The Valkyrie was at sea once again.
XIV
Kate’s patience lasted all of twenty minutes. After pacing around her cabin like a caged lioness, she decided to take a little walk. This, of course, meant that she was directly disobeying Feldman’s orders, but she figured it would be worth the risk. If she came across anyone, she could explain she needed to take pictures of the Valkyrie’s departure for her report, which was actually quite true. Still, she also wanted to wander around to get a better idea of the ship’s layout.
She opened the door carefully and poked her head into the hallway. No one was in sight. Briefly, she thought Feldman might have placed a guard at her door for her “security,” but it seemed everyone was busy with the ship’s departure. She made as little noise as possible as she closed the door behind her and walked down the hall in the direction of what she thought was the bow.
Most of the hallways were deserted, but as she turned a corner she bumped into a couple of Moore’s security guards. Recalling how Feldman’s men had reacted when they caught her prowling the grounds of Usher Manor, she panicked, but they passed right by her as they chatted and only gave her a brief glance. One of the men even gave her a little nod as if they were old friends.
As soon as they had gone, Kate realized she had been holding her breath. Then, she noticed where the two men had come from.
There was a wide entrance leading to a staircase that wound down into the heart of the Valkyrie. The stairs were old and worn compared to the rest of the ship. The varnish had disappeared, and the edges of the steps were scuffed up. Four or five steps down, someone had welded together some heavy sheets of steel into a door that sealed off the staircase. The ugly joints the welders left behind jutted out of the door like lumpy tumors, a stark contrast with the high-quality wood lining the hallway. The guards had placed a red sticker on the door with enormous black lettering:
“Danger!
Area Under Construction
Do Not Enter. Risk Of Fatal Fall”
Kate assumed the staircase led to the unrestored second- and third-class sections. Dubiously, she made her way down the stairs until she reached the makeshift door. The stairs creaked lightly with each step. Kate thought about how the wooden stairs had not been used for more than half a century. She leaned forward and placed her hand on the door.
A gust of cold air ripped through a poorly sealed joint and gave Kate a jolt. The air had come from somewhere down there, and it smelled awful. It was a strange smell, a mixture of dust, stagnant water, and rot. The stench also carried a hint of some metallic odor Kate could not pinpoint. She gently pushed the steel door and felt it budge slightly. The welder had done a rush job, and the steel sheets of the door were joined only at four points. She pushed again, fascinated, trying to figure out what was down there.
Kate . . .
A woman’s voice called from behind her. Startled, like a little girl caught in the act of mischief, Kate flinched and turned around, muttering some hurried excuse.
No one was there.
She tiptoed toward the hallway. It was deserted in both directions. She ran around the corner the guards had turned earlier, but no one was there, either. Confused, she retraced her steps back to the staircase. She examined the ceiling to see if there were any security cameras or loudspeakers, but the only thing hanging from the ceiling were the bronze light fixtures, with Valkyrie etched into their bases.
She listened closely. All that could be heard was her heavy breathing, the soft buzzing of the hallway lights, and in the background, the dull, distant rumbling of the engines.
But she was certain someone had said her name. She did not like the tone.
It had sounded violent. Dirty.
Needing some fresh air, she walked away from the staircase, feeling stiff.
After a few minutes wandering through the hallways, Kate came to a doorway that led to the walkway along the bow. The gust of fresh air, dense with the smell of the sea and engine smoke, that greeted her upon stepping outside was the most marvelous sensation she had ever felt.
In the distance, some fifty yards away, she could see the silhouette of a tugboat slowly pulling the Valkyrie toward open sea. From where she stood she could make out the tugboat’s name, Vintumperio, and she could even distinguish the shapes of the sailors in red uniforms loafing about on deck. On the poop deck was the captain, a heavyset man with a goatee, and a member of the port authority, who was tall with gray hair. Both were looking back toward the Valkyrie, sipping coffee and chatting with one another. Suddenly, Kate had the urge to be with them, among those trustworthy men, and not aboard the Valkyrie, with its strange voices and mysterious past.
