The Poison Tide by Andrew Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

Haber didn’t keep an orderly house. The furniture was new but scruffy, as if she cared nothing for her husband’s reputation. It smelt of strong tobacco. The professor was sitting in a swirling cloud of smoke now, his back to the window.
    ‘You see, no one has been able to explain to my satisfaction, Doctor, why dying of asphyxiation . . .’ he paused to puff on his cigar, ‘. . . asphyxiation, is any worse than having your leg blown off and bleeding to death. Is there a moral difference?’ he asked, turning first to Troester and then to Nadolny.
    ‘No, of course not,’ replied Troester, shaking his head vigorously.
    ‘Morality?’ Nadolny dismissed the question with a casual wave of his hand. ‘War gives a biologically just decision.’
    ‘No, Count. Victory in the shortest possible time is the correct moral position,’ said Haber, shifting earnestly on the edge of his chair. ‘Gas warfare will help us win this war quickly. There will be fewer casualties. Battles are not won by the physical destruction of the enemy but by undermining his will to resist – forcing him to imagine defeat. You see . . .’ Unable to contain himself any longer, the professor rose and began to pace the length of the drawing room, stooping a little, the black cigar burning between his fingers, ‘. . . you see, the psychological power of bullets and shells is nothing in modern warfare to the threat of chemicals. There are hundreds of lethal chemicals, each with its own taste and smell, and these poisons are unsettling to the soul. Victory can be won by frightening the enemy, not by destroying him.’
    ‘Professor Haber is correct,’ said Troester, turning a little in his chair to address Dilger in his precise laboratory voice. ‘The knight on horseback feared the soldier with the gun. In this modern age, the soldier feels the same when confronted by the scientist. It’s the scientist who’ll bring this war to a speedy end.’
    ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Haber, waving the stub of his cigar triumphantly at Dilger. ‘The German scientist.’ A trail of ash marked his passage across the rug. ‘And our work is the same, Doctor, your work, my work, there is no difference between us. It is a heavy responsibility but we are the only ones who can carry out this task.’
    ‘Gentlemen, Dr Dilger is still considering our proposition,’ said Nadolny quietly and with the suggestion of a reproach.
    ‘Oh?’ Haber looked surprised.
    ‘I’m grateful for your guidance, Professor,’ said Dilger defensively. He had listened to them with the professional detachment of a doctor at a bedside case conference even though he knew they viewed him as the patient. They had flattered him, confided in him, spoken to him as an equal, and he aspired to be one, but not this way, with this sort of work, not in America. ‘It would be an honour to play a part,’ he ventured; ‘it’s just, I feel my duty . . .’ He hesitated, aware that his ‘gut feeling’ was not an explanation the professors would respect. He was spared the immediate trouble of articulating another by a sharp rap at the door.
    It would have been easy to have mistaken the woman who entered for a servant but it was clear from Haber’s manner that she was his wife and that he was not pleased to see her. They rose to greet her and she offered her hand, but without warmth. Clara Haber was in her forties, short, trim, with a round face that must have been pretty once, tired-looking eyes and a mouth that turned down sadly at the corners. Her faded black dress and the severity with which she had dragged her hair into a bun suggested that she cared no more for her appearance than for the order of her house.
    ‘You’ve visited my husband’s laboratories?’ she enquired, settling on a
Kanapee
.
    ‘Professor Haber has shown us some of the work he’s carrying out at the Institute, yes,’ Troester replied cautiously. ‘Remarkable. Fascinating.’
    ‘Do