through a megaphone his demands for pressure readings, weather reports, and general haste. How soon all this purposeful mayhem would become chaos, Denham thought, without the concentrating effect of the old man’s magnetism—the force that kept the whole enterprise going.
Behind him a whistle sounded, and with an echoing clang the building’s great doors began to roll apart. Denham saw rays of sunshine blaze across the ship’s nose and along the streamlined ridges of its hull, and felt his suitcase become light in his hands.
Eckener spotted him, and climbed down from his perch.
‘Good morning, good morning,’ he bellowed, without the megaphone. He was wearing his commander’s cap, an old leather flying jacket over his tweed suit, and a waistcoat smudged with cigar ash.
‘My dear Richard,’ he said, shaking Denham’s hand warmly. ‘I hope everything on board will be to your comfort and satisfaction.’
‘I don’t doubt it. How are the skies looking?’
‘A low drizzle over the Reich capital this morning. Also a stiff northeasterly. So we’d better depart before the weather plays any dirty tricks—and hope the clouds clear for our moviemakers. They’re on board, together with a pair of our local Party big shots, along for the champagne and the free ride.’
Eckener held up his pocket watch for all to see and shouted, ‘Ten minutes.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Denham said.
‘Richard, my boy, just come back and see your old friend soon. I hope you get the story you want. You’re in Captain Lehmann’s hands now.’
‘You’re not commanding the ship?’
‘Unfortunately, no . . .’ The old man hesitated. ‘It seems I’m being moved aside for incurring the wrath of the Propaganda Ministry once too often.’ Eckener chuckled, but there was worry in his eyes. ‘I have apparently “alienated myself from the Reich,” and you reporters are no longer to mention me in the newspapers.’
Before Denham could respond, a young steward was beside them, pointing at the leather case hanging from his neck.
‘No personal cameras permitted on board.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, man,’ Eckener barked. ‘He has my authorisation to take his camera on board.’ The young man stepped back, smarting, and Denham noticed the small Party pin in his lapel. ‘Make yourself useful by offering Herr Denham whatever information he requires to write his article.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Eckener smiled at Denham apologetically. ‘You will have to hand him your matches, however. Not even you are exempt from that rule.’
The noise of the engine test stopped, filling the hangar with an iron silence. Eckener leaned towards Denham’s ear.
‘I’m sure I don’t need to advise caution to you of all people. The Party has members among the crew. They’ll be watching you . . .’
Denham winked. ‘Don’t you worry. I won’t tell them your joke about a little girl going up to Hitler and—’
‘Till we meet again,’ Eckener said in a loud voice, cocking his head towards the offended steward, and then giving a wheezy laugh despite himself. ‘That was a good one. If you hear any more, remember them for me . . . now hurry.’
Denham turned and climbed the narrow aluminium stairway, thinking of the joke Eckener had told him. A little girl approaches Hitler and his entourage with a bouquet of flowers but stumbles. Hitler catches her, cups her face in his hands, and kneels down to say a few quiet words. Afterwards people crowd around her. ‘What did the Führer say to you?’ they ask. The little girl is puzzled. ‘He said, “Quick, Hoffmann, a photo!” ’
He was concerned about Eckener. Why did he have to go on making a stand like that, jeopardising his life’s work? It would not make one iota of difference.
Denham continued up into the belly of the ship. It was like boarding a flying ocean liner. He nodded to a bust of old Hindenburg on the landing, then turned the corner into a lounge
Behind him a whistle sounded, and with an echoing clang the building’s great doors began to roll apart. Denham saw rays of sunshine blaze across the ship’s nose and along the streamlined ridges of its hull, and felt his suitcase become light in his hands.
Eckener spotted him, and climbed down from his perch.
‘Good morning, good morning,’ he bellowed, without the megaphone. He was wearing his commander’s cap, an old leather flying jacket over his tweed suit, and a waistcoat smudged with cigar ash.
‘My dear Richard,’ he said, shaking Denham’s hand warmly. ‘I hope everything on board will be to your comfort and satisfaction.’
‘I don’t doubt it. How are the skies looking?’
‘A low drizzle over the Reich capital this morning. Also a stiff northeasterly. So we’d better depart before the weather plays any dirty tricks—and hope the clouds clear for our moviemakers. They’re on board, together with a pair of our local Party big shots, along for the champagne and the free ride.’
Eckener held up his pocket watch for all to see and shouted, ‘Ten minutes.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Denham said.
‘Richard, my boy, just come back and see your old friend soon. I hope you get the story you want. You’re in Captain Lehmann’s hands now.’
‘You’re not commanding the ship?’
‘Unfortunately, no . . .’ The old man hesitated. ‘It seems I’m being moved aside for incurring the wrath of the Propaganda Ministry once too often.’ Eckener chuckled, but there was worry in his eyes. ‘I have apparently “alienated myself from the Reich,” and you reporters are no longer to mention me in the newspapers.’
Before Denham could respond, a young steward was beside them, pointing at the leather case hanging from his neck.
‘No personal cameras permitted on board.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, man,’ Eckener barked. ‘He has my authorisation to take his camera on board.’ The young man stepped back, smarting, and Denham noticed the small Party pin in his lapel. ‘Make yourself useful by offering Herr Denham whatever information he requires to write his article.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Eckener smiled at Denham apologetically. ‘You will have to hand him your matches, however. Not even you are exempt from that rule.’
The noise of the engine test stopped, filling the hangar with an iron silence. Eckener leaned towards Denham’s ear.
‘I’m sure I don’t need to advise caution to you of all people. The Party has members among the crew. They’ll be watching you . . .’
Denham winked. ‘Don’t you worry. I won’t tell them your joke about a little girl going up to Hitler and—’
‘Till we meet again,’ Eckener said in a loud voice, cocking his head towards the offended steward, and then giving a wheezy laugh despite himself. ‘That was a good one. If you hear any more, remember them for me . . . now hurry.’
Denham turned and climbed the narrow aluminium stairway, thinking of the joke Eckener had told him. A little girl approaches Hitler and his entourage with a bouquet of flowers but stumbles. Hitler catches her, cups her face in his hands, and kneels down to say a few quiet words. Afterwards people crowd around her. ‘What did the Führer say to you?’ they ask. The little girl is puzzled. ‘He said, “Quick, Hoffmann, a photo!” ’
He was concerned about Eckener. Why did he have to go on making a stand like that, jeopardising his life’s work? It would not make one iota of difference.
Denham continued up into the belly of the ship. It was like boarding a flying ocean liner. He nodded to a bust of old Hindenburg on the landing, then turned the corner into a lounge
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