But it was too late. The North Sea was already visible in the distance. The tugboat released the Valkyrie and bid it farewell with two toots of its horn. The tugboat slowly receded into the distance, and finally, they were alone.
Kate leaned on the railing and took a deep breath. The morning was luminous, and out there, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.
What the hell, she thought. You’re on a fucking luxurious cruise ship from the thirties. You’re going to write a fucking story, and in the meantime, you’re going to drink all the champagne you can and relax in the sun. You’re going to stop thinking about Robert and take control of your life once and for all—
“Kate.” A woman’s voice startled her from her thoughts, and the blood drained from her face. She spun around like a top, certain nobody would be there, but there stood Senka, staring at her.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.
“It’s not that. It’s . . .” Kate blushed and became quiet.
“It’s not wise to disobey a direct order from Feldman.” Senka stared at her with a disquieting gleam in her eyes. “He asked you not to leave your cabin.”
“It didn’t sound like an order to me,” Kate replied, holding up her camera. “It sounded more like a suggestion. Plus, I need to take pictures for my story.”
“If I were you, I’d follow every single one of Mr. Feldman’s suggestions to a T. This ship can be misleading. Even deceitful.”
“What do you mean?” The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
“During these past few weeks on board the Valkyrie, strange things have happened. Things that are hard to explain. There have been accidents. Do you believe in ghosts, Kate?”
“No. The truth is I don’t,” she answered, her heart wrenching in pain as her thoughts turned to Robert. “When someone dies they’re gone forever.”
“Good,” Senka responded with a strange smile. “That which you do not believe can do you no harm, right?” She looked toward the horizon and took a deep breath as if she was collecting her thoughts. “I think you should go back to your cabin. I’ll go with you. This time make sure not to leave until the time we agreed on.”
“Hopefully, it will be worth the wait.”
Senka crinkled her eyes. “Trust me. The meeting is going to blow your mind.”
XV
At noon, Kate entered the Gneisenau Room accompanied by Senka. Once more she was in awe. The room looked like a re-creation of an Italian palazzo from the Renaissance. Travertine marble columns rose from floor to ceiling, some fifteen feet in height. On the ceiling an enormous fresco portrayed an ancient Teutonic battle. In another panel, a pair of gigantic Valkyries held a dead warrior while a pair of horsemen brutally stabbed each other.
Between tall venetian windows that looked out over the sea, classical sculptures stood on ornate stands. The floor, made of wood and stone, could barely be seen as several thick, enormous rugs covered it. Stepping on them, Kate thought that if she were to drop a dime, it would probably never be seen again.
Several luxurious couches and chairs were haphazardly spread throughout the room. A huge wooden table with large legs occupied the center of the room, and an enormous, unmoving clock hung on the rear wall right above a grand piano.
The rest of the passengers were sitting
around the wooden table. Kate was surprised to see how few there were, perhaps fifteen or twenty people, mostly men. A few of them stood up upon seeing the women enter. The others hardly noticed, too ensconced in passionate conversation.
Feldman sat at the head of the table; Moore was to his left, and there was a vacant chair to his right. Senka led Kate to her seat and, in doing so, kept her hands on Kate’s shoulders a little longer than necessary. Then Senka swaggered over to the seat at Feldman’s right and sat down, attracting the attention of most of the men.
They were all there. Feldman coughed and the table quieted down. Kate discreetly switched on her tape recorder.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” began Feldman in a polite but passionate tone. “Allow me to welcome you to the Valkyrie. Before we present anything, I’d like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for accepting my invitation to participate in this voyage.”
Several people nodded in recognition of his appreciation.
