by CW Hawes
“If I may, Admiral?” Elmer Pond asked and Rosendahl indicated he should speak. Pond continued, “Our informants tell us the Italians are building up a large force. In the event the Georgians or the Soviets win, the Italians will push in and take over the region. If the Czarists happen to win control, the Italians will support them.”
Sergeant Sax said, “So, in other words, it is a free for all over there.”
Pond nodded in agreement.
“Any other questions?” Rosendahl asked.
“I have one,” Karl said. “Since we are landing in an area that could change hands at any moment and whoever controls the area we can’t count on for support, where does that leave us?”
Kit spoke, “I think we have to view this, Mr Weidner, as a covert operation. We are going in alone and are going to have to accomplish our mission alone. Everyone is our enemy.”
Karl nodded. The look on his face showed he was not at all happy with Kit’s answer.
“If there are no more questions, then I suggest we enjoy our dinner,” the Admiral said.
There weren’t and we ate our way through the chowder; roasted stuffed chicken, with mashed potatoes and gravy; peas with pearl onions and dill; glazed carrots; and apple pandowdy with brandy butter for dessert. We had a California Chenin Blanc with the chicken.
When Argo crossed the French coast and passed over Rouen, most of us were at the windows watching the French countryside roll by. Kit and Klara, though, were in a corner completely in their own world. Dunyasha and Branson were at a window gazing outside and not at all hiding their new found fondness for each other. I don’t think they were watching much of the countryside. Karl, Pond, and Sax left the view and took their conversation to a table. I supposed they were talking about the mission. The professors were only momentarily interested in viewing Rouen and French farmland and retired to a table and took up reading. Dorman Shelsher was not around. Probably in his cabin. Mafeking, however, was and, when he saw me at the window alone, joined me. We exchanged banalities and then he excused himself to join Karl, Pond, and Sax. The soldiers stayed the longest at the windows. I don’t suppose any of them had ever been to France before. Finally, tiring of the scenery, I retired to my cabin and took up with Lord Vanity.
***
The afternoon passed. The stewards advanced the clocks an hour when we crossed into France. At four, I joined the others in the lounge for tea and remained for cocktails at six. Once again I found interesting what everyone chose to drink. Karl had his Old Fashioned and Branson, his rye and water. Sax also had a rye, while the Corporal and Privates chose beer. Klara had a dry sherry. Kit and Elmer both had highballs. Dunyasha and I had martinis. Mafeking was drinking Scotch. Dorman had a Bee’s Knees, which I found surprising because it was an old Prohibition drink. Doctor Rodman was drinking white wine and Doctor Franzen, a Lorraine, which is kirschwasser, Benedictine, and lime juice.
I could not contain my curiosity any longer and made my way over to Franzen.
“Good evening, Doctor Franzen, Doctor Rodman.”
Both replied, “Good evening, Lady Hurley-Drummond.”
“Pardon my curiosity,” I said, “I guess it’s the journalist in me. I couldn’t help but notice your predilection for kirschwasser, Doctor Franzen. May I ask how you came about it?”
He laughed. “I studied for my doctorate at the University of Berlin. There I developed a taste for kirschwasser that has never left me.”
“That is what I thought,” I said with a smile.
“I hope this isn’t a scoop?” He said, merriment dancing in his eyes.
I put on a sly face. “It just might be on the front page of the Chicago Tribune.”
“My one minute of fame I will owe to my taste for kirschwasser,” he said, shaking his head.
Doctor Rodman chuckled, “Be thankful, Wilbur, at least you’d have a minute of fame.”
“How true, Elise, how true,” he replied.
“I take it even professors renowned in their field suffer anonymity as do most of us,” I said.
“Lady Hurley-Drummond, you, who are famous, have no idea.” Franzen’s voice had a measure of pain to it.
“Doctor Franzen, I wasn’t always famous. Actually, I had less renown and certainly not anywhere near the importance you have until Mr Hall discovered me and took a chance on me. I know very well the pain of anonymity.”
