Mission Hindenburg

by C. Alexander London

  “Are you okay?” Amy asked him.

  He nodded. He’d ducked and covered in time. The confused crewmen staggered to their feet. Cara untangled herself from Ian, and Ham helped them both up. Jonah ran from the cars to join them, waving his arms in the air. Dan noticed that Jonah was running away from a heap of burning wreckage behind him, on the other side of the fence.

  “Shrapnel!” the teenage superstar cried out. “Burning shrapnel crushed my Aston Martin.”

  Dan recognized now that that burning heap beside the fence was Jonah’s once luxurious limited edition silver Aston Martin Q. The $350,000 sports car had been reduced to a smoking heap of scrap metal.

  Jonah shook his head sadly. “She was a beauty … but yo, when that blimp blew, the sky lit up like day. I thought you guys were goners.”

  “Yet it seems no one was hurt,” Ian announced proudly. “Apparently, we have thwarted the Outcast’s intended disaster rather effectively. Some Hindenburg! That explosion had no more import than a minor crash at one of those air shows you Americans are so fond of.”

  Something nagged at Dan. It didn’t feel right. This was hardly a disaster. Even if the bomb had gone off without the kids’ warning, the six guys on the ground might not have been injured, and there was no one on board the blimp to get killed. And unlike when the Hindenburg crashed in 1937, there were no cameras to film it so that kids a hundred years later could watch it on the Internet like they had back at Jonah’s. There had been worse airship disasters before the Hindenburg, disasters that had killed more people. What made the Hindenburg disaster unique was that it had been filmed. It only took thirty-two seconds to burn up, but the whole world could watch those thirty-two terrible seconds over and over again.

  This lonely little blimp explosion didn’t seem like the Hindenburg disaster at all.

  This seemed like a diversion. Like the painting of the fall of Icarus … everyone looking the wrong way while the real disaster happened.

  “I don’t think this was the Outcast’s disaster,” Dan said.

  “Certainly it was,” said Ian. “He led us right here.”

  “But I don’t think he’s done yet.” Dan turned to his sister. “You said the Hindenburg was a zeppelin, right?”

  “I did,” said Amy.

  “Well” — Dan pointed at the burning mound of fabric and metal — “that was a blimp.”

  “What is your assertion, Dan?” Ian scoffed. He turned to the flaming blimp and opened his arms wide at its wreckage. “That was the blimp on which the Outcast detonated an incendiary device.”

  Dan wrinkled his forehead.

  “A bomb,” Cara clarified. “Kabra, speak English.”

  “I am!” Ian blurted in exasperation. “That blimp blew up because the Outcast put a bomb on it. It burned on the landing pad just like the Hindenburg.”

  “Except it didn’t,” Dan argued. “Because a blimp and a zeppelin aren’t the same thing.”

  “Of course they are,” said Ian. “It’s like how I say ‘take the lift’ when you say ‘take the elevator.’ The words are different, but the object they refer to is the same.”

  “No, they’re not,” said Dan. “They’re both airships, also called dirigibles — which is really just fun to say — but blimps keep their shape from the pressure inside their inflatable envelopes, kinda like giant helium balloons. They don’t have rigid hulls. Really, a blimp is just a big gasbag.” He paused and looked Ian up and down. “You know what that’s like, Kabra.”

  Amy elbowed him in the ribs. It was worth it, though, to see Ian’s nostrils flare.

  “Anyway, zeppelins have rigid hulls,” Dan continued. “Frames with flexible fabric stretched over them so they keep their shape whether they’re full of helium, hydrogen, or any other gas. No matter how much the pressure changes, a zeppelin looks like a zeppelin. That’s why the video we saw online was so dramatic. The Hindenburg kept its shape when the hydrogen inside lit up, all the way until …” He made an explosion noise.

  “How do you know so much about airships?” Ham wondered.

  Dan shrugged. Amy wasn’t the only one who was allowed to know stuff.

  “Thirty-six people died when the Hindenburg exploded,” Amy said, which made Dan feel bad about his sound effects.

  She had a way of reminding him that history wasn’t just crazy stories but was stuff that happened to real people, stuff that real people did or didn’t do. Usually, stuff that some old Cahill did or didn’t do.

