David John - Flight from Berlin

‘We need to get the dossier,’ said Eleanor.

‘We won’t be landing anytime soon.’

A red warning light was flashing on the hangar of the Naval Air Station, a huge building rising from the sandy soil of Lakehurst. Tiny figures of spectators and reporters held on to their hats, their coats whipped by the wind, but the field itself was deserted. The mooring mast on rails-like a miniature Eiffel Tower-was unmanned.

‘The ground crew isn’t there yet. It’s too dangerous to attempt a mooring in weather like this…’

‘What was that?’ Eleanor shouted. She turned to Denham. ‘Did you see that?’

What seemed like a dim blue flame had darted along the length of the promenade sill, flickering over the metal fittings of the windows before it vanished. There it was again, to shrieks of surprise from other passengers.

‘I saw it,’ said Denham. ‘It was like a will-o’-the-wisp.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen, don’t be alarmed,’ said Lehmann calling from the stern end of the promenade. ‘That was a display of the gas known as St Elmo’s fire, caused by a buildup of static electricity during a storm. Quite harmless. There is, as you’ve seen, too much electricity in the air at the moment. Captain Pruss is going to turn the ship away and wait for the storm front to pass. I’m afraid this will result in a further delay…’

Slowly the hangar moved out of view below as the ship tilted and turned southeastwards and away from Lakehurst.

Jakob and Hannah came over to them. ‘Haberstock is now offering me a hundred thousand reichsmarks for the dossier,’ said Jakob. ‘I could acquire a Vermeer for that.’

Denham laughed. ‘If he goes any higher, I’ll say yes on your behalf…’

‘I am starting to feel sorry for him. He seemed distinctly nervous when I turned him down this time.’

The ship looped away from Lakehurst, over the Toms River and along the deserted yellow beaches of New Jersey, where seaside houses were still boarded up from winter, their pastel colours faded and peeled. From behind the clouds, sharp rays made fields of sunlight on the dark sea.

Half an hour passed as they watched the ocean; then the ship turned again and began to head back.

‘We’ve had the clearance,’ Lehmann announced. ‘The weather’s calmer. Herr Denham, would you like to view the landing from the bridge?’

E leanor followed Hannah along the keel corridor into the draughty hull of the ship, buzzing with engine noise, and when they reached the ladder at the foot of the air duct, they climbed, retracing their steps from the night before. This time, however, there were dozens of crew running between stern and prow as the ship prepared to land. One of them asked if they knew where they were going. Eleanor flashed him her best smile, explaining that they had the purser’s permission, and would only be five minutes. When they reached the metal chest at the intersection with the axial corridor they heard a series of deep blasts from a klaxon.

‘Must be the Air Station,’ said Hannah.

She opened the chest and with Eleanor’s help lifted the heavy rolls of silver canvas from inside. In the fifth fold Eleanor plucked out the package containing the List Dossier.

‘Got it,’ she said as Hannah dumped the canvas back inside. ‘Let’s go.’

‘That’s far enough,’ said a voice in English.

About twenty feet away, standing on the grilled floor of the axial corridor, was the tall, potbellied figure of Koch. ‘Don’t move.’ His arm was stiffly extended. He was aiming a handgun right at them.

Denham was next to Captain Lehmann at the back of the crowded bridge, out of the way of the helmsman, the elevator man, and the officers monitoring the gas pressure and engine telegraphs. Captain Pruss stood behind the first officer, who was in charge of the landing. Lehmann was keeping an eye on the light boards that monitored ballast and hydrogen, the nerves and nuclei of the most modern aircraft ever built. More than ever Denham wished that Tom was with him now.

On the sodden landing field hundreds of tiny figures were now assembling around the mooring tower. A heavy shower had fallen just before they’d arrived, and wide pools reflected the leaden sky.

‘Reverse engines,’ said Pruss, and the vast ship began to brake as it moved in from the west and slowly dropped lower. They were about six hundred feet from the ground. ‘Prepare to release port and starboard handling lines.’

K och’s thick grey hair was dishevelled; his forehead beaded with sweat. The long climb up the ladder after them must have got his heart racing.

‘Put the dossier on the floor,’ he said. There was a tremor to his voice, and he swayed very slightly, making Eleanor think that he’d been drinking.

‘What kind of idiot brings a firearm on board a hydrogen airship?’ she said. ‘Do you know what would happen if-’

‘Put the fucking dossier on the floor,’ he shouted.

The bracing wires creaked. The hum of the engines could be felt through the floor. A low, filtered light seeped through in places, but otherwise the area was in a gloaming of its own.

‘Do as he says, Eleanor,’ Hannah whispered.

‘I ’ve never seen this type of landing before,’ Denham said. ‘Normally we drift down and the ground crew walks us to the mast, don’t they?’

‘It’s a new technique called a “high landing,” ’ said Lehmann. ‘They pull us down by ropes and moor us. Requires fewer men, and saves us money.’

As Lehmann spoke, Denham’s attention was caught by the view on the right-hand side: a bank of low grey cloud was billowing towards them from the southwest. ‘Is that another storm front moving in?’

‘P ut the gun down,’ Eleanor said. Her eyes were locked on Koch’s. ‘We’re not armed.’

‘Not a step closer,’ he shouted. The barrel trembled in his hand. ‘Believe me, I will shoot you.’

‘You might,’ said Eleanor, ‘but you might miss and hit the hydrogen. Put the goddamned gun down.’

‘At this range? With this calibre?’ He gave a nervous, hissing laugh. ‘This is a Walther PPK semi-automatic. No, I will hit you. I will kill you.’ His face was sweating streams in the cold air. ‘Put the dossier on the floor.’

Eleanor was holding up the package as if it were a shield.

‘Eleanor,’ Hannah implored. ‘ Please put it down.’

I n the control car Denham could not take his eyes off the approaching storm, but the attention of Captain Pruss, the first officer, and the others was focused on the mooring mast, the ship’s altitude, and the speed of approach. Eckener, with his pathological obsession for safety, would not have allowed this, he thought. The old man would have delayed for as long as it took until the danger had passed. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed another blue flame wriggling along the metal fittings at the back of the room.

E leanor slowly put the package on the floor, but the gun stayed trained on her.

‘There,’ she said. ‘I’ve put it down. Now you put the gun down.’

Koch seemed to breathe a little easier, and he lowered the gun.

‘It’s yours to take back to Berlin,’ Eleanor said, retreating slowly.

‘I’m not taking it to Berlin,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘I’m going to destroy it.’ His voice had an off, cracked note, sounding more than drunk; he sounded unhinged, as though something had snapped inside his head. ‘As soon as we land, I will burn it… as if it never existed.’

As he moved forwards to pick up the package from the floor, a shadow rose in the dim corridor behind him. Friedl was creeping up on Koch, holding a small length of rope between his hands. He’d removed his shoes. Hannah looked at him wide-eyed and gave a rapid shake of her head, but he didn’t notice; nor had he noticed the gun in Koch’s hand. He crouched as if to gather himself, then in a wide movement took a giant step and leapt onto Koch’s back, sending him crashing to the floor. Koch landed painfully on his side, with his gun arm sticking out horizontally. Friedl struggled to get the rope around his neck, with both men straining and groaning, and then he saw the gun.