“Well, then, Lady Hurley-Drummond, you won’t begrudge Elise and I a shot at a moment of glory. Will you?”
“Certainly not,” I replied, then added, “Even if it is only over kirschwasser.”
We three had a good laugh and, when supper was announced, I sat with the professors and Karl joined me.
When supper was finished, I went to my cabin, took out my notepad, uncapped my Eversharp Skyline, and wrote a series of questions I needed answers to. With the last question written, I put the message into a simple cipher, capped the fountain pen, and went back to the lounge. I summoned a steward and gave him the note, instructing him to take it to the radioman.
I had an itch that needed to be scratched.
Thirteen
A Secret Nazi
The Mediterranean
Night
Wednesday, 14 April 1954
A look at my watch informed me the time was eleven-thirty. Forty-five minutes earlier the lights of Marseille slowly disappeared astern. Now, the windows revealed the blackness of the night. Somewhere below us was the Mediterranean.
Branson and Dunyasha were dancing slowly to Bea Wain singing “Our Love is Here to Stay” on the phonograph. The soldiers, the professors, and Karl had retired for the night. Kit and Klara had also retired and, with Kit having moved into Klara’s cabin, I doubt they were sleeping. Mafeking Smith and Dorman Shelsher were at a table drinking port. Elmer Pond and I were at another table. Both of us reading. A box of chocolates was beside my cup of tea and while I’d made the offer to my traveling companions only Mafeking helped himself to a couple chocolates. The box was mostly empty now.
The song ended and Branson selected another Bea Wain number, a medley of “Fools Rush In” and “Everything I Have Is Yours”. Another slow number for the lust birds.
While the song was playing Chief Steward Ransome entered the lounge, spotted me, and walked over to my table.
“A message for you, Lady Hurley-Drummond,” he said.
“Thank you, Ransome,” I replied.
I unfolded the paper. The message was in a cipher, not unlike the one I’d sent earlier. I got up from the table and said to Elmer, “Please excuse me for a moment.”
“Certainly, Lady Hurley-Drummond. Nothing troubling, I hope.”
“No. Nothing of the sort. Just an answer to a question.”
I went to my cabin, took out a sheet of paper and in a few minutes had the message deciphered. It read:
Suspicion confirmed. Degree received University of Berlin 1930. NSDAP member since 1928. Subject has been quiet since returning to the States. Possible sleeper.
So there it was. Franzen was a secret Nazi. The question now remained, whose side was he on? Der Führer’s or Mr Hall’s?
I opened the window in my cabin and, crumpling the sheets of paper into little balls, tossed them out into the night and the sea below. I didn’t want them on board where they might be discovered, even if by accident. The slipstream flowing around the zeppelin sounded like a waterfall. I closed the window and returned to the lounge. I took a box of chocolates with me.
Branson and Dunyasha were no longer dancing. The record on the phonograph was a recording of “Clair de Lune”. Elmer had joined Mafeking and Dorman. Dunyasha and Branson were at a window, looking out into the night. I rang for a steward and when he came asked for a pot of tea. I sat at my table and popped a chocolate into my mouth.
Who else was not who he or she appeared to be? Difficult, if not impossible to say. Someone close to Hall was passing information to the Czarists. Could that someone be Branson? I popped another chocolate into m
y mouth. And if Branson was supplying information to the Czarists, would Dunyasha support him? I’d like to think she’d be on my side. Right now she was all wrapped up in our Man Friday and, if push came to shove, she might stay wrapped up.
The possibility also existed she was still working for the Czarist cause. She could play Medea, as it were. Get the fleece, deliver it to Mikhail, and get back into a grateful Mikhail’s bed. She still had feelings for him last year. Perhaps absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder. Perhaps being the Empress of all the Russias does as well.
My tea came and Sykes poured me a cup. I ate another chocolate. Dorman and Elmer left, bidding us all goodnight. Smith walked over to my table.