“First, let’s talk about the ship. The Valkyrie was built in 1938 by Blohm und Voss, a shipyard in Hamburg. As you may have guessed, there are few ships still sailing from that period. In fact, this is the last survivor of the golden age of 1930s cruise liners. All of its rivals from those times have sunk, been scrapped, or were destroyed during the war. Only the Valkyrie has made it to the present day, for reasons you already know.” He nodded toward someone at the table. “Mr. Corbett . . .”
Mr. Corbett cleared his throat and stood up.
“My name is William Corbett. I’m the chief engineer . . . ahem . . . the one in charge of general maintenance aboard the Valkyrie.” He nervously shuffled some papers. “The fact of the matter is the repairs have not been too hard. We’d expected the ship to be in much worse condition, but its time in dry dock seems to have preserved the ship extraordinarily well. The hull had no evident deterioration at all. We found no fissures or cracks that needed repairing.”
“That’s incredible,” muttered one man, who appeared to be of Asian descent.
“We’ve only had to give it a new coat of paint.” Corbett pushed up his glasses, which had slid down his nose.
He reminded Kate of a mechanic explaining why the bill was so high in spite of having done nearly nothing.
“After sixty years covered by canvas and out of the water, the ship was in superb shape,” Corbett continued. “Practically like it never went to sea until now.”
“Was it difficult to repair the engines?” Kate asked.
Every head at the table swiveled in her direction. Kate felt the blood rise to her cheeks.
“Hi . . . this . . . I’m Kate Kilroy,” she stuttered. “I’m documenting the entire voyage and, well . . .”
She saw Feldman smile at her to calm her down. Do your fucking work, Kate, she told herself.
“Records from 1939 show that it was impossible to repair the ship’s engines.” She took a copy of the military record from her purple folder and read aloud:
Both engines present some kind of malfunction that is impossible to identify, both in the ignition and combustion systems. They are absolutely inoperable, and this technical department does not know of any solution or method of repair. We recommend it be scrapped immediately.
She raised her eyes and looked at the engineer. “So I repeat: Was it difficult to repair the engines?”
Corbett looked about, somewhat disconcerted, and then responded, “It was not necessary to repair the engines, Miss Kilroy. Both engines started on the first attempt after we had them fueled up. They weren’t damaged. In fact, they were in superb condition.”
Hushed whispers swept across the table. A few nodded heartily while others shook their heads in protest.
“The ship’s overall condition is quite good considering its age,” Corbett went on. “The entrances were sealed after the war and practically nobody had entered the ship for some sixty years. There haven’t been any leaks or humidity to speak of, especially in first class, where the temperature seems to have been held at a constant sixty-two degrees Fahrenheit. It’s like a gigantic time capsule. Only some areas internally appear to be somewhat worn.”
“That’s fantastic,” Feldman applauded. “How is the renovation going?”
“All of first class, the machine rooms, the bridge, and essential services like the kitchen, laundry, and the infirmary have been completed. However, all of the second- and third-class sections have yet to be restored, in addition to many of the hallways.” He shook his head. “Generally speaking, I think we’ve managed to restore about one-third of the Valkyrie, give or take. When we arrive in New York, we can finish what remains.”
Voices whirled around the table again.
“Nobody said anything about New York, Feldman,” shouted a heavy man with a scraggly beard and a Russian accent. He sat two seats down from Kate. “I don’t even have my visa in order.”
“Not to worry, Cherenkov,” Feldman replied, with a hard tone that silenced the room like a poisonous whip. “I’ve already taken care of it.”
Feldman rose. Every one of them watched him with anticipation.
“Today is August twenty-third,” he began. “On the twenty-third of August, nearly eighty years ago, this ship launched its inaugural voyage with two hundred and seventeen passengers and one hundred fifty crew members on board. It departed Hamburg from the exact same dock that we took off from just a few hours ago at the exact same time we did. It launched out into the North Sea just as we did and at the same time we did.” He took out an old navigation book and held it up dutifully. “We know all those facts because the ship’s logbook was recovered by the crew of the Pass of Ballaster, the ship that discovered the Valkyrie adrift at sea.” He opened the book to a page he had marked and displayed it for all to see. The page was blank. “On August twenty-eighth, five days after departure, the Pass of Ballaster found the ship. Not a single crew member or passenger was found on board. The only exception was someone who didn’t appear on the list—me.”
