves nestled inside a narrow dark tin can with wall-to-wall specters. Claire examined their faces from owl-like eyes. They all appeared the same, with scruffy beards, shabby clothes and greasy hair that matted to their skulls. They peered back at her with hollow eyes-hungry, delving and lethal.

Claire realized she had been holding her breath. She inhaled and instantly regretted it. The acerbic smell of unbathed men burned her nose. Claire stepped back, stopped short by a wall of valve wheels and control panels. She stumbled sideways to where her aunt joined her in regarding the men with dread. They smiled, amused by her fear.

The submarine engines filled the interior with a high-pitched whine followed by a cacophony of grinding machinery. A hatch closed somewhere, dimming the noise.

Father studied the crewmen with disgust. Claire waited for him to order them about. Instead, he inspected the periscope with his chin up and slitted eyes. He was trying so hard to appear superior that Claire had to bite her lip to stifle a laugh. For once, he wasn't in control and Claire liked the shape of that.

The small shaft of light that illumined the control room, where Claire stood surrounded by the starved apparitions of purgatory, suddenly blackened. The vessel rocked and the air split with a thunderclap. Before anyone gathered what transpired, the captain and Carsten hurried down the ladder. The hatch slammed closed and was secured, taking away the little bit of sunlight it afforded them.

Carsten examined the tight quarters. The dim interior lights flickered on. A small smile played on his lips. His eyes settled on Claire and then shifted to her aunt. He spoke in his native language, placing his pale eyes on the younger of the women. He switched his haughty gaze to the U-boat captain. The captain nodded and then shouted to the men, who were on their feet in a matter of seconds. The newcomers were forgotten.

Claire watched the intimidated seamen at their posts. Carsten approached, casting a shadow in the corner of her eye. She tried not to notice him, but his hovering forced her eyes to his.

"The Kapitän has been gracious enough to give up his bunk for your comfort. You and your aunt will share as you see fit," Carsten said.

Carsten took a step back and held his hand out to indicate the way toward a low hatch welded into an interior panel. Claire helped her aunt navigate the entrance and then made her way through. Inside, they stood in what resembled the crew's dining area on the yacht, but smaller and far less clean. Claire peered down a narrow passage. Behind her, a crewman sat before a box decked with knobs and dials, scribbling on paper what he heard through a pair of roughshod earphones. A similar booth stood next to it and curtains hung to either side of the passage just beyond that. Racks with supplies and innumerable gadgets filled the narrowing corridor. A heavy curtain hung partially closed just in front of them. The captain emerged from behind the barrier still quite grave. He carried a large bag filled with his things.

"Ladies," he spoke in English. "I trust you will be most comfortable. My watchful eye will be your guard when Mr. Reiniger is not available."

"Where's he going?" Aunt asked. "If you ask me, it doesn't look like he can hold his breath very long."

The captain resisted a laugh, but offered Claire's feisty aunt a grin. He said something in German and Carsten nodded with a smile and replied with few words. The captain stepped aside and Carsten took hold of Claire's arm, ushering her forward as he pulled the curtain back.

Claire and her aunt needed no further urging. They ducked behind the curtain to what the men called the captain's bunk. Carsten left them to the space, which provided barely enough room for both of them to stand. The small lamp on the cabinet, which also served as a table or desk, glowed even fainter than those where the crew worked. The bunk was a narrow leather bench and resembled a car seat, though less inviting.

"Have a seat," Aunt whispered, seeing the terror on Claire's face.

Claire slid onto the bunk followed by her aunt. The leather cushion felt comfortable enough. Nevertheless, the seat's pliability did nothing to comfort them, for the odors coming from every inch of the submarine were choking. The smell choked her. If she didn't die of fright, she was sure she would suffocate.

"We'll get outta this yet," Aunt whispered to her. "Just hang in there."

Claire nodded, fighting back her panic.

The flimsy curtain scraped open wider. The bright light on the bulkhead outside blinded Claire. She blinked trying to focus on the silhouette that stood there.

"I have brought you each one of your bags," Carsten's voice came from the form. He entered the claustrophobic space and set the satchels at their feet between the bunk and what appeared to be a fixed table with its leaves down. When he straightened, his head blocked the light, creating a halo. "If you need anything, just ask. If there is an emergency, do exactly as you are told, which will most likely be to sit here and not interfere. Keep your belongings out of the passage. I suggest if you decide to clean up that you do so quickly and out of sight. This pulls closed," he said, tugging the curtain. "I will be outside at all times, unless on watch, then the captain will be here."

"What do you care?" Claire snarled. "Once my father is safe within your borders, you'll kill us."