  “The Hindenburg was one of the first disasters ever caught on film,” Amy said. “It was the first time people actually saw the moment of destruction and death for themselves, instead of just hearing it described. It also ended the era of airship travel. Everyone had thought zeppelins were the future. They were going to be the most luxurious and efficient way of getting around ever imagined. There were even plans to have airships dock on the needle at the top of the Empire State Building in New York City. When the Hindenburg burned, it ended an entire industry.”

  “See?” said Dan. “So this explosion was nothing like that one. There was nothing fancy about that blimp.”

  “I agree. Something about this isn’t right. The Outcast wouldn’t think so small,” Amy said. “If he was going to re-create the Hindenburg for real, he’d want something that people were watching. Something that could horrify the world and ruin a brand-new industry.”

  “Like space travel?” Hamilton Holt suggested.

  “Yes,” said Amy. “That would do it.”

  Ham pointed.

  A billboard had been posted along the entire side wall of the hangar. It showed an image of the sky with an airship drifting across it — a futuristic zeppelin rising into space. The text of the ad said:

  “ ‘He who flies closest to the sun will surely fall burning to the earth,’ ” Dan said, repeating the Outcast’s words aloud.

  “The edge of space seems pretty close to the sun,” said Ham.

  “The Outcast did say the Karman Line would be crossed,” said Dan.

  “What on earth is the Karman Line?” Ian wondered.

  “The Karman Line’s not on Earth,” Dan told him. “The Karman Line is an imaginary line sixty-two miles above sea level that marks the edge of space. It was named after the Hungarian physicist Theodore von Kármán.”

  Amy raised an eyebrow at him.

  “What?” he said. “Space is cool.”

  “I think it’s time we get out of here,” suggested Ian. “We’ll all have to squeeze into the BMW. Jonah, I highly recommend you report your Aston Martin stolen before the police show up at your so-called crib with inconvenient questions. And then we’ll need to book your private plane.”

  No one questioned Ian’s leadership this time, and they all ran together for the car, the one that wasn’t a smoldering heap of burning junk in the parking lot.

  Jonah and Ham looked at the ruined roadster.

  “This is why we can’t have nice things.” Ham sighed. “Guess I can’t borrow it for my date next week, huh?”

  Jonah shook his head sadly. “I don’t think your boyfriend would be impressed by a heap of burnt metal.”

  Dan and the others all turned to look at Ham and Jonah in surprise.

  “His boyfriend?” Dan wondered.

  “Oh, right,” said Jonah. “I figured you all knew.”

  Ham stared at his feet, suddenly blushing.

  “I guess we do now,” Dan told him. “Cool.”

  Ham looked up again. Smiled.

  “When this is all over, maybe we’ll get to meet the lucky guy?” Amy suggested.

  Ham nodded, laughing.

  “I hate to interrupt this touching moment of acceptance and camaraderie,” Ian said. “But we are trying to prevent a killer from re-creating one of the most terrifying aerial disasters of the twentieth century. Hamilton’s dating life is hardly more pressing than that.”

  Ham nodded with a look of relief that the subject had been changed, and he opened the heavily armored B
MW door for the others to get in. When he settled into the driver’s seat, Ian ordered him to “step on it.”

  They had to get to Athens, and fast. According to the billboard, the airship race to the edge of space was scheduled to start in Athens, Greece, the very next day.

  “You know,” Dan pointed out. “The fall of Icarus took place in Greece, too.”

  As they drove back to Jonah’s, Ian sat wedged between Amy and Cara. Jonah had insisted on taking the front passenger seat, or “shotgun” as the Americans called it, with as much dignity as could be expected from citizens of a country where one could order a breakfast called the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity. Dan had his head resting against the window opposite, staring up at the sky, and Amy seemed content to watch her brother.

  Ian felt a pang as he thought of his own sister, how they could comfort each other in their own ways when they suffered a tragedy. It had usually involved shopping or mocking the incompetent help at middle-class hotels, but still, it was the special comfort of family that he missed. He was glad that Amy still had her brother. He felt sometimes like a brother to her as well, like an older brother, responsible and wiser. He wished she saw him that way, too. He did so want to prove himself a worthy leader to Amy Cahill.

