The Golden Fleece Affair (From The Files Of Lady Dru Drummond Book 2)

by CW Hawes

  We climbed a short stairway, leaving our bags for the stewards to bring on board, and entered the gondola, which houses the control center, radio room, galley, the combined dining and lounge area, passenger cabins, W.C.s, and washrooms for crew and passengers. There is no smoking room and, being inflated with hydrogen, that means a smokeless flight. Karl will be happy.

  Already on board were the two professors, Doctors Wilbur Franzen and Elise Rodman. Karl and I introduced ourselves to the doctors and chose our cabins. Branson informed us the four cabins furthest aft were reserved for him and the military men. Branson greeted the professors by name and left us, going forward to the control area of the gondola, taking the basket of food and the submachine gun with him.

  The cabins are numbered one to five on the starboard side and six to ten on the port. Each cabin sleeps two. Franzen had taken number six and Rodman number one, the cabins closest to the lounge and dining area. Karl decided to share with Franzen and I took cabin seven, which was next to theirs. A steward appeared, we told him our cabin numbers, and he took our bags to our cabins.

  Karl and I joined the professors at their table. Franzen had his pipe in hand, unlit.

  “Rather uncivilized not being able to smoke,” Franzen said.

  “Better that then risking us all burning to death,” Doctor Rodman replied.

  “Even with the German advancements in sealants and hydrogen purity, better safe than sorry,” I said.

  “I suppose,” Franzen admitted.

  “What do you make of the discovery?” Karl asked.

  “Of course, we’ve only seen photographs and read a description,” Doctor Rodman said, “but we’re hopeful it is the genuine article.”

  “Very much so,” Doctor Franzen added, taking his unlit pipe out of his mouth to speak. “I’m more sanguine about it than Elise, here, although the possibility of fraud always exists. Although who’d think it in a place like Georgia?”

  Branson joined us.

  “Do you know, Mr Branson, who is accompanying us?” Doctor Rodman asked, adding, “I can’t imagine we are it.”

  “I do,” Branson replied. “At Lakehurst, we will pick up six soldiers and two federal agents. The US government claims an interest in the fleece and is assisting Mr Hall.”

  He turned to me and said, “I understand from Mr Hall you have people joining us at Lakehurst, Lady Hurley-Drummond.”

  “My secretary, Klara, for sure. My friend, the Baroness Bobrinsky, is uncertain.”

  Branson nodded and continued, “In London, Cardington, actually, we’ll pick up an antiquities dealer who’s worked on Mr Hall’s behalf previously. Mr Mafeking Smith.”

  At Smith’s name, the professors exhibited obvious disgust.

  “You apparently know Mr Smith,” I volunteered.

  “Know of him,” Franzen said.

  “Rather unscrupulous,” Rodman added.

  “That’s a bit harsh, Elise,” Franzen replied. “Questionable might be more appropriate.”

  Rodman waved her hand. “Questionable. Unscrupulous. All about the same; don’t you think, Wilbur?”

  “No, not really,” he replied. To us he said, “Mr Smith is exceedingly knowledgeable when it comes to ancient artifacts. Rumor has it he’s something of a pirate and may even forge things to procure a sale. Nothing proven, of course, but rumors persist.”

  A man in uniform joined us. I’d met Admiral Rosendahl previously. A wonderful man. Humble, great mind, and a dedicated airshipman.

  “We are preparing to depart in ten minutes,” he said. “I’m Charles Rosendahl, retired Navy Admiral, and captain of the Argo at the request of Mr Walter Ramsey Hall.” He smiled at me and said, “Good to see you again, Lady Hurley-Drummond.”

  “Likewise, Admiral,” I replied.

  “And you, too, Mr Weidner,” Rosendahl said.

  Karl nodded and the two men shook hands.

  The Admiral continued, “Argo has been completely refitted. Unfortunately, due to size, Mr Hall had to forego a few creature comforts. There are no showers and there’s no bath. The washrooms do have running water, however.”

  The Admiral also warned us about the smoking prohibition and, excusing himself, returned to the bridge.

