Kurt's cabin was empty. Jonathan swore, jumping down from the carriage. Sigrun was in the dining car, fortifying herself with hard liquor, so maybe he was there? Please be there. He was filled with that fluttery, heightened anxious feeling, the one that said that what was going to happen next was not going to end well for anyone. Pushing through the crowd of stickybeaks that had accumulated since the ferry had come to a complete stop, Jonathan's speed picked up. He forced himself not to break into a sprint, a small logical voice saying that that he could be putting people in danger if he made it too obvious that he knew. He knew.

And in the next instant, a familiar blue jacket caught in the edges of his vision, and Jonathan's head snapped around to see Kurt Steiner leaving the dining car. Shoulders bowed, he started to trudge toward his cabin, eyes downcast and lost to the world.

So lost to the world that he didn't really notice the black shadow that was rapidly gaining on him.

Oh, bugger being stealthy.

"Kurt!" Jonathan bellowed. "Kurt!"

And he charged.

Kurt's head immediately perked up, swinging around to Jonathan, moonlight illuminating his startled look as Jonathan sprinted at him. The shadow, knowing he'd been made, took up speed, drawing out his diver's knife, the blade glinting.

"KNIFE!"

People started to scream. Instinctually Kurt snapped his elbow up, slamming it back into the assailant's face as the diver's knife drew a red line down his back right through the blue jacket. He drew back a little in astonishment before spinning on his heel and squaring up for a fight.

But the frogman also squared up, immediately throwing himself into a close hand-to-hand grapple. Instantly Kurt was on the back foot. He was big, he was fast, and he was skilled, but he also wasn't the one with the knife.

Why do I always keep finding myself in these situations?

Jonathan clenched his jaw, steeling himself, and leapt onto the frogman's back, clamping his forearm across the assailant's throat, holding it in place with his other hand. Immediately the man started to try and buck him off, and Jonathan dug his knees in along his spine. The man tried to swipe back at him with the knife but realised seconds later that it wasn't a smart idea when old Kurt gave him a haymaker to the stomach that Jonathan felt through the fellow's back and he exhaled a lungful of air before realising that he really couldn't draw in any more oxygen.

"Come on, Samson." Jonathan growled by the frogman's ear. "Time to go sleepy-time."

And he stayed latched to the chap's back as the big fellow's heartbeat began to slow. The diver's knife dropped to the deck as the frogman made a last-ditch scrabble to claw at Jonathan's hands, slowly sinking to his knees. Jonathan hung on, counting in his head, but slowly released the man when he reached 10 seconds.

The frogman slumped to the deck, unconscious. Kurt was just staring at a bloody hand, a dumb expression on his face.

That was when Andy and Sigrun found them. Of course. The cavalry charges in as soon as the fun has finished.

"What the hell was that?" Hallet demanded.

"I think this ferry has a stowaway problem." Jonathan said lightly. He shook out the tremble in his hands before turning to Kurt, who seemed to be in a state of shock. Jonathan guessed that there weren't many people with the balls to try and take him on.

Sigrun knelt down on the deck, examining the frogman with pursed lips. She poked at his suit for a moment before going to the diving hood and peeling it over the man's head.

A pale, dark-haired man flopped back to the deck. Average looks, average height, average weight. The fellow was so nondescript that even Jonathan's shrewd gaze would have probably skipped right over him. Never seen him before, Your Honour.

"Anyone know him?" Andy asked.

Sigrun glanced at Jonathan, and he gave a noncommittal shrug. Jonathan looked back over to Kurt.

The big man had one hand on his shoulder at the top of the knife slash. Jonathan's doctor's gaze was focused there for a moment to ascertain that it was not immediately life-threatening and hadn't gone deep into the muscle before his eyes flicked up to his friend's face to see that Kurt's face had gone impossibly white, his eyes focused unwaveringly on the frogman.

"Old boy?" Jonathan asked cautiously. The chap looked like he might actually faint

That was when the man's breathing began to speed up, chest rapidly rising and falling.