  He shook the thought away. What should it matter what she thought? He was in charge, as he was meant to be, and that was all that mattered.

  He turned to Cara, who was staring down at her phone. He felt a pang when he looked at her, too. Was this the pain of leadership? He wanted so badly to keep everyone safe. Especially her. He’d never tell her that, though. She’d kick him in the shins before she’d let him think he could protect her.

  Still, he had to try.

  “Why didn’t you run when you saw the bomb?” he asked her quietly. The lights of Los Angeles flickered on her face as they drove.

  “Because I needed to get this picture,” she said. She held up her phone. It was a photo of the bomb, slightly blurry because Ian had been tackling her as she took it. “I’m running it through AnarchiNet, a dark image database online.”

  “Well, naturally,” Ian said, although he had no idea what that meant.

  “AnarchiNet is on the deep web. Not just anyone can access it or search it, but I know some people …” She let the thought trail off. She had a dark side, Cara Pierce did, and oddly, Ian found that side of her compelling as well.

  “I’m confirming what I suspected,” she told him. “This bomb type is one favored by KGB agents decades ago. It’s been used in Russian mafia bombings as well.”

  “Alek Spasky, Irina’s brother, was a KGB assassin,” Ian said. “And we know he’s in league with the Outcast.”

  Ian looked over Cara’s shoulder out the rear window. The traffic on the side streets they were taking back to Jonah’s wasn’t so bad. A few cars changed lanes behind them. One turned on to the street, another turned off. Nothing suspicious. Ham was being very careful to obey the speed limit.

  Still, if Alek Spasky was following them, it would be hard to tell. The man was an expert at espionage and murder, and Hamilton Holt was a teenager who had taken a three-day defensive driving course.

  “Hamilton,” Ian called to the front seat. “Do you know how to lose a tail?”

  “Of course,” said Ham. “I have to ditch Jonah’s paparazzi all the time.”

  “Then I suggest you take precautions now,” Ian suggested. “To be on the safe side.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Hamilton jerked the wheel, slamming the brakes into a spin and accelerating out of the spin again so they were moving in the opposite direction in the opposite lane. Anyone who was following them would have to do the same in order not to lose them.

  No one followed and Ian let out a sigh of relief. He was not eager to come across Alek Spasky again. The last time, the assassin had nearly killed them all.

  As they pulled up to Jonah’s house, Amy turned to Ian. “Before we go to Athens, I want to know if anyone else thinks it’s strange that the Outcast did all that just to get us to look at a billboard.”

  Ian had thought the same thing. “He’s not just trying to re-create disasters,” he said. “He’s trying to keep us busy.”

  “Too busy to find out who he is, maybe?” Amy suggested.

  Ian was impressed. Amy was a quick thinker. He wondered how she felt, turning over the leadership role to him. He wondered if he could have done the same if he were in Amy’s shoes.

  Of course, he would never be caught dead in Amy’s cheap shoes. He wore handcrafted leather wingtips.

  “If the Outcast was someone Grace expelled from the family, someone who had knowledge of KGB sleeper agents like Alek Spasky, there’s probably a connection to Moscow,” Cara added. “And any Cahill-KGB connection would’ve had Lucian fingerprints all over it. If there are clues to who he really is, I bet they’re in the Lucian stronghold in Moscow.”

  Ian smiled. Leave it to Cara to consider the devious connections. She had the kind of calculating mind he’d need if he was ever to bring all the branches of the family back under his unified leadership again.

  “I’ll call Nellie,” Amy said, dialing already.

  “Hey, kiddo!” Nellie Gomez’s voice filled the back of the car. “We’re just through customs at LAX and we’re heading to Jonah’s place now.”

  “Sorry, Nellie,” Amy said. “I need you two to turn around. We’re off to Athens and you’ve got to get the next flight to Moscow. We think there will be files there that can lead us to the Outcast — a KGB connection to anyone Grace expelled from the family.”

  “Got it,” said Nellie without hesitation, solid as ever.