  The five of us went to the open windows to watch Argo lift off. Ground crew were holding lines. There was a slight jolt. The ship had disconnected from the mooring mast. We heard the order, “Up ship!”. Slowly the ground fell away. The time was noon. We continued our ascent for a couple hundred feet and then the dull hum of the engines met our ears. The propellers were engaged and Argo began a wide turn to the east, whilst climbing.

  Karl was standing next to me and Branson next to him.

  “Our adventure begins,” I said.

  “It does. Unless you count the excitement on the drive from the Castle,” Karl replied.

  Branson chimed in, “I think that was merely a warm-up exercise.”

  Karl nodded. “I’m afraid I have to agree with you, Mr Branson. The fall of rocks, hinting at the coming avalanche.”

  Six

  To Lakehurst

  Flying across the United States

  Friday, 9 April to Sunday, 11 April 1954

  A tall man, wearing black trousers and a white jacket, entered the lounge and addressed us. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention. I’m Herbert Ransome, the Chief Steward. I’m assisted by John Peters and Alan Sykes. We are at your service. The Admiral has already told you there is no smoking on board. However, we are well stocked with a selection of wine, beer, liquor, cordials, and liqueurs. Hopefully, the food and drink will compensate for the inability to smoke.”

  “Do you have tea, Mr Ransome?” I asked.

  “Yes, we do, Lady Hurley-Drummond. Coffee, also. Any other questions?” He paused, then said, “Seeing none, I’ll leave you. If you need assistance, pressing the button here—,” he pointed to a spot on the wall, “—will summon myself or one of my assistants.”

  The Chief Steward departed and we went back to looking at the landscape below.

  “Hall got his money’s worth in refitting the gondola, I’d say,” Karl said. “Wonder if the rest of the ship measures up?”

  “We’ll have to take a tour,” I replied. “Don’t you think?”

  Karl nodded. He looked around. “Branson’s not here.”

  “Maybe he went to his cabin,” I said.

  “Maybe. Damn odd, if you ask me.”

  “Why do you say so?”

  “What does he do exactly?”

  “He told us and I should think it obvious: whatever Mr Hall wants. In addition to what he’s already told us, he probably can fix an engine with a wad of chewing gum and a bit of string, cross a gorge on a hundred shoelaces tied together, and shoot bad guys.”

  Karl nodded.

  “He could probably fly the Argo with his eyes poked out and his hands amputated.”

  Karl chuckled. “Maybe he could at that.”

  “Why did you accept the assignment, Karl?”

  “Because Mr Hall is ill and he called us his friends. In all my years working for him, I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. Perhaps I felt sorry for him.”

  “I see.”

  “Why did you agree to come along, Dru?”

  “As I said, to make sure you come back safely and in one piece. Also, I want to be with you. I love you, Karl. I’d walk through the gates of hell just to be by your side.”

  Karl looked at me. He said nothing. Just took in my face and looked into my eyes. At last, very softly, he said, “I do not know what I’ve done to gain such love, Dru. Whatever it was, I’m glad it was done. I am the luckiest man in the world.”

  “I don’t know that you’ve done anything, except be yourself. My love is given freely. You are the one I want to spend my life with.”

  “Oh, Dru…” His eyes became moist and he looked down. I was surprised. Karl is so very stoic. He looked up and said, “I don’t deserve you, but I’m very glad to have your love.
You make life worth living.”

  Herbert Ransome announced lunch was ready and that Admiral Rosendahl would take his luncheon with us.

  The Admiral arrived and greeted us. We sat at a table for six. The Admiral at one end and Branson at the other. I sat on Rosendahl’s right and Doctor Rodman on his left. Karl sat next to me and Franzen next to his colleague.

  Admiral Rosendahl said, “It’s been quite awhile since we last met, Lady Hurley-Drummond. Something like five years, hasn’t it been?”

  “It has indeed, Admiral. I interviewed you on board the USS Chillicothe, which you were commanding.”

  “Ah, yes. The Navy’s last venture into rigid lighter than air. That was in ’49, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “The Navy sold the ship to Trans-Oceanic Airlines. Still making runs to South America, I hear.”

  “She does. Re-christened the Southern Star. How does it feel to be back at the helm of an airship?”

  “Wonderful. Simply wonderful. I’m glad Hall gave me the opportunity.”