The doctor in him immediately jumped to the forefront, and Jonathan stepped between Kurt and the frogman, drawing Kurt's gaze. Jonathan reached out for him, and Kurt visibly flinched as Jonathan gently touched his arm. The poor fellow came as gentle as a lamb.

"Come away. Let's go." Jonathan said encouragingly. "One foot in front of the other. That's good. That's great."

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Of course, that was when the night ferry's captain came haring up, and by the expression on his face the cocaine had finally worn off. He stepped into Jonathan's way. "It's you lot. Again."

"Get out of my way." Jonathan said flatly.

"We need his bloke in a lockup." Hallet immediately spoke up, engaging the captain, nudging the frogman with a foot. "The brig."

"This is a ferry. We don't have a brig."

"Then lock him in a cabin! This bastard just tried to kill one of your passengers and I'd wager that we've found your saboteur." The young blighter said, hands tucked in his trouser pockets as he rocked back and forward triumphantly.

The captain peered at this young upstart with pursed lips. "Who exactly do you think you are?"

"I'm a bloody delight." Andy said with a savage grin. He flicked his fingers behind his back in a get out of here way, conveying that he'd handle this.

And so Jonathan and Sigrun got Kurt the hell out of there.

Alex looked up, startled, as his uncle's cabin door was rolled open, and the three of them staggered in.

"What-"

"Whisky. Now." Jonathan snapped, and his nephew immediately jumped into action, rummaging in Jonathan's suitcase and emerging with the bottle. Jonathan popped the top and pressed it into Kurt's hands, bringing it to the man's lips. On autopilot the man took a big gulp, and almost coughed it all back up as some semblance of reality started to return to his wild eyes. Jonathan snapped his fingers at his nephew, and Alex immediately thrust his doctor's roll into his hand. He whipped out gauze and another small flask of booze as Sigrun carefully opened Kurt's jacket and shirt, peeling them down his arms. There was something stiff in an inside pocket, and Jonathan withdrew a canvas-bound journal, setting it to the side as he patched the chap up. His torso was absolutely peppered with deep and ugly shrapnel scars, and Jonathan winced in sympathy.

The big man was like a malleable doll as the two of them fixed him up. The slice didn't need stitching, thank god, since Jonathan definitely wasn't a fan of stitching on boats. In between cleaning, Jonathan silently passed Sigrun the piece of paper that Kurt had dropped much, much earlier that evening.

She cautiously opened it as Alex was awkwardly hovering. Her eyes immediately squeezed closed, her jaw clenched tight.

It could have been worse and it couldn't have been worse, both at the same time. It wasn't a ransom note, or a threat of blackmail or even just a random death threat for the misfortune of being German in British waters. It was a notebook watermark, in the shape of a seal.

The seal of the Ahnenerbe.

"His name is Simon Gerhard." The big man was trying so hard to hold himself together. "We were research partners together, in… in Africa."

Well, it might have been easier than he thought to get to the bottom of this.

"Go find Andy." Jonathan instructed. His nephew immediately fled.

Sigrun's eyes closed briefly and she swallowed heavily. Jonathan nodded at her.

"I had no choice." Kurt's voice was low and guttural, his multilingual abilities having temporarily deserted him as he rumbled on in cracking German, voice wavering in and out. "I had no choice. It was my fault. It was my fault. It's all my fault."

"Tell me." Jonathan said gently. "There's no judgement here."

"There will be when you know."

Sigrun knelt down and put her hand gently on his knee. Kurt jerked, registering her, his eyes fixed on her, zeroing in on her face like she was the only thing he was aware of.

"You will hate me." Other languages were starting to creep into his voice, Kurt's words a curious mash that jumped around the world in an instant. As fragmented as Jonathan knew the man's mind was right now.

"You are my friend." Sigrun said. "You are my friend."

Kurt just shook his head wildly.

And things started to fall into place for Jonathan, a heavy feeling settling in his chest.

"You were conscripted."

He was a Nazi.

He was forced.

But he's still a Nazi.

