William found Dr. Krause—-whom he had met while hospitalized with hepatitis (from a rusted syringe)—-in his basement laboratory, sunk ninety feet below the ground, side-cut into solid bedrock at the base of gigantic Mercy Hospital. For among the towering sky-scrapers, some reaching over two hundred stories, it was not uncommon for their foundations to sink another tenth that distance. And along with the subways, bored farther and farther beneath the level of the streets, they formed the literal New York underground, a silent world unto itself, a still, protected inlet in the heart of the maelstrom.
When William burst in upon the aged Krause, the latter did not at first seem to recognize him. For though he had been preparing for this day for many years, now that it had come, his mind and heart were simply overwhelmed. He found himself unable to act, or even think. It was really happening, not in theory, not in the lecture hall, but in damnable and undeniable reality. The unspeakable, of which he had spoken for thirty years, had happened at last. There was something he was supposed to do…..
Slowly his weary eyes and mind focused, his German courage rallied, and he saw before him the young man he had once caught trying to steal morphine from the hospital storeroom. In a moment almost of nostalgia, he recalled the incident. He had not called security or the police, had not tried to confront the sick and desperate youth, but said simply, 'Go back to your room, son. No, I'm not going to turn you in. We'll talk about it later.' And to the young man's astonishment they HAD talked, on several occasions and for hours at a time. William found in the aging and alienated recluse a friend, and the closest thing to a father that he would ever know. When he had spoken of his life, Krause listened attentively, as if finding in the bitter tale of poverty and poor health, pursuit and persecution, a note in harmony with his own struggle amidst the viper-filled pit of unenlightened human nature. Upon William's release he had shown him his laboratory, and explained what it was for. And he had told him to come, if this moment ever arrived.
'Hello, William,' he said quietly.
'Doctor!' said the other breathlessly. 'I don't care about myself, but you HAVE to save Kathy. She can't die, she just can't!'
'Now, now,' said Krause, 'There's no need to be heroic. You sound like one of those detestable Wagnerian operas—-all full of blood oaths, and absurd quests to dubious ends. Damned prelude to the Nazis is what they were, along with Nietzsche and all that, Great men create their own morality' horse-shit. Did you know Hitler was impotent? That's why he never married Eva Braun. They say that Goring used to wear eye make-up when they were alone, and—-'
'Doctor, please!'
'Yes, yes, I know. You're sure that at any moment the lights will go out, we'll hear the rumble from above, and the chance will be lost. You underestimate me, young man. This laboratory will be intact, and protected from radiation, ten thousand years from now. You forget the lengths that a mad German' will go to.' But seeing William's anguish, he said. 'Yes, we'll save Kathy. And just for the hell of it, why don't we save you, too? Since I don't seem to have any other volunteers.'
William looked around him, then at the two elaborate suspension casks, the best and most advanced in the world—-made by Krause's own hands, and prepared against every contingency.
'But what about you?'