  Doctor Elise Rodman chimed in at this point. “Where we’re going is dangerous, though, is it not?”

  “I won’t say it isn’t, Doctor Rodman,” Rosendahl replied. “After all, we’ll be entering a war zone. I will, however, do my best to keep the ship out of danger.”

  “Isn’t Hall’s use of hydrogen an added danger?” Doctor Franzen asked.

  Rosendahl paused a moment, then said, “I flew on the old Graf Zeppelin and the Hindenburg and they used hydrogen. Never had an accident. The Germans were very careful to make sure the hydrogen was very pure. Today, the Germans have even better sealants for the gas cells and the hydrogen is ultra-pure. It takes the right air and hydrogen mix plus something to ignite the mix. To get all the components necessary for ignition is actually fairly difficult. Ask anyone who tried to shoot down the zeps in the Great War prior to the use of a combination of exploding and incendiary bullets and concentrated shooting.”

  Karl added, “However, when the right air and hydrogen mix is achieved just a tiny spark may be enough to cause ignition and then, Doctor Franzen, you better be wearing an asbestos suit.”

  “Yes, once ignited it is pretty much all over,” Rosendahl conceded.

  “So why not use helium?” Franzen asked.

  I answered, “Given the gas volume of the Argo, we’d have insufficient lift with helium to carry enough fuel to accomplish our mission. With helium, we would not even be able to cross the Atlantic.”

  Franzen merely frowned in reply.

  “Don’t worry, Doctor Franzen,” Branson said, “we are captained by the best airshipman the Navy had and we have a top-notch Navy crew, who are well aware of the safety precautions needed. We’ll be fine as long as you don’t light that pipe of yours.”

  Elise Rodman let out a laugh. The rest of us smiled.

  The first course arrived: Beef Tea with Marrow Dumplings. I love beef tea. Marrow dumplings, on the other hand, are simply not to my taste. Perhaps I’ve been in America too long.

  The soup was followed by a delicious salmon and an equally delicious Piesporter Michelsberg. After the fish, we were served roast beef with potatoes, gravy, and a side of lima beans in cream. The wine was a wonderfully spicy zinfandel from California. The salad course was a simple wedge of iceberg lettuce with Thousand Island dressing. Lemon water was served with the salad. The meal concluded with spiced pears topped with dark chocolate curls, coffee, and tea. Mr Hall certainly went the extra mile in making sure the ship was well provisioned.

  After lunch was over, Admiral Rosendahl excused himself and went back to the bridge. I took a nap. I was quite tired from last night’s lack of sleep and wanted to be fresh for supper. I’m not complaining, mind you. The hours of making love to Karl were worth the lack of sleep. Definitely so. Especially in light of things being way too cozy on the Argo to indulge in making love. Unless I stuffed a sock in my mouth. And I wouldn’t be averse to doing so. Karl, however, doesn’t drink Old Fashioneds for nothing.

  When I woke, I washed my face in the washroom and freshened up a bit. Reapplied my makeup and made sure my hair looked presentable. I dressed in a long narrow blue skirt with kick pleats in the back, a white blouse with a red tie, a matching blue jacket and shoes. And of course, my Chanel Number 5.

  We had cocktails the hour before supper. I find what people drink often tells a lot about them. Jake Branson had rye and water. Rather fitting, I thought, for our Man Friday. The one who will get us out of any scrapes we get into. Doctor Franzen had kirschwasser and soda, which I thought odd. Very Germanic. Perhaps he acquired the taste studying in Germany. I’ll have to find out. His colleague, Elise, had a white wine. California sophisticate. Karl had his Old Fashioned, which does indeed suit him on so very many levels. And I had a martini. What does that say about me? I’m emulating the “in” crowd? I follow the latest fashion trends? I don’t know. I do, though, like the olives.

  Our supper was as superb as was our luncheon. We had a potato soup followed by Deviled Herrings with Green Sauce. Our main course was curried eggs and a mixed green salad. Dessert was cheese and fruit.