"I am sure you have more will to live than that, Miss Healey." Carsten's icy stare locked on her. "Do not disappoint me."

Claire folded her arms. She raised her eyebrow and glowered at him.

"That is better," he said. "I will look into finding a deck of cards for you to pass the time with, or something the men might be willing to spare. These trips can be lengthy."

"How long are we talking?" Aunt asked stunned.

"Ten-twelve days." He shrugged. "If all goes well."

"If all goes well?" Aunt repeated.

"Madame," Carsten laughed. "We are at war and you are on board an active U-boat. You do not expect smooth passage? You Americans can be so odd."

"I've been kidnapped by Nazis and yet here I stand speaking civilly to one," Aunt said. "As you can see, anything can happen."

Carsten pursed his lips and shrugged, "You may find us more to your liking than you realize, but your vexation will find no warm welcome in Berlin."

Aunt didn't know what to say. She clasped Claire's hands, patting and rubbing them with worry. Sometimes her charming wit got ahead of her.

"It hardly matters when we may not live for you to kill us," Claire said.

Aunt gasped and Carsten shrugged again with agreement.

"Oh, Claire, don't say such things."

"It would serve Father right," Claire said bitterly. Tears glistened in her eyes. "I only hope I get to see his face when it happens."

"Don't say that, honey. Please remember, we're here with him and if he's gonna get his comeuppance-well, I'm not so sure I want to be sitting right here taking it with him."

"Take your aunt's advice," Carsten said. He took his pack of gum from his jacket pocket, drew a piece out, unwrapped it and chewed. He offered them a piece. The women shook their heads. He already knew it was unlikely they would want anything from him, but he asked anyway. Besides, it would help keep them amenable if he did. "Bringing negative thoughts on a boat can sink more than your spirits. If you will excuse me, I have to see to your father."

Time slowed inexorably once the voyage began. Claire sat with Aunt on the captain's bunk. They used their luggage as footrests, not seeing the point in accessing their belongings in the current situation. They forced each other to play a game of gin for distraction, even though Claire hardly concentrated on the diversion. The air grew thick and hot. She rubbed her neck and sought relief from the dimness.

Through the control room and into the next passage, Claire's father most likely passed his time napping, believing himself on his way to an azure nirvana. She saw him pass that way when Carsten left them to manage his other charge hours earlier. If only he had stayed back there with him. Claire was disgusted. She threw down her cards and sat back against the wood panel of the bunk. She put a hand over her eyes.

"You feeling all right?" Aunt observed her carefully.

"I can't see how we can do this for days," Claire said. She exhaled dramatically. "By the time we get wherever we're going, they'll have to lay me up by Mother."

Aunt searched Claire's face. She smiled softly.

"Have I ever told you what a strong woman your mother is?"

Claire looked at her aunt. A sparkle of light lit Claire's eyes. She soaked up every tidbit offered about her mother, even the tales she'd heard many times before.

Aunt began her story. "When we were girls, Irene was my rock. I don't ever remember your mother folding, fainting or fleeing from a challenge. I knew when she called that night that it was serious. When I found out what your father did, I knew it was my chance to be strong for her. I had you to raise and I couldn't fail either of you, being asked so little." Aunt grasped Claire's hand and became quite somber. "Now you need to be strong for her and me."

A shadow shifted in the light of the bulkhead outside of the curtain. Someone lurked near their berth. Aunt noticed the motion, but retained her focus on what she was saying. They both knew it was Carsten, stationed nearby to keep tabs on his prisoners.

Claire's eyes went to the shadow hovering over them. One of the crew had set a stool by the hatch for Carsten's use, but he refused to sit. Instead, Carsten paced, every once in a while stopping to lean against the bulkheads. His constant presence was irritating, so she was glad to see him suffering the same boredom. She only wished he would do it elsewhere.

When Aunt spoke, he finally paused. He stood aside of their corner. She imagined he listened carefully through the drone of the submarine, trying to pick out some clandestine plan of escape. He appeared in the open flap, eyes downcast, and sunk to his stool. His mouth drew tight and his jaw flexed in annoyance. He cast his glance toward the control room and the men working. To his left, one of the crew would be listening to the sea. Claire heard the man move and Carsten's eyes snapped in his direction, annoyed.

Aunt's words pestered him. His expression showed how insufferable he found their familial feelings. Yet a twinge made her doubt the exactness of her interpretation.

"Whatever happens from here on out," Aunt said. "You must keep focused on the goal. That goal is survival."

"I will try," Claire said.

"Good," Aunt said. "Now pick up your hand. I was about to win. I'm not letting you out that easy."