And that was when the big man entirely crumbled, tears streaming down his face, dropping the booze, clinging to Jonathan and Sigrun's hands like they were his only lifeline in the world but he expected them to cast him out at any moment for being… being…

"I was honoured to be called to serve my country. I was honoured." There was a sick horror in the man's voice that twisted his guts, but Jonathan knew how lethal blind patriotism could be. "But like a coward I feared I would fight, until they found out I was studying for my history degree." He whispered. "I was sent across the world with other historians and archaeologists and anthropologists. I was happy to serve. I thought I was doing good work."

He tried to gather himself, not to justify but to explain. "I wrote papers, did presentations. I was not deluded enough to truly believe, but I still led them to artefacts that could be used to back up their insane notion that we were the children of Ultima Thule."

Jonathan was absolutely still, but his heart was beating so fast. The Master Race. Übermensch. Aryan stormtroopers flattening whatever resistance that came before them. Kurt, his friend, had helped feed that delusion.

"I started to see that if I had just kept my mouth closed-" Kurt's bloodshot eyes were wild and guilt-filled. He scratched uncontrollably at his Auschwitz prisoner number like he could tear it from his hand if he tried hard enough. "I tried to speak out, I tried to take it back, but it was done. And then suddenly it was important to my superiors that my father was Jewish. It was done, and I was put away. I would have died. I should have died." That was when Kurt looked straight at Jonathan, eyes and nose streaming but gaze steady.

"You should have let him kill me."

There weren't many times over the course of his life that Jonathan Carnahan could say that his words had legitimately deserted him, but this, now, was one of the worst. His initial reaction was to deny Kurt's wish for death, but, truly, if Jonathan had not come to know the man, to see his ghosts and share them, would he be advocating for him at all? Would there even be a moment of hesitation before-

It would be so easy to make the call. He knew exactly who he should telephone.

Kurt had very literally laid his life in Sigrun and Jonathan's hands. And he would gladly accept any judgement they passed.

Sigrun Magnusson had gone entirely still, and Jonathan knew that flashing through her mind right now would have to be images of the Nazis marching through her city, hiding and fighting for months, years with the Norwegian Resistance, the face of her murdered husband and everyone she had ever lost. She had every reason to turn her back on Kurt right now, to make the call herself.

Instead she rose to her feet, and showing the mettle of the person she was, she pulled him close.

Kurt buried his head in her stomach and started bawling big, ugly, snotty tears. Sigrun stroked his hair and shoulders, silent tears streaking down her own face.

Jonathan escaped before he also joined the chorus of misery.

Ghosts. So many ghosts. So much trauma and guilt, and it was never going to go away.

The sick feeling was back. He was starting to wonder if it had ever left.

Jonathan stepped down heavily from the carriage in time to see the young engineer's assistant run by, closely followed by a man in pyjamas and lopsided spectacles that Jonathan recognised with a jolt was the ferry's onboard doctor.

Ah, shite.

His swift walk turned into a sprint, and Jonathan pushed through babbling passengers to see Andy Hallet shouting furiously at the ferry captain, who was rapidly losing whatever cool he may have had.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Jonathan used his very best Obey The Doctor voice, cutting right over the noise and there was an almost instant silence.

"This absolute dick kicked us out." Andy said, perfectly, angrily indignant. Jonathan blinked, and saw Alex lurking in the background. Of course the young men had teamed together. Moments later he had the stray thought that just maybe it wasn't the best idea to send his nephew Hallet's way. "And now our frogman's dead!"

"What?" Jonathan pushed past the stewards and into the galley, where the frogman had been secured. Once again the diver was stretched out on the floor, the ferry doctor bent over him. Jonathan ignored the shouting captain and knelt down on the other side of the body.

"Lividity hasn't set in, he hasn't been here long."

The doctor briefly looked up, seemingly recognising something in Jonathan's face.

"We missed him by minutes, I'd say." The chap said. "He's still warm." He made a sweeping gesture. "Breath smells of almonds."

Of course.

The doctor hooked a thumb under the corpse's chin, opening his mouth. "See the missing back molar?"

"He regained consciousness, saw where he was-" -saw that he failed in his objective- "-and bit down on the suicide capsule."

The doctor nodded grimly. Jonathan stared hard at the corpse, at that strange young-old visage that so many veterans seemed to possess after they came back to a home that wasn't really home anymore. Who are you, Simon Gerhard?

And why would he come back after all this time to kill his old research partner?

Jonathan stood, buttoning and smoothing his jacket. Right then, the ferry's engine jerked into life, and he exchanged a startled look with Hallet.

"Where are we going?"

"Calais." The captain said. "We're too far to turn around for London. The police will meet us as we disembark and that will be removed from my ship."

For a moment Jonathan was completely baffled, before it dawned on him. Of course he wouldn't be the only one to recognise the Socialist Party's markings all over the diver's gear. Every last little bit of agreeability had drained out of the captain's face as he turned to glare hatefully at Jonathan in a way he wasn't sure he deserved. "And you and your associates will be removed. Do not be surprised if the military is waiting for you."

"Hold on, what the hell-?"

And then it occurred to him that if he had been in the captain's shoes, Jonathan would have immediately checked the tickets and identification of the man that a nameless soldier had laid in wait to attack. And discovered that a German soldier had attacked another German. It was 1947, and the captain's mind would have made the next logical leap.

Of course, it turned out that the fellow was entirely right, but it didn't mean that Jonathan was about to let Nuremberg haul Kurt off to never be seen again.

"Who do you think you are-?" Hallet started, but Jonathan stepped back, grabbed both Andy and Alex's arms and hauled the young men off into the night.

"Oi, lemme go back in there and-"

"Shut up." Jonathan said shortly.

"We've got to get off this boat." Alex said urgently.

"I am in complete agreement, but there's no faster way to label us as fascist sympathisers for the rest of our lives than jumping off a ship."

"Mum and Dad are going to kill me."

"If we're arrested I'll get you off on time served."

"Not helping, Uncle Jon."

Jonathan slid the door open to his cabin once again to see Kurt laid out across his bed, one of his blankets draped over him and his head resting on Doctor Sigrun Magnusson's thigh.

"Are we interrupting something?"

She rolled her eyes. "You always have to make things awkward, don't you?"

"That's me, making things awkward since 1900." Jonathan sat opposite her, Alex hovering awkwardly nearby. Hallet boldly came right in, peered at Kurt with his nose screwed up, and turned to his boss.

"He okay?" Despite the flippant way he was speaking, there was genuine concern in his dark eyes.

"No." Sigrun said. "I hope he will be. One day."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "What did you give him?"

Sigrun gave one of her mysterious smiles. "I may not be a medical doctor, but I have a working rudimentary pharmacological understanding."

"Remind me to not get on your bad side."

"If I haven't poisoned you yet, Doctor Carnahan, odds are that you'll probably be fine."

"It's the probably I find concerning." He sat back, leaning his head against the back of the seat and staring at the ceiling. "I think we're in trouble. The captain's kicking us off and I wouldn't be surprised if we have our very own military escort when we get to France."

Sigrun's brow furrowed in a frown.

"They think we're fascist sympathisers." He said. "I think I might be able to make a few telephone calls and get us out of it."

"You think?" Hallet asked sarcastically.

"The only thing that can be proven is that a German man attacked another German man. Everything past that is conjecture." Jonathan said flatly. And it was. While the dead man may be proven to have Nazi links, all of Kurt's personal records and identification documents would have been destroyed when he was sent away to the camp.

He hoped.

"Yeah. But this is not conjecture."

"What?"

Hallet turned and handed Jonathan the little canvas-bound journal he had pulled from Kurt's pocket when he had patched the man up, the journal that the young man had been idly flicking through. It was old and beaten and well-travelled, a ribbon holding it closed. Jonathan took the book and cautiously flicked it open to the nameplate.

There was a torn seal in the corner, and with a feeling of trepidation from a trouser pocket Jonathan pulled the balled-up piece of paper that had started this whole bloody thing and smoothed it out.

The torn corner fitted neatly into the front page of the journal, lining up perfectly.

Jonathan, Sigrun, Alex and Hallet stared at the completed page.

"Shit." Andy said, summing the situation up quite nicely.