“May I join you, Lady Hurley-Drummond?”
“Certainly. Tea?”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll ring for a cup.” Mafeking pressed the button, Sykes reappeared, and he gave him his request. He walked back and sat down.
“Love riding on an airship,” he said. “Nothing like it.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Although I have to say that new Martin M-130 seaplane is quite luxurious. Have you been on it?”
“No.”
Sykes returned with a cup and saucer, poured tea for Mafeking, and left.
I continued, “Is the Martin similar to the Dornier Do X?”
“Same concept. The Dornier is much larger. Very luxurious for an aeroplane. And if you need to get somewhere in a hurry they fit the bill.”
“I’ve been on the Do X. It is faster than an airship and does provide a degree of luxury. It is, on the other hand, noisier and does not provide as smooth a flying experience. And they’re limited to water. An airship can go anywhere.”
“That it can, Lady Hurley-Drummond.”
“Please, call me ‘Dru’. We are all too intimate on this adventure for such formality.”
“Very well, Dru, and you must call me ‘Mafeking’. So tell me, Dru, is this going to be one big free-for-all once we get on the ground?”
“I’m beginning to think so. If each of the parties doesn’t have troops in the area, they’re sure to have agents of some kind. I suspect a lot of dangerous situations.”
“Do we even know where this thing is?”
“No, we don’t. It could still be in the cave where the Italians found it or it could have been moved.”
“And if it was moved, it could be anywhere.”
“Precisely.”
“I’ve done a lot of archaeological work in my time. It’s where I make a significant amount of my money. Recovering ancient artifacts. It is never easy. Nothing is ever where you think it might be. Almost always we stumble upon it by accident. I don’t see this as being any different.”
“Except we’re likely to have just about everyone shooting at us.”
He laughed. “I’ve been in those situations. It definitely makes things exciting.”
“All the same, I’d rather not have that kind of excitement.”
“You and me both, Dru. You and me both.” He finished his tea. “I’m going to bid you a good night and get some sleep. Once we are in Georgia, a good night’s sleep might be difficult to come by.”
“Goodnight, Mafeking.”
“Goodnight, Dru.”
He left. Dunyasha and Branson came over to where I was sitting.
“You two going to sleep or going to bed?” I asked.
Branson laughed and Dunyasha replied, “The latter, then the former. Goodnight, Dru.”
“Goodnight, you two. Make sure to bite a sock.”
They laughed and disappeared into the cabin area.
Flying over the Mediterranean, I was left alone with my chocolates, tea, and thoughts. What I knew for sure was I could only trust Karl and that was a very lonely thought indeed.
Fourteen
Birthday Party
The Mediterranean
Thursday, 15 April 1954
I was up early and because Dunyasha was with Branson, I didn’t have the risk of waking her. Today is a special day and I wanted to make sure at least the meals fit the occasion. I put on my housecoat and walked out to the lounge and dining area. Nobody was about, so I rang for a steward. A few minutes passed before Mr Ransome appeared.
“Lady Hurley-Drummond. Good morning. How may I help you?”
“Good morning, Mr Ransome.”
At that moment, Sergeant Sax and his men appeared in the lounge for calisthenics.
I continued, “Could we go someplace a bit quieter?”
“Certainly, Ma’am. Follow me.”
I followed Ransome through the door to the business end of the gondola. He stopped in the L-shaped corridor, with doors leading to the kitchen, radio room, and navigation room, and waited.
Seeing we weren’t going to a destination other than the corridor, I began, “Today is Lady Bobrinsky’s birthday. I’m wondering if the chefs could come up with something special for her?”
“Such as, Ma’am?”
“A cake perhaps and a special meal for her?”
“I’ll check with Chef Grasse. I think something special can be arranged.”
“I know she likes borscht and is partial to cabbage rolls with mushroom sauce.”
“I’ll let Chef Grasse know.”
“Thank you so much, Ransome.”
