David John - Flight from Berlin

Friedl jumped onto the gravel, walked around to the BMW, removed its keys, and dropped them down a drain in the middle of the forecourt. Denham then opened the door of the BMW and asked Jakob and Ilse to get out. Meekly they did as they were told, looking in astonishment upon their daughter, whose hair blew gently in the mild night breeze. She did not look at them. Her face was focused on aiming the gun, her eyes lit with certainty. Friedl helped them into the back of the Mercedes.

Denham waved Eleanor and Martha back to the Hanomag.

Seconds later they were speeding after the Mercedes as it accelerated down the long driveway, through the clinic gates, and into the street. The man at the guardhouse, head switching left and right as both cars shot through, picked up his telephone.

In a side street near the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof they grabbed what possessions they had, abandoned the cars, and caught separate cabs to their destination-Rhine-Main World Airport-just as every street in the city seemed to start wailing with police sirens.

In the echoing space lit by hundreds of electric lights, with nowhere to hide except for a few freight containers on wheeled carts, Eleanor felt exposed. The seven of them, Eleanor, Richard, Martha, Friedl, Jakob, Ilse, and Hannah, stood together like castaways. Between them they had only two suitcases.

On the night Eleanor had called on Hugo Eckener at the Hotel Kempinski in Berlin, he had given her an authorised vehicle pass for the customs yard. That part of the plan had worked. At the gates, guards and inspector admitted them with a nod and no questions asked.

But where was Eckener? It was 8:10 p.m. Had they missed him by minutes? A barrage of German imperatives crackled from the loudspeaker, and she guessed the Hindenburg was very close to its departure time.

Finally, when she’d convinced herself that the Gestapo were surrounding the building, the tall, plumpish figure of Eckener appeared in the far end of the cargo shed and shambled towards them. With him was a young man in a brown jumpsuit.

‘My dear lady, my dear Richard, friends, friends,’ he said. ‘No time for introductions except one: this is Ralf, who is one of us. He is a duty rigger on board this voyage. You may trust him…’

All eyes turned to the blond, impassive young man.

‘… You will get into these empty freight containers, which have already cleared customs.’ Eckener tapped the side of his nose. ‘They will not be opened once I attach the seals but will be loaded on board directly, under my personal supervision. In about two hours’ time, once the ship has cleared Reich airspace, Ralf will open the containers, and another friend, who will make himself known to you, will install you in your own cabins as my personal guests. I must ask you please to remain in your cabins until morning, when Captain Pruss will be informed of the situation. By then it will be too late to turn the ship around. Captain Pruss does not know of our plan. We are fortunate in having only thirty-six passengers on this voyage.’

‘You’re coming, too?’ Eleanor said.

‘Alas, no, dear lady. Our leaders are keeping me out of mischief by sending me on a lecture tour. Now, please everyone hurry, hurry,’ he said, taking his watch from his waistcoat pocket.

Denham helped Jakob, Ilse, and Hannah into the first of the large containers, which had wooden hatch lids in the side. ‘We’ll be like three cigars in this box,’ Ilse said.

Friedl went to give Martha a lift up, but she said, ‘Uh-uh, not me, kid. This is where I say goodbye. I’ve got enough to explain to Dad as it is.’

‘Martha.’ Eleanor reached out and drew the woman’s petite body tightly into her arms.

Martha’s voice was tender and serious. ‘Eleanor, dear, I know I’ve been a minx at times. I guess I envied you, you know that…’

‘We’d never have done this without you,’ Eleanor said, welling up.

‘Now look, you’re making me cry… Bon voyage, darling.’

‘I’ll see you in New York.’

Jakob, Ilse, and Hannah were installed in one container. Friedl got into the other; then Eckener helped Eleanor in.

‘I waited half an hour for you,’ he said, ‘I confess I thought you hadn’t made it.’

Eleanor kissed his cheek in gratitude, and he blushed.

‘I suppose I’ll arrive in New York dressed like this,’ Friedl said. He was trying to tug the red armband off the uniform.

‘Certainly you won’t,’ Eckener said. ‘Nor shall you dine on board in it. I have arranged for dinner jackets to be left in your cabins. I hope they fit.’

He shook Denham’s hand. ‘Your father had great humanity,’ he said softly. ‘He would be proud of you today.’

Denham thanked him warmly and climbed into the container. He sat back against the side next to Eleanor, the satchel between them.

Ralf said, ‘Please-your matches, lighters, or anything that may cause a spark.’ His sombre face could not hide his shock when he was handed a Walther and two Mauser automatics.

The wooden lid came down, and Eleanor clutched Denham’s hand in the dark. They heard the sound of Ralf grappling with the seals; another stream of announcements from the loudspeaker; the tow truck’s engine starting.

Then a shout from the far end of the shed.

Denham’s heart skipped a beat.

He pushed the lid open a crack. A uniformed customs officer was approaching, escorting another man in a shabby corduroy jacket, with long grey hair tumbling over his forehead…

‘My God,’ Denham said.

He pushed the lid wide and jumped down from the container. The customs officer was explaining the man’s presence to Eckener in wide hand gestures. Eckener looked alarmed. Whoever he was, his presence was compromising.

‘ What a business,’ Rex said, panting for breath. ‘Sorry I missed the rendezvous.’ He seized Denham’s hand. ‘Took a guess you’d be here, and I was right. Bloody plane from Berlin was delayed-just landed ten minutes ago.’

‘We all made it,’ Denham said.

‘Thank God. I was worried to death they’d tapped my phone and heard Eleanor’s call…’

Eleanor began to climb out, too, but Eckener stopped her. ‘No time for chitchat,’ he barked. ‘Richard, my boy, you are about to miss the departure…’

Denham continued to hold Rex’s hand, searching his old friend’s face as though he’d never truly seen it until now and wanted to commit it forever to his memory.

Finding himself choked, he whispered, ‘It’s yours, Rex…’

‘What’s that, old boy?’

‘What you came here for.’

‘I came for you.’

He dropped his friend’s hand, turned, and saw that Eleanor was holding out the satchel towards him. He opened it and put the dossier into Rex’s hands.

‘It’s a relief to be rid of it.’

‘You mean…’ Rex nodded, solemn and honoured.

‘Richard Denham,’ Eckener shouted. ‘We-are-leaving.’

‘Goodbye, Rex.’

Denham turned and got quickly into the container without looking back. The lid was closed and locked; the customs seals attached.

Five minutes later the two late items of cargo were loaded into the hold of the waiting airship. From the darkness of the containers they heard the shouts of the cargo loaders, the heaving of ropes, the closing of bay doors, followed by silence. A cool draught blew through narrow slits in the wooden sides. Then came the faint brass tones of ‘Deutschland uber Alles’ outside on the field, followed by a muffled cheer, an infinitesimally small sway-a buoyancy-and the creaking of canvas against a vast metal structure.

‘We’re up,’ said Denham. ‘We’re flying.’ He touched Eleanor’s face in the dark and kissed her.