This is too easy. She is frightened by the simplicity of the solution. “And when we are not flying? What then?”
There is a note of admiration in Captain Lehmann’s voice when he says, “Ah. Not even the slightest bit ignorant.” He chooses his next words carefully. “That has yet to be determined. There are others who must be consulted before we will know the answer to that question. I expect there will be discussions when we return to Frankfurt.”
There is no need to give her any further warnings. She has no means of escape. “You are dismissed,” Commander Pruss says. “I trust you will return to your duties in the morning in a timely fashion.”
“Of course,” she says, rising from the table. She makes sure her legs are stable before stepping toward the door. “Guten Abend.”
Max reaches out a hand as she passes him, but she drops her shoulder, evading the touch.
“Emilie.” His voice cracks with emotion.
She does not speak to him. She does not look at him. Emilie leaves the officers’ mess without ever having once acknowledged his presence. And as far as she is concerned she will never do so again.
DAY THREE
WEDNESDAY, MAY 5, 1937—4:20, A.M., NEWFOUNDLAND TIME
APPROXIMATELY 250 MILES FROM THE SOUTHWESTERN TIP OF NEWFOUNDLAND
1 DAY, 14 HOURS, AND 5 MINUTES UNTIL THE EXPLOSION
Tomorrow’s arrival will be the first of eighteen this summer. Slight interest in the Hindenburg is being shown by persons other than naval officers. Arrival and departure of the world’s largest lighter-than-air craft on schedule is now taken here as a matter of course.
—Newspaper report on May 5, 1937
THE CABIN BOY
In all the time that Werner has worked aboard the Hindenburg he has never once been late for his shift. He sets an alarm every night but rarely needs it, usually waking on his own minutes before it goes off. This morning is different, however. He jolts awake when his covers are thrown back.
Werner thrashes into a sitting position and looks at the darkened shape of Wilhelm Balla. “What’s going on? Am I late? Kubis will kill me!”
He slides off the edge and lands on his feet with a small stagger. The blow that rattles the side of his head knocks him backward even farther. It takes Werner nearly five seconds in his exhausted stupor to realize that Balla has boxed his ear.
“Why did you do that!”
“Be quiet.”
“But I’m late!”
“You’re not late.”
“What time is it?”
“Four-twenty.”
There are no windows in their cabin—neither of them has the rank for such a luxury—and no lights are on. There’s only a lucent strip of illumination leaking beneath the door from the corridor outside. Werner can see dark shapes against darker shadows but no specific details, so the expression on Balla’s face is lost to him. He tries to concentrate on the subtext in Balla’s voice. Tries to figure out whatever he’s missed, the reason he has been yanked out of bed in the middle of the night. He is tired of being yanked out of bed in the middle of the night. There is a very short connection between exhaustion and rage for the boy and Werner feels it shuddering now.
“I already shined the shoes.”
“I don’t care about the shoes.”
Werner’s anger ignites and he feels the heat behind his eyes. He’s glad Balla can’t see them in the dark room. “Then why did you pull me out of bed!”
“Hush. Or I will box you again. You like Max Zabel, yes?”
“Of course”—a moment of silent confusion and then—“he’s my friend.”
“You need to go roust him out of bed and get him to the shower before he loses his job.”
Werner’s body is alert but his mind is still groggy. “I don’t understand.”
“Herr Zabel had a terrible evening and decided to console himself with a bottle of very expensive French brandy. I would guess that he is probably unconscious at the moment. He will likely remain in that condition for a good long while unless someone intervenes. This is a problem considering his shift starts in less than two hours and he has a great deal of sobering up to do. So given the circumstances and his current lack of goodwill toward me, it would be best if that someone were you.”
Werner looks at Balla’s dim shape with the lethargic stare of a child who is trying, and failing, to comprehend. Balla shakes him again. “Do you understand what I’ve just said?” There is a guilty note to the steward’s voice that Werner doesn’t understand.
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
“Max is drunk and can’t wake up. He’ll lose his job if he misses his shift.”
“Good. Now get dressed. And go wake him up.”
“Am I allowed to turn on the light?”
“If you must.”