Greg Iles - Black Cross

“He won’t come. He’s crazy. He won’t leave the others behind.”

No one spoke for a while. McConnell stared at one of the candles, going back over the situation yet again. He blanked the people from his mind and tried to see it as a purely scientific problem, from every possible angle no matter how unlikely. Three minutes later he felt the hair on his arms rise.

“Anna, get me a pencil and paper,” he said. “Hurry, please.”

“What is it?” Stern asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just be quiet for a minute.” McConnell took the things from Anna and began scratching numbers and letters on the paper. Stern walked around and peered over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?”

“Dalton’s Law of Partial Pressures. You want to make a contribution or you want to be quiet?”

Stern scowled and moved away. Two minutes later, McConnell set down the pencil. “All right, listen,” he said. “If you’re willing to go back into that camp tonight, we can save your father.”

Stern came back and stood over him. “How?”

“By doing what Anna originally suggested. Moving the prisoners into the E-Block before the attack. It’s an insane risk for you — for all of us, really — but . . . well, it’s your decision.”

Anna looked at him in confusion. “But all of the prisoners won’t fit into the E-Block.”

“That’s right,” said McConnell. “All of them won’t.”

“But half of them will,” Stern said softly.

“It’s the only option, Stern. That or run.”

“Playing God,” Anna said.

“My father would never agree to be among the saved,” Stern said, almost to himself. “He would give up his place to a woman or child.”

“I’m afraid that’s what it’s going to come down to,” McConnell told him. “Depending on who makes the final decision, of course.”

“What do you mean? How many people can fit in there?”

“Anna said the chamber was three meters by three, and two meters high.” He looked at her. “Right?”

She nodded. “After we talked about it, I checked a test record to see if I was right. I was.”

“That’s eighteen cubic meters of total space.” McConnell looked down at his sheet. “Six hundred and fifty cubic feet to me.”

“You can squeeze a lot of bodies into that,” Stern said. “Especially underfed bodies.”

McConnell nodded patiently. “If it were merely a question of space. But it’s not. It’s a question of oxygen.”

“Eighteen cubic meters of air won’t support everyone we can fit in there?”

“Not for long. Those movies you’ve seen, where ten men get trapped in a sealed bank vault or a gold mine and spend two days trying to figure out a way to get out?”

“Yes?”

“They’re so much Scheisse , okay? Think about it like this. I tie a paper bag over your head. That’s all the air you have. How long can you survive on that?”

“Not very long.”

“Right. And that’s all the E-Block is — a big paper bag. Only it’s made of steel. You’ve got one hundred square feet of floor space. That sounds big, but believe me, it’s not. You could probably force a hundred malnourished women and children inside. However, every single body that goes in displaces a certain amount of air from the chamber, reducing the available oxygen.”

“Damn it, how many people can survive in there?”

“That depends on who goes in.” McConnell picked up his pencil. “How does the inmate population break down?”

“There are six barracks buildings,” Anna said. “Two for men, two for women, two for children. There are two for each because the Jews are separated from the other prisoners.”

“Privileged as usual,” Stern muttered.

“Normally there would be fifty persons in each barracks,” Anna went on, “totalling three hundred. But Brandt has had trouble replenishing the ranks. The Jewish Men’s Block has less than fifteen men in it. Both children’s barracks are nearly full, and the Jewish Women’s Block just under that. The Christian Women’s Block is under quota. After the reprisals, the total camp population is probably about two hundred and twenty.”

“I counted forty-eight women in the Jewish Women’s Block,” Stern said. “But they’ve shot five since then.”

McConnell picked up his pencil and began scratching again.

“Figure for forty-five women and fifty children,” Stern said. “We could fit that many inside — physically I mean.”

McConnell looked up, “I know what you’re telling me. Just give me a minute, please. These are big numbers. Total milliliters of air . . . oxygen percentages total and consumed . . . that’s per kilogram per minute . . . a pediatric figure . . . Christ . . . mmm . . . okay. I’ve got it.”

“How many?”

McConnell set down his pencil. “Assuming forty-five women and fifty children, the available oxygen would last one hundred and two minutes. That’s only a guess, but it’s a solid guess.”

“One hour and forty-two minutes,” Anna said. “Is that long enough?”

“Frankly, I don’t think so. Smith’s scientists planned this attack with only eight cylinders. That suggests a gas on the order of Sarin, which I’m certain it was copied from. If the British gas works, lethal amounts could persist for as long as four hours, maybe even longer.”

“Four hours is too long,” said Stern. “SS reinforcements could arrive from somewhere else.”

McConnell considered this factor. SS reinforcements could be as deadly as Sarin if they weren’t killed by the gas. “We must pare the numbers down to allow for two hours of oxygen. No less.”

“Numbers?” Stern echoed. “You’re talking about people!”

“I know that,” McConnell said evenly. “The one hundred and twenty-five I already excluded from the equation are people too. They’re just not Jews.”

For once, Stern did not lose his self-control when faced with an unpalatable truth. “What’s wrong with the fucking Nazis all of a sudden?” he grumbled. “They usually build everything twice as big as anyone else.”

“The gases Brandt tests in the E-Block are the most toxic in the world,” Anna explained. “Sometimes they run several tests in a day. The E-Block was designed small enough to be cleaned thoroughly and quickly with steam and detergents. The whole process is automated.”

“It’s just a bigger version of the Bubble back in my lab,” said McConnell.

“Bubble?”

“I remember,” said Stern. “Except you use rats. They use people. So tell me, how many people can survive for two hours in Brandt’s bubble?”

“You want to save all the children or all the women?”

“My God,” Anna whispered. “You have no right to do this.”

“You’re right,” McConnell agreed. “But I am doing it.”

“ Kinder ,” said Stern. “Save the children.”

“But the children must have someone to take care of them when they come out,” Anna argued.

“Women use more air,” said Stern. “There’ll be enough women left to take care of the children. Take out women.”

McConnell carefully recalculated his equation. “If you took out ten women,” he said, “the oxygen would last one hundred and nineteen minutes. Almost exactly two hours. If you want my opinion, I’d take out twenty women. It’s horrible, I know, but by trying to save too many we could kill them all.”

“Wait!” Anna cut in. “What about an oxygen bottle?”

McConnell’s eyebrows went up. “Oxygen bottle? Depending on the type, it could make a significant difference.”

“There are several large tanks in the factory, in case of accidents. I can’t get access to those, but in the hospital we have two portable bottles. I don’t know the exact amount of oxygen in them, but I think I could steal one. The other is being used on a pneumonia case, an SS private. It would be missed immediately.”