THE NAVIGATOR

6:00 p.m.—one hour and twenty-five minutes until the explosion

Max settles into his favorite booth in the crew’s mess as the Hindenburg flies low over Asbury Park, New Jersey. He can see the boardwalk directly beneath them and the small forms of lovers strolling hand in hand on this warm May evening. Some crane their necks and wave. Others whistle. A child jumps up and down, ecstatic, and Max can see a small dog spinning in circles, barking at them madly. For one short moment Max is captivated by the picturesque scene and grateful for his place in it. Then he presses back into his seat and feels the uncomfortable bulk of the envelope and he remembers what he must do. He has fetched the documents from his room, and he feels the weight of them like an anchor lashed to his waist.

But first, dinner.

Max has had so few opportunities to feel superior to Xaver Maier in the last seventy-two hours that he indulges the lesser side of his character now, grinning with delight as the chef pushes the swinging door open and drops a tray of finger sandwiches onto the table.

“Not a word,” Maier says.

Max doesn’t have to say anything. He simply plucks a roast beef sandwich from the tray and bites off a corner. The bread is fresh, the beef is perfectly seasoned, and the creamy horseradish sauce is perfect. It’s hard to hate a man who cooks so well, but Max gives it his best effort anyway. He won’t soon forget the image of Maier kissing Emilie.

In the end Max can’t resist. “Do you think she will remember your name? This girl who’s waiting for you?” Max asks as the chef stares longingly out the window. “Or does she even know it?”

Maier is known for making the most of their short leaves in New Jersey and for the lecherous grin he wears when reporting for duty again. But this delay has ensured that the chef will not make whatever appointment he has been looking forward to. Max experiences no small amount of satisfaction in this. Maier glares at him like a fractious child and returns to the kitchen with a huff. He sends one of the assistant chefs to bring the platters of fruit and cheese into the crew’s mess in his stead. It seems that Maier has had quite enough of the navigator.

Max turns from the window as Werner rushes through the door, a couple of minutes late. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright as he begins pulling plates and silverware from the cabinet to serve the crew. He loads a plate for Max without asking his preference and sets it in front of him, avoiding eye contact. Max is about to ask the boy why he’s blushing, but the door opens then and a handful of riggers enter. Max doesn’t want to embarrass Werner. Ludwig Knorr ruffles Werner’s hair, and the cabin boy turns away to serve them.

It seems to Max that Werner is euphoric. So it’s the girl, then. They’ve kissed again or done something equally stupid. He just hopes that whatever the boy is doing goes unnoticed by her parents as well as the officers. It would not go well for Werner if he were caught fraternizing with the daughter of a wealthy passenger. He makes a mental note to scold the boy later.

Max adjusts the envelope at his waist before pushing his plate away. He beckons Werner over with a hand.

“Have you seen Emilie?” Max asks. “I need to have a word with her.”

“She was headed up to A-deck a few minutes ago. Probably going to start tidying the cabins for the return trip.”

“Thank you.”

Max checks the clock above the door. It’s 6:30 now. He doesn’t have much time.

He finds Emilie on A-deck stepping out of a passenger cabin. She closes the door behind her, holding a bundle in her arms. It appears to be a pillowcase stuffed with dirty linens. She jumps, startled, when she sees Max. He searches her face, looking for any hint of pleasure or hope or relief. But her expression is carefully guarded, so he must do this with no encouragement from her.

“I have something for you,” he says.

Emilie tilts her head a bit in surprise but says nothing.

“Consider this my apology—for everything—and the only way I have of proving that I do love you.” He pauses. “Please don’t let that word scare you. Scheiße. I can see that I’ve scared you. Oh, well. Too late now. It’s the truth. I love you. And I hope this proves it.”

Max reaches behind him and pulls the now-crumpled envelope from his waistband. He can see his own handwriting and the message he had written for her a couple of days ago. You should have told me sooner. He still believes that. Believes that knowing Emilie’s plans would have changed everything. But the decision is hers to make now. Max holds the envelope out to her, an offering.

Her voice trembles. “Where did you find that?”

“I didn’t find it. I stole it. From the officers’ safe in the control car while Commander Pruss was standing ten feet away. And if that doesn’t show you that I’m an irredeemable fool, nothing will.”

Max takes a step forward and she doesn’t flinch, so he takes another. And another. He is only a foot away, and he slowly raises his hand to the bundle she holds in her hands. He doesn’t break eye contact with her as he spreads wide the mouth of the pillow case and tucks the envelope inside with whatever else she has in there.

He leans close to her ear. Whispers, “You can leave if you want. I won’t stop you. The choice is yours, as it should be. But if you decide to stay, I will be here, Emilie. I will be here for you. I will keep you safe.” A thought occurs to him and he laughs. “You might have to wait for me to get out of prison, of course, if they find out I took those papers. But it changes nothing on my end.”

“Thank you.” Emilie hugs the bundle to her chest, and he sees that she is blinking fast, trying to force a storm of sudden tears into submission. “I don’t deserve this.”

“You deserve much more.”

She shakes her head in argument, but Max raises his hand and lays it on her cheek to stop the movement. He strokes her face with his thumb. And he looks deep into the rust color of her eyes as he leans in for the kiss he has been imagining for the last two hours.

“I love you.” It is a whisper against her lips. “Whatever happens, do not forget that.”

Max kisses her in the middle of the hallway, the bundle pressed between them, not caring who sees. If this is to be the last time he kisses Emilie Imhof, he will make sure it is a kiss worth remembering. He can feel the hand that holds her bundle pressed against his chest, and he hopes she can feel the frantic, hopeful beating of his heart. It takes a moment, but her other hand rises to his arm, his shoulder, and then slides up his neck. When she moves her fingers to play with his earlobe he allows himself a small moan of pleasure. Max locks Emilie against him with one arm around her waist and one hand at the back of her neck. He drinks her in. He consumes her with his kiss, and she surrenders completely to it.

He is almost past the point of having any sense at all when he hears his name being called lightly from behind.

“Max.”

He ignores it at first.

“Max!”

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls away just enough to turn his head and see the stunned, blushing face of Werner Franz who is standing to his left.

“What?” His voice is filled with gravel and passion.

“We’ve been cleared to land. You’re needed in the control car.”

Max pulls Emilie close. He buries his face in the hair behind her ear, then allows himself the luxury of begging just this once. “Stay with me,” he whispers.