  Supper conversation was light. We talked mostly about travel. Branson, we discovered, has spent quite a bit of time in Asia. All the way from India to Korea, which is under Japanese occupation. Doctors Franzen and Rodman have been on several expeditions to South America and the Middle East. Karl and I have literally been around the world. Neither of us have been to the Arctic or to Antarctica and I don’t think either of us have been to Samoa. Everywhere else we’ve left our footprints.

  When supper was over, Doctor Rodman proposed we play Bridge. I’m not much of a Bridge player myself. I prefer Whist or that new South American game, Canasta. Karl wasn’t interested in playing cards. He said he was tired and planned on going to bed early. Jake Branson agreed to play. We cut the cards to determine partners and I got Branson. He proved himself an excellent player, I was not in his or the professors’ league. I truly was the “dummy”. Our loss was embarrassingly bad. Unlike many Bridge players, Branson shrugged it off and didn’t hold it against me.

  “I’m sure Lady Hurley-Drummond would’ve done much better at a game of her choice,” he said.

  Such a gentleman is our Jack-of-all-trades.

  ***

  Saturday morning, Captain Jarvis Popovich took us on a tour of the Argo. He took us up to the bow and we got a chance to look out the forward observation window in the hull by the nose cone. We walked back along the keel towards the stern, the captain pointing out such things as storage units, fuel and water tanks, the crew’s mess, the gas bags and the netting which holds them in place, the rear emergency steering compartment in the lower tail fin, and the tail of the ship. Branson and I took advantage of the opportunity to cross over to one of the engine cars. The sixty mile per hour slipstream was quite something and completely ruined my hairdo. But to see the large engine was worth it.

  After lunch, on our way to Kansas City, we got to spend some time on the bridge. I even took over the helm for ten minutes. Great fun! Admiral Rosendahl answered our questions on flying the airship, which is not at all like flying a plane. It is very much like sailing a ship.

  Because of a storm near Chicago, the Admiral said we’d fly around the Windy City and in so doing add an hour or two to our flight. “I’d rather fly around a storm, than through one. Makes for a smoother ride,” he said.

  ***

  When I woke Sunday morning, Detroit was behind us and we were over Lake Erie. Lakehurst was before us and the completion of the first leg of our journey. Breakfast was continental-style and we served ourselves from a table loaded with pastries, rolls, jam, marmalade, fruit, soft boiled eggs, toast, coffee, and tea.

  To our surprise, Jake Branson brought out a portable record player and a stack of records. Being Sunday morning, he started with a Bach cantata and one of Handel’s Chandos Anthems. After the sacred concert, we listened to works by Chopin and Elgar and song
s by the famous tenor Mario Lanza.

  The Admiral informed us we had a good tailwind, enabling the airship to make up some of the time lost detouring around the storm, and would be arriving at Lakehurst around noon.

  Beneath us Pennsylvania and then New Jersey slipped by. I wondered if Dunyasha would agree to join to us. I would not blame her if she said “no”. Yet I so wanted her with me on this adventure. Her experience would be exceedingly valuable. Karl has a good analytical head on his shoulders. He lacks combat experience, however. Branson will be able to provide a military perspective. Dunyasha was a partisan. She’s blown things up, conducted campaigns, and, yes, killed people. She knows Russian, which will be, I think, an asset. And to tell the truth, if this turns out badly for us, for me, I’d like her there should I die. Die in Karl’s arms with Dunyasha caressing my face.

  My brown study was interrupted when I realized I was looking at the Lakehurst Naval Station. The Argo was flying a circle around the field and I knew from my previous airship trips Rosendahl would be adjusting the ship’s trim to get her level so she could come in for a landing. Gas would be valved and water ballast dumped to make sure we were not tail or bow heavy. Once trim was achieved, we’d be ready to land.

  I watched the Argo make for the mooring mast. Then the ship stopped moving and we slowly sank to the earth. There was a slight nudge from her engines and Argo was connected to the mast.

  Seven

  Dunyasha

  Lakehurst, New Jersey

  Afternoon into Night

  Sunday, 11 April 1954

  Before disembarking, the Chief Steward warned us we were scheduled for a midnight departure and to not go far. I mostly wanted to stretch my legs. The professors exited first, having an animated discussion over source material for the Iliad. Karl and I were behind them and Jake Branson was behind us.