“He is a very high ranking military official.”
“Certainly. I can understand why she was allowed to wait in the hangar and why they made an exception for her. I just don’t understand why he insisted on it. Colonel Erdmann did not say a single word to her when she came on board. But he held on to her like a drowning man.” She looks at Emilie now and her expression is pointed. “He held on to her like a man who suspected he would never see his wife again.”
“I did not stay and watch,” Emilie says.
“No. I suppose you wouldn’t have.” Gertrud glances at her bare hand, and Emilie can see that she is eager to ask questions of a more personal nature. “I’d like to know what capacity he is serving on this voyage. He makes frequent trips to the control car but he’s not in uniform. Sometimes he eats with the passengers and other times he’s absent—I’m guessing he dines with the crew for those meals. What is he doing here, Emilie?”
“What does this have to do with Edward Douglas?”
“I suspect this has everything to do with him. I suspect Colonel Erdmann is on board this ship to stop whatever it is the American has planned.”
THE JOURNALIST
“Colonel Erdmann is on board this flight as an observer.”
“What does that mean?” Gertrud asks.
“Nothing as exciting as you might think. This ship is state-of-the-art. We’re using navigational techniques and weather forecasting technology that are unheard of in the aviation world. Of course the German military has a vested interest. It makes perfect sense that they would want someone on board to watch and learn.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
Emilie snorts. “Did you look at this thing when you drove up? The swastikas are enormous. I work in a Nazi hotel. How could anything bother me more than that?”
The stewardess seems startled at her own words. It is the most honest thing she has said to Gertrud this entire trip. Anyone else would backtrack. Maybe justify the sentiment or explain their loyalty. But Emilie sits a little straighter. She lifts her chin, daring Gertrud to object or show any sign of shock.
“You keep saying you’re not interested in friendship, but I think you just proved otherwise.”
Emilie sighs. She is weary. “The only thing I’m interested in at this particular moment is self-preservation.”
“So tell me the name of the man who owns those dog tags. Tell me what you know about him. Then use the information however you see fit.”
“His name is Ludwig Knorr,” the stewardess says. It’s a fact stated simply and without effect now that they have established a truce. “He’s something of a war hero. He flew on a number of air raids over England in the First World War. And then he became an aviation legend about a decade ago during the Graf Zeppelin’s first flight to the United States.”
“How so?”
“A huge section of fabric tore away from the ship midflight and Ludwig led a spectacular repair mission that saved the Graf Zeppelin and everyone on board.”
“So he’s a mechanic?”
Emilie shakes her head. “No. A rigger. Chief rigger, in fact. He holds the same position here.”
“Please forgive my ignorance. But I don’t know what a rigger does.”
“They handle liftoff and landing. The ropes in particular. Landing lines. That sort of thing. It’s a tricky process to bring a ship down level. It’s about balance and weight distribution. More than one ship has gone ass over elbows because the riggers miscalculated.”
“So what does a rigger do midflight, then?”
Emilie shrugs. “Whatever’s needed.”
It’s a sparse biography, and Gertrud can’t think of any reason why Knorr should be singled out by the American. “What else do you know about him? Anything would help.”
Gertrud studies Emilie’s face while she thinks, but she cannot see any signs that the stewardess is holding anything back.
“He’s married. I think he has a couple of children. Girls, maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Have you ever spoken with him?”
“This is starting to feel like an interrogation, not an exchange of information.”
Gertrud laughs at this. It’s true. She has leaned closer. Her voice has reached a higher pitch. Her muscles are wound tight. “I apologize. Subtlety is not one of my gifts.” She takes a deep breath and returns to her place on the rumpled bed. Gertrud lays her hands on her lap, palms up—a sign of détente. She tries again, her voice soft and child-like. To her it sounds uncomfortably close to mockery, but Emilie doesn’t seem to mind. “Have you ever spoken with him?”
“A handful of times. We don’t exactly cross paths often. The riggers don’t spend much time in the passenger areas.”