  Ian smirked to himself, admiring Nellie’s unquestioning obedience, but his smile froze when he looked back down at his phone.

  He had typed in a search for the Airship X Prize and he’d brought up a news article about the competition. He hadn’t read a word yet, but with one flick of his thumb scrolled down to a photo list of all the different corporate sponsors of the competing airships. The third one down sent a chill through him. There was a large silver airship shaped more like a submarine than a balloon. It was in some sort of high-tech hangar, and a group of executives and engineers posed proudly in front of it. And in that group, staring up at Ian, was a man who had pledged his loyalty to the Outcast and had laughed as Ian was tossed from the Cahill mansion. He wore a gray pinstriped suit that Ian would have recognized anywhere. It was custom-made for him from rare Italian silk and had been a gift to the man on his fortieth birthday from his children … Ian and Natalie Kabra.

  Ian was looking at a photo of his father.

  If a murderous plan was underway, he could be sure Vikram Kabra was a part of it.

  Attleboro, Massachusetts

  Saladin, that nightmare of a cat, hissed from inside his crate. The Outcast noticed that he hadn’t touched the cans of cat food he’d had left out while he was in Florida.

  “Grace spoiled you,” the Outcast told the cat. “You will get no red snapper from me.”

  He smirked, then punched a button on his remote control. A portrait of a seventeenth-century duke over the fireplace slid to the side to reveal a 46-inch flat panel screen. The screens were one of the many technological advances the kids had installed when they had the estate rebuilt. He found himself rather glad to be inheriting the mansion after them.

  The pale face and steel blue eyes of Alek Spasky filled the screen.

  “So they followed the clues?” the Outcast asked him.

  “Exactly as you wanted them to,” he said. “I lost them, however, as they were leaving the airfield. Would you like me to reacquire them in Athens?” Spasky asked.

  “There is no need,” the Outcast said. “I have plenty of agents in place to keep them occupied. I need you to go to Moscow.”

  “Moscow?” Alek pursed his lips. “I haven’t been home in years.”

  “I think you’ll enjoy this visit,” the Outcast told him. “You once told me you held Amy and Dan res
ponsible for the death of your sister, Irina.”

  “I do,” Alek responded.

  “Well, you will get your chance to take from them someone they care for,” the Outcast told him. “Nellie Gomez and the Mourad boy are snooping into my business and I would like them stopped.”

  “Killing two birds with one stone,” Alek said with a joyless grin.

  “Three, actually,” the Outcast added. “It’s not enough merely to stop the two of them. I believe it’s time to take care of that entire viper’s nest lurking below the Kremlin.”

  The smile that broke across Alek’s face this time looked positively gleeful.

  The Outcast shut off the screen and let the portrait slide back over it. While Amy and Dan Cahill and their friends scurried around the world to prevent a great and tragic fall, they wouldn’t notice as he rose higher than they could ever have imagined.

  Somewhere over the Atlantic

  Jonah’s private jet ran into turbulence over the Atlantic. Ian muttered curses as he tried to get the spilled soda out of his pants, while Cara tried to stifle her laughter at his lunatic hopping around.

  Amy reviewed what they had uncovered about the Airship X Prize. It was a prize meant to stimulate the private spaceflight industry. Over the last decade there had been competitions for civilian teams to launch satellites, to invent new kinds of rockets and communication systems, and to create the possibility for colonization on Mars through high-speed engines and even recycling human waste into potable water.

  “Astronauts drink their own pee,” Dan observed.

  “Well, it’s filtered, distilled, and sterilized,” said Amy. “This prize has invented all kinds of technologies and encouraged billions in new aerospace spending.”

  “Billions at stake?” said Dan. “That sounds more like a Lucian plot.”

  Ian had showed them the picture of his father, and Cara’s quick searching online had turned up Omnia Industries, a Lucian-owned investment company, as one of the airship sponsors. They were pretty sure that if a Lucian airship was there, none of the other competitors were safe. Lucians weren’t known for their sense of fair play, and Ian’s father was one of the worst of the bunch. He was also openly loyal to the Outcast. Now they knew they were headed in the right direction.