Page 102 of Flight of Dreams

It takes every ounce of self-control for the American not to shoot the captain or his companion. He cannot afford this delay. “Can it wait a few moments? I’d like to watch the landing.”

Lehmann smiles. “You’ll need to do so from your room, I’m afraid. You have a window after all. A luxury most of the passengers don’t enjoy.”

A bristling anger begins to heat his blood. He flexes his fingers. Struggles to stay calm. “I don’t understand.”

“We’ve had complaints from the crew that you have been wandering into areas of the ship that are prohibited to passengers. We will need to look into these accusations. And until the matter can be cleared up you will remain here.”

“You are placing me under…what? House arrest?”

Lehmann surveys the small room and, upon seeing nothing out of place, replies, “Arrest is a strong word.”

“Arrest is the word used for detaining a man against his will.”

“Ah. I see you’re familiar with the process at least. Then this should be easy. I have ordered Captain Ziegler here to wait outside your cabin until my return.”

Ziegler rests the heel of one hand on the pistol at his waist. It’s the first time the American has seen any of the officers armed since the ship left Frankfurt. The captain tries to look menacing, but the threat is lost on the American.

“Is he going to shoot me if I leave?”

Lehmann shrugs, as though leaving that possibility entirely up to him. “I’d rather that it not come to that.”

The American pauses, recalculates. “May I know the name of the man who has accused me of this behavior?”

“I think you know his name already. You’ve had a very keen interest in him during the entire flight. And that is something I plan on discussing with you as well. When I return.”

THE CABIN BOY

7:03 p.m.—twenty-two minutes until the explosion

The naval air station in Lakehurst, New Jersey, is surrounded by empty fields and dotted with scrub brush, patches of grass, and bright, colorful pinpricks that Werner guesses to be wildflowers. And there, on a dirt path, are two young boys peddling beneath the airship on their bicycles. The frantic pumping of their arms and legs looks comical from above. But they wave and whoop, trying desperately to keep up with the Hindenburg as it loops around the massive airfield, getting into position. Like much of the population of Lakehurst, the boys have come to watch the landing.

In moments the children are out of sight, and Werner turns back to his work, eager to get the crew’s mess clean so he can go watch the landing on A-deck with the passengers. He blushes, even though the room is empty and no one can see him, as he imagines the delight on Irene Doehner’s face when the airship lands. He knows it’s silly and he knows he will never see the girl again after today, but Werner wants to witness her awe. It’s how he wants to remember the first girl who ever kissed him.

THE NAVIGATOR

7:10 p.m.—fifteen minutes until the explosion

Pruss hands the telegraph to Max. It reads: CONDITIONS DEFINITELY IMPROVED RECOMMEND EARLIEST POSSIBLE LANDING.

“Give the signal for landing,” Pruss says, and a few seconds later Max cringes as the discordant blast of the air horn rips through the air. His eyes twitch at the sound.

Max wonders at Colonel Erdmann’s absence. He would have thought that the man would be so eager to get off this airship that he would not miss the ritual. But he is nowhere to be seen. He assumes they will discuss the package later.

The storm has abated and they are now traveling through an insignificant misting rain. The sky is not as dark, the wind has decreased. Max feels confident that they will be able to get the ship on the ground this time.

“Weigh off,” Pruss orders, and the crew begins the familiar routine of valving the gas to lower their altitude.

The wind is still rougher than they are comfortable with, so Pruss has them circle north and then west of the airfield in a series of tight figure-eight turns. Max feels the strain of the airship as the floor beneath him shudders in response. Pruss is in a hurry to take advantage of this short window of opportunity, so they make another abrupt left turn at full speed, and Max can hear the engines reverse—a slow, grinding whir and then a rapid popping—as the Hindenburg shudders and slows. They loop over the airfield once more and the mooring mast rises up beside them.

“Final approach!” Pruss bellows. There’s no need to yell, but it’s his habit, and they are all accustomed to it by now.

“We’re a thousand kilograms stern heavy, Commander,” Bauer says. Unlike most of the crew inside the control car, his eyes are not on the ground below but fixed to an instrument in front of him where a needle wavers right of center.

“Empty the ballasts at stern,” Pruss answers.

Bauer pulls the toggle, waits a few seconds as the instrument registers an insignificant change, then pulls it again. He holds the lever for a count of five as water from the ballast bags at the rear of the ship cascades onto the ground below. He shakes his head. Looks at Pruss. “We’re still tail heavy.”

Pruss glowers. “Drop another five hundred kilos.”