Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II

by Robert P McAuley

  Most of his time was spent in a deck chair studying a German-English dictionary, and the fourteen days passed quickly. He patted his stomach as he dressed on the last day of the trip and thought, God I really hope I come home on the airship. I’ll have to let out my waistband if I keep eating like this.

  The big steamship arrived at Hamburg on the sunny morning of April 29, and knowing that the Hindenburg left from Frankfurt, John went directly to the Hamburg municipal airport and bought an airplane ticket. He was directed to an open door that led to the tarmac, as a flight was just about to depart.

  The airplane was a silver colored, Junkers Ju-52 tri-motor. Wow! He thought as he gaped at it. Lots of German soldiers of the coming World War would come to know this aircraft as “Tante Ju” or Auntie Ju, an endearment short for ‘Auntie Junkers.’ It was one of the most reliable aircraft ever produced.

  He followed the passengers as they entered through the door in the side of the aircraft. There were no side-by-side seating, just two single rows of seats, one on each side of the aisle. Also, there were no assigned seats so he sat in a rattan seat next to a window. Because there was no door between the passenger area and the cockpit, the time traveler could see the pilot and co-pilot as they flipped various switches and toggles. Finally, with a belch of smoke and a roar, the first, then second and third engines came to life. The passengers all sat at a slight up-angle because the aircraft had a tail wheel rather than a tricycle landing gear. The pilot warmed the engines up, then, with a look and smile to the passengers behind him, gave an excited grin and pushed the three throttles forward. The aircraft bumped down the runway and suddenly the tail wheel lifted up and he felt a floating sensation as it continued on its way on the two fat, main tires. They lifted off and the feeling went from floating to soaring as the Ju-52 leaped into the air.

  After reaching an altitude of nine thousand feet, which was low enough not to need oxygen, the flight attendant served coffee or beer. John had a dark beer and sat back, feeling history vibrate through his entire body as he watched the pilot maneuver the tri-motor between towering, white clouds. Thinking about what he was experiencing, he thought, Boy, the things I can’t tell people. Amazing!

  After landing in Frankfurt, he rented a room in a hotel close to the Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei airfield. That evening, he walked out to the field to try to get a glimpse of the big airship, but all that was visible was the enormous hangar that housed her. Meanwhile, he noticed an over-eager security force that watched him the entire time he strolled around the fence that bordered the field.

  He spent the next four days sightseeing. Once, as he looked in the reflection of a window of an antique store, he spotted a man who watched him from across the street. When John turned and faced him, the man began to walk away. Two days later John spotted the same man again and, remembering where he was, thought, got to watch it.

  On the morning of May 4, he checked out of his room. It was a twenty-minute walk to the airfield, and he went outside to hail a taxi. A black Mercedes pulled up and two men got out. Hey, thought John as he spotted them, that guy was at the wharf in New York. The man flipped open his wallet and showed him an identification badge. It was in German but had a swastika at the top. The other, much bigger man stood back a few paces with his hands deep in his pockets and watched John coldly.

  “Mr. Brand,” the man from the wharf said with a smile, “we meet again.”

  John looked at them. “Have we met?”

  “Please, Mr. Brand, allow us to take you to the airport,” the man said, holding the door open.

  “Thanks, but I’m looking for a taxi.”

  “We insist, Mr. Brand. Please get in,” he said firmly.

  With an exaggerated sigh, John said, “What do you want from me? My passport is in order.”

  “Please, Mr. Brand,” the man said. “We need to ask you a few questions. You’ll be at the airport in plenty of time.” He gestured to the car.

  John got in reluctantly and they sat on either side of him. The car sped off. “Where are you taking me?” he demanded. Neither man answered.

  Finally, the car pulled up at an office building. They got out and John followed one while the other walked behind him. Going into the building and up two flights of stairs, they entered a drab-looking office.

  Both men removed their coats and hats, and the one from New York turned to John. “I’m Klaus Rittner, Mr. Brand. Please be seated.” He pointed to a chair that faced a desk. Rittner sat at the desk. John looked at him.

  “What am I here for?”

  “I am an officer in the security department for the German government, Mr. Brand, and I am investigating the rumor of a possible saboteur blowing up the Hindenburg.”

  John’s eyebrows arched, “So? What’s that got to do with me?”

  Rittner lit a cigarette and sat back. “Mr. Brand, right from the start you were suspicious. You purchased tickets for both the Hindenburg and the Reliance at the last possible minute. You arrived at the ticket office of the Hindenburg a few hours after Mr. and Mrs. Charles Gustav canceled their tickets. All of the sudden he has a job offer in New York. What perfect timing you seem to have, Mr. Brand. You give a story of wanting to write an article on two of Germany’s proudest symbols of strength. And all of this when there are rumors of a mad person going to blow up the Hindenburg.”

  He flicked his ashes into an oversized ashtray. “My colleagues and I agree that you should be kept off the Hindenburg.”

  John jumped to his feet. “You can’t stop me from boarding. I have my ticket. I’m a citizen of the United States of America.”

  The big man behind John stepped forward and put his hands on John’s shoulders. They were like iron grips that forced him back in his seat. Rittner said a few words in German, and the man stepped back. “Mr. Brand,” he said in a soft voice, “you are wrong, I can stop you from boarding. Tell me, if the situations were reversed and you heard a rumor that the Statue of Liberty was going to be blown up, what would you do? Believe such a flimsy story that you are presenting to us?” He smiled as he put out his cigarette. “I think you would do the very same thing, Mr. Brand.”

  John was at a loss. I can’t tell them I know the Hindenburg is going to blow up, he thought, that’d make it even worse. He looked at his interrogator and asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Brand. Tonight my wife is visiting her mother and I can go home to a cold supper, or stay here and assure that a national treasure of Germany stays safe. I have paperwork to catch up on, and there is another room where you can relax and wait.”

  John shrugged his shoulders and said, “Wait? Wait for what?”

  Rittner looked at his watch. “Wait a few hours until the Hindenburg lifts off. Then you may go, Mr. Brand, and we can all go home.”

  The big man tapped John on his shoulder and motioned to a door. John, resigned, walked into the other room and sat in an easy chair and thought, The mission is doomed! What can I do? He heard the door lock.

  More than three hours later the door opened and Rittner handed him his suitcase. “Mr. Brand, we are not so bad as you think. I took the liberty of transferring your Hindenburg ticket for a steamship ticket. Your ship is the Cologne, and it leaves from the same dock that the Reliance came in on. We will drop you off at the airport on our way home.”

  John was perplexed. “When does . . .”

  “It leave?” asked Rittner. “In three hours, Mr. Brand. So we had better hurry.”

  John was getting the bum’s rush, and he knew there was not a thing he could do about it. He took his suitcase and followed them.

  They deposited him at the airport where two of their men escorted him aboard another Ju-52. The trip this time lost its appeal as the men sat behind him and his only consolation was when one of them got airsick. After landing, they escorted him to the gangplank of a cargo ship, the Cologne. It was old and rusted, and the crew looked at him as an unwanted extra. He walked up the gangplank, and a sail
or in dirty overalls motioned for John to follow him. Down in the bowels of the ship he was shown a small unkempt room with no washroom.

  He dropped his suitcase and turned to the sailor. “Where’s the washroom?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders and gestured that he didn’t understand English. John mimed a man washing his hands, and the sailor gave a grin of comprehension and pointed down a long, almost painted hall, to a door at the end. Fourteen days of this, John thought. I can’t believe it. He went inside his cabin and locked the door. He opened the suitcase and got out his hairbrush. He pressed down on it as he twisted. The handgrip turned and the brush part detached leaving a small screen and keyboard. He looked at his watch. The Hindenburg had left hours ago. The time traveler started to type when someone tried the door. He put the hairbrush back together quickly and opened the door. A steward in a white jacket stood there.

  John looked at him and asked, “Yes?”

  “Der Kaptain vould see you,” he said. John nodded, closed the door and followed.

  The man took him up to a cabin on deck. The captain’s cabin was large and tidy. Rank has its privileges, thought John.

  The captain was a small, thin man with a mustache and ready smile. He clicked his heels and bowed a bit from the waist. “Mr. Brand. Correct?”

  John returned the same half-bow. “Yes, captain.”

  “Captain Klump,” he said. “This is not the Reliance, Mr. Brand, but it does its job as designed by the German shipbuilders, Blum Und Voss. It can sail as fast as twelve knots and is very seaworthy. Come, I will show you my ship.” Klump turned and started to walk away, expecting John to follow. He did.

  The captain was obviously proud of his ship, and when they got to John’s cabin, John noticed the door was now open. “Captain, I closed this door when I left. Did you invite me to tour your ship so my room could be searched?”

  Klump looked at him with a hurt expression. “Mr. Brand, if I wanted, I could have had you searched before you got aboard my ship. Do you think I need this tour as a subterfuge? I am the ship’s master. If I take you on a tour, it’s strictly to show you my ship, not to have your room searched. I’m sure my attendant was just checking to see if there was anything you needed.”

  John shook his head. “Sorry, captain. You’re right. It’s just that I’ve been through a lot these past few hours.”

  Klump nodded. “I understand. Now follow me and we shall dine.”

  John dutifully followed.

  The dinner was filling, but tasteless compared to his trip to Germany. By the time he got back to his cabin, the Hindenburg had been in the air for more than six hours. All during dinner all he could think about was sending a text message to Bill. Something has to be done, he thought, but what? Finally, he was able to lock his door and once again open the communicator. He typed in:

  “BILL, PROBLEM! SOME NAZI GOONS STOPPED ME FROM GOING ONBOARD THE HINDENBURG. IT’S NOW OVER SIX HOURS SINCE THE HINDENBURG TOOK OFF. THEY PUT ME ON A TRAMP STEAMER BOUND FOR NEW YORK. I SHOULD BE THERE IN ABOUT FOURTEEN DAYS. I’LL STAY IN TOUCH. I’M REALLY SORRY ABOUT THIS. LET ME KNOW IF I CAN DO ANYTHING. JOHN.”

  He hit the ‘send’ button but didn’t get a ‘sent’ confirmation