“You are welcome, Ma’am.”
When I re-entered the lounge, the men paused their exercise routine so I could pass. I dodged perspiration covered bodies (thank God the windows were open) and returned to my cabin. I was prepared. I’d gotten my dearest friend an ornate rosewood box filled with two hundred of her favorite Turkish cigarettes, an ivory cigarette holder, and a box of chocolates. Those gifts, wonderful as I felt they were, were only a prelude to what I knew she would go wild over: two bottles of champagne from the incomparable 1945 vintage and two from the superb 1934 vintage.
I decided to go to the washroom before the army boys finished their exercises. A bath would have been nice, although I was thankful I could wash. I remember reading somewhere water was in such short supply on the Graf Zeppelin when it was flying around the world in 1929, no washing was permitted at one point. Lady Grace resorted to cold cream for cleansing. Not sure what the men did. The odours must’ve gotten rather ripe.
After my sponge bath, I went back to my cabin and put on a simple cotton dress with short sleeves, a scooped neckline, belted waist, and flaring skirt with pockets. The color was a pastel blue, with a darker blue design.
The army boys were done with their morning calisthenics and I listened to them file by my door on their way to the W.C. and washrooms. When they had passed, I left my room and went out to the lounge. I was the only one there. I rang for a steward and when he came, asked if he’d make up my cabin for the day.
I looked out the window at the Mediterranean below. We were about five hundred feet above sea level. The faint drone of the engines could be heard through the open windows. The sea was beautiful. A sheet of the deepest blue sapphires. A hand touched my arm and I turned to see who it belonged to.
“Good morning, Dru.”
I took Karl’s hand in mine and kissed it.
“Good morning, my dearest love,” I said.
He smiled, took a quick look around to make sure we were alone, and kissed my lips. His were warm and tender and I wished they would never leave. Sadly, though, they eventually did.
“You sleep well?” He asked.
“I did. I wish you had been with me. I was all alone in my cabin.”
“I wish I had been, too.” He took my hand in his. “One day, Dru. We have to believe this. One day we will be married.”
I nodded and kissed his hand. “Tell me you love me.”
“More than anything, Dru. I love you more than anything.”
“Tell me over and over and I’ll patiently wait.”
He took another look around the lounge, seeing we were still alone, he kissed me, his fingers grazing my breast.
“Oh, God. I want
you, Karl.”
“And I you.”
“Get that pass from Branson.”
He chuckled. “Have patience.”
I pouted. “I’ll be an old, wrinkled prune. I’ll have to talk to Dunyasha.”
“There is more to life than sex.”
“There is. Bridge and a Shellabarger novel. Excuse me while I yawn.”
Karl’s reaction was an explosive laugh.
The door from the cabin area opened and Elise Rodman joined us. We exchanged greetings and then in rapid succession Wilbur Franzen, Mafeking Smith, Dorman Shelsher, and Elmer Pond entered the lounge. The seven of us chatted polite banalities for a few minutes and then the Army fellows and Branson entered. Only the newlyweds and Dunyasha were missing.
Breakfast time was approaching when Kit and Klara walked into the lounge and, after a moment, Dunyasha entered. She looked stunning. Her white floral print dress was mid-calf length, had short sleeves, and a scooped neckline which didn’t reveal any cleavage. On the other hand the dress did hug her ample bosom and drew the eye as well as any décolletage. Her dark blond hair was parted on the side and fell in waves to her shoulders. She had that Lauren Bacall look about her. The high heels she was wearing pushed her height to about six feet.
All activity in the room stopped. She looked around and said, “No breakfast. I could have slept for another half-hour.”
There was a ripple of laughter amongst us.
As if he’d been summoned, Ransome appeared and announced breakfast was to be served.
Karl, Branson, Dunyasha, and I sat together. We were served ham and eggs, hash browns, toast, coffee, tea, and juice. Although Dunyasha’s orange juice came in the form of a Mimosa.