Kate was hit by a wave of excitement for what he was about to say.
“We’re retracing, nearly eighty years later, step by step, the same voyage made by the Valkyrie,” Feldman exclaimed, quite seriously. “Five days from now, following the same trajectory as recorded in this logbook, we will know once and for all what happened that night back in 1939.”
XVI
A flurry of voices swept across the table. Everyone suddenly had something to say. The only ones who kept quiet were Feldman, Moore, and Senka, who scornfully watched as the meeting devolved into pandemonium.
“This is bullshit,” a young man proclaimed, smiling like the whole thing was a psychiatry discussion. He was around thirty and seated directly in front of Kate. He had long hair, and his thick-rimmed glasses made him seem somewhat absentminded. Kate was struck by the fact that his floral shirt was adorned with a pin of a cartoon raccoon.
“That’s impossible,” shouted one woman, who was somewhat older and very stern.
“We should have made the trip with a test ship and no crew,” yelled another man, who was sitting next to Kate, looking as if he had just eaten a restaurant out of all its food.
“We’re running an enormous risk, Feldman,” roared the scraggly bearded man, who had been called Cherenkov, bellowing over everyone with a thunderous voice. “The chances of reproducing the event without a support team—”
“Not to worry, Professor Cherenkov. We’ll be counting on a support team.” Feldman raised his hands in a conciliatory fashion, and Kate watched in fascination as he once again utilized his unsettling charm. Slowly, the voices around the table hushed. “Now if I may continue.”
Everyone listened, intrigued.
“I’ve spent more than half my life trying to piece together my past. I do not know who I am or where I come from. My story begins on the dance floor two decks below us, some seventy-four years ago. A Jewish boy abandoned in the middle of an empty ship. This ship.”
Feldman stood up and placed his hands on the tabl
e and leaned forward. Kate was reminded of a feverish messiah leading his flock.
“For years I let those concerns stagnate in my mind. You know my reputation. I dedicated my heart and soul to carving out a place for myself among all the other sharks. There are those who say I’m a mobster.” He burst out laughing. “That’s nothing but an old wives’ tale. I’ve become rich thanks to the casinos I own in Europe, Asia, and the United States. But I’m no mobster, though I don’t mind the reputation,” he sighed and became quite serious. “In a way, I should be a happy man. But I’ve been missing one piece of the puzzle: Who the hell am I, and how the hell did I get here?”
“That’s all very well, Mr. Feldman.” The man with the floral shirt and the raccoon pin spoke in a soft American accent. “But perhaps it would have been better if you had hired a few private detectives to trace your history instead of wasting a fortune replicating the goddamn scene of the crime, if you’ll excuse the expression.”
A few soft chuckles could be heard around the table, but they were quickly snuffed out like a bonfire in a rainstorm when Feldman answered.
“I did, Dr. Carter. I did. But your grandparents’ generation and their B-17s made damn well sure Hamburg suffered. Every KDF record on file concerning the Valkyrie was burned to ashes, along with half the city, in 1943. Nothing survived. All that remained was the ship. This isn’t a replica of the crime scene. This is the original scene in every way. Whatever happened, it had to have happened here, between these very walls. We’re going to find out what it was.”
“Mr. Feldman, I’m a physicist,” answered Dr. Harvey Carter as if he were speaking with someone who did not speak English. “A scientist, the same as nearly all of us here at this table. I do not believe in magic or in anything that cannot be explained or proved by the methods of science. Time travel is impossible. If you think we’re going to be able to travel back to 1939 in this old ship—”
The Last Passenger Page 10
