Page 9 of Flight of Dreams

“Fritz Erdmann.”

“You know him?”

“He’s a Luftwaffe colonel. Kommandant at the Military Signal Communications School. He was appointed as a military observer to the Hindenburg earlier this year. It’s not something he’s thrilled about.”

“You know this because…?”

“He told me. During the first commercial flight to Rio de Janeiro in March.”

Of course Leonhard would know this. Leonhard knows everything about Germany’s airship program. It is this knowledge, and his journalism skills, that have them on this ridiculous flight to begin with. He has recently collaborated on the autobiography of Captain Ernst Lehmann, director of flight operations for the Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei. This flight was provided gratis so Leonhard could meet with his U.S. publishers prior to the book’s release next month. Gertrud’s attendance, though unwilling, was required as well.

Colonel Erdmann and his wife finally separate and stand gazing at one another. He brushes his thumb along her cheekbone, perhaps to wipe away a tear—Gertrud cannot be certain—and then she steps away from him and quietly leaves the ship. It occurs to Gertrud as she watches the jeep carry Frau Erdmann back to the hangar that neither of them uttered a word the entire time.

The colonel looks despondent as he watches his wife leave, and Gertrud smells a story. She sets her hand on Leonhard’s arm. “Darling,” she says, “I think that man needs a drink.”

Leonhard gives her the look, the one that says he recognizes the purr in her voice, and that he knows she’s up to something, but she’s just too damn clever for him to preempt whatever mischief she has planned. He won’t try to stop her, though. He never does.

“You will behave yourself?” He takes a step toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bar.”

“Why? The stewards are passing out champagne.”

He clucks his tongue. “Liebchen, champagne is not going to give you what you’re after.”

“Who says I’m after anything?”

“I would be highly disappointed if you weren’t.”

This is why Gertrud married a widower twenty-two years her senior. Leonhard is the only man she has ever met who not only appreciates her gumption but encourages it. “Well, then, order the good colonel a Maybach 12 and one for me as well.”

“Careful, Liebchen. Alte Füchse gehen schwer in die Falle.”

She laughs and pats his cheek. “He’s not such an old fox as that. Younger than you by the looks of it. And my traps are well laid.”

Leonhard lifts her hand and turns it palm up. He kisses it lightly. “I cannot argue that.” He dips his mouth toward her ear. “Many things about you are well laid, Liebchen. Though I prefer that you not spread such tempting traps for him as you did for me.”

“I hardly doubt you’ll be gone long enough for that.”

“If it’s the Maybach 12 you’re drinking tonight, you’ll not have much time yourself before I’ll have to carry you to bed.”

“You’ll hardly get the chance if you never get the drinks.”

“Start slowly at least. You don’t have the legs to hold much of that particular drink.” Leonhard leaves her then and goes in search of the bar on B-deck and its famous cocktail, the recipe for which is known only to the bar steward, a secret that is guarded more closely than the Hindenburg itself.

Gertrud sniffs. They have established on more than one occasion that she is a lightweight when it comes to booze. Fine. She’ll pace herself. But still, she waits a few moments to approach Colonel Erdmann. Waits to make sure that none of the other passengers will seek him out. He lingers apart from the cluster of people, his eyes glued to the hangar on the other side of the tarmac where his wife has disappeared once again.

She goes to stand beside him but does not draw attention to herself. After a moment she simply says, “Your wife is lovely.”

He does not look at her when he responds, “You have no idea.”

“You might be surprised. I’m a good judge of character.”

“I’ll grant that. Given your husband.”

He is observant. She will have to be careful. “You know Leonhard?”