Emilie hears a distorted version of Max’s deep voice echoing through the bullhorn as she ascends the ladder. The pointed look she gives the radiomen is very much an I-told-you-so rebuke. Once the door is shut behind her she stops to compose herself.
The only jewelry that Emilie wears is a skeleton key on a silver chain around her neck. The chain is long and tucked beneath her dress, hidden from view. She has not taken it off in the years since Hans died, and the side that lies against her skin has grown tarnished. It feels warm and heavy now, like a weight against her heart, so she pulls it out and cradles the key in her palm. It is the only thing she has left of her old life.
It is a life worth remembering, and Emilie struggles to keep Max Zabel from invading it. She tucks the key back inside her uniform, squares her shoulders, and goes to the gangway stairs to collect Dorothea Erdmann.
THE JOURNALIST
“Who is that woman, do you think?” Gertrud sets a slender fingertip against the window and points at a military jeep speeding across the tarmac toward them. A woman sits in the front seat, her hair blowing wildly around her face while she holds on to the door with one hand.
“She was on the bus. I saw her,” Leonhard says.
“Is she a passenger?”
“Apparently not.”
The jeep parks directly below them, out of sight, and a few moments later the woman rushes into the promenade, followed closely by the stewardess, and throws herself into the arms of a man standing apart from the rest of the passengers. Some turn to watch the spectacle, but most seem oblivious, their attention held by the pre-flight operations below.
The moment the couple embraces, the stewardess backs away, leaving the room looking pale and unsettled. Gertrud puzzles at this as they embrace each other, as tight as two humans can, for well over a minute.
“You know,” Leonhard whispers, “I’ve never seen a guest brought on board this close to takeoff before. They’re quite serious about security. It’s likely that only his rank made it possible.”
The man’s clothing is indistinguishable from that of the other civilian passengers, and Gertrud gives her husband a questioning glance. “Who is he?”
“Fritz Erdmann.”
“You know him?”
“He’s a Luftwaffe colonel. Kommandant at the Military Signal Communications School. He was appointed as a military observer to the Hindenburg earlier this year. It’s not something he’s thrilled about.”
“You know this because…?”
“He told me. During the first commercial flight to Rio de Janeiro in March.”
Of course Leonhard would know this. Leonhard knows everything about Germany’s airship program. It is this knowledge, and his journalism skills, that have them on this ridiculous flight to begin with. He has recently collaborated on the autobiography of Captain Ernst Lehmann, director of flight operations for the Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei. This flight was provided gratis so Leonhard could meet with his U.S. publishers prior to the book’s release next month. Gertrud’s attendance, though unwilling, was required as well.
Colonel Erdmann and his wife finally separate and stand gazing at one another. He brushes his thumb along her cheekbone, perhaps to wipe away a tear—Gertrud cannot be certain—and then she steps away from him and quietly leaves the ship. It occurs to Gertrud as she watches the jeep carry Frau Erdmann back to the hangar that neither of them uttered a word the entire time.
The colonel looks despondent as he watches his wife leave, and Gertrud smells a story. She sets her hand on Leonhard’s arm. “Darling,” she says, “I think that man needs a drink.”
Leonhard gives her the look, the one that says he recognizes the purr in her voice, and that he knows she’s up to something, but she’s just too damn clever for him to preempt whatever mischief she has planned. He won’t try to stop her, though. He never does.
“You will behave yourself?” He takes a step toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bar.”
“Why? The stewards are passing out champagne.”
He clucks his tongue. “Liebchen, champagne is not going to give you what you’re after.”
“Who says I’m after anything?”
“I would be highly disappointed if you weren’t.”
This is why Gertrud married a widower twenty-two years her senior. Leonhard is the only man she has ever met who not only appreciates her gumption but encourages it. “Well, then, order the good colonel a Maybach 12 and one for me as well.”
“Careful, Liebchen. Alte Füchse gehen schwer in die Falle.”
She laughs and pats his cheek. “He’s not such an old fox as that. Younger than you by the looks of it. And my traps are well laid.”
Leonhard lifts her hand and turns it palm up. He kisses it lightly. “I cannot argue that.” He dips his mouth toward her ear. “Many things about you are well laid, Liebchen. Though I prefer that you not spread such tempting traps for him as you did for me.”
“I hardly doubt you’ll be gone long enough for that.”