Page 97 of Flight of Dreams

“The American joined the game last night even though he’s not supposed to. But they let him in because he had money and some expensive jewelry. She wanted me to listen to everything he said and did. She wanted all the details.”

“And did you tell her these details?”

“Yes.”

Max groans and sinks into his seat. “Good grief, Werner. You get into more trouble than any boy I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t worry,” Werner says, and it’s his turn to have a mischievous grin. “The American didn’t find out why I was there.”

“Oh?”

“I go to the kitchen every night to fetch Kubis after I shine the shoes. I told the American they never let me join the game, but I wanted to listen anyway. He let me go.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, he walked me back to my cabin—no doubt to make sure I didn’t run off and talk to anyone. But he didn’t bother me after that.”

Max leans across the table, curious now. “What exactly did you learn, Werner?”

Just as he’s about to tell Max about the American and the poker game, the conversations, betting, and the distinct interest in Ludwig Knorr, Commander Pruss walks into the crew’s mess.

“Coffee,” the commander tells Werner. “Cream, no sugar.”

The cabin boy leaps up to obey this order, and Pruss takes his place at the table. He drops his cap onto the lacquered wood surface and says, “We have a problem.”

Werner thinks Max’s face betrays a look of fear, but the expression is gone in a blink.

“How so?” Max asks.

Pruss cracks the knuckles on his left hand. “We’re going to land much later than expected.”

THE STEWARDESS

3:45 p.m.—three hours and forty minutes until the explosion

The Doehner boys are on their hands and knees in the middle of the lounge chasing their small motorized truck around the floor. Margaret Mather has emptied her coin purse onto the table and divided it between them. They are using this unexpected source of funds to make bets on whether the truck will drive in a straight line and whether they will have to wind it a second time before it reaches the far wall. Little Werner, ever optimistic, has wagered in favor of both, and it looks like he will be out two marks as a result. The car jerks and sputters, and it veers off-center toward a table leg. Emilie can hear the small gears grinding, and three bright sparks shoot out from the wheel wells and dissipate immediately. The boys are delighted. They cheer and collapse onto the carpet in laughter. For her part, Margaret Mather sits to the side, hands folded in her lap, looking the part of a generous benefactor.

Matilde Doehner watches her sons with resignation. “Men will bet on anything,” she says. “Even the miniature ones. Horse races. Car races. Games. Politics. How far they can pee. It’s why this world is going to hell—men and their stupid wagers.”

Walter wins the bet when the truck stops with a sudden jolt. They set new terms, up the ante—there are three marks on the line this time—and he winds up the truck again. This time the sparks begin immediately.

“Stop that! Give it here!”

Heinrich Kubis strides toward the boys and all eyes in the lounge turn to him. Walter and Werner freeze immediately. They know authority when they hear it. Matilde sits straight in her chair, gaze swiveling between her children and the chief steward. She isn’t sure whether they have done something wrong and therefore need to be punished or whether they are being threatened and therefore need to be protected.

Kubis scoops the car off the floor and stops the motor. He shakes it at the children and then turns to Emilie, furious. “Sparks! How could you let them play with something that sparks? Have you forgotten where we are?” He sticks the little tin truck in her face.

Emilie has been so distracted by her situation, by Max’s proposal and Matilde’s offer, that she never stopped to think what the sparks could mean in an airship lifted by combustible hydrogen.

“You’re right. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention,” she says.

Already Matilde feels she needs to defend Emilie. She doesn’t stand. She doesn’t apologize. Or speak at all, for that matter. She simply holds out her hand, palm up, with a question in her eyes. Will Kubis return the car? The choice is his, and she intends to let him make it publicly. Frau Doehner is quite aware that she has an audience.

Kubis stiffens in anger. He moves his hand, effectively hiding the car behind his back. He sniffs. “I will return this when we land. Not a moment before. The risk is too great.”

Matilde watches him leave, the corners of her mouth twisted in triumph. When the lounge occupants have returned to their business she leans close to Emilie and whispers, “We fly on a Nazi airship, but our greatest threat comes from a child’s toy?”

“It depends on how you define a threat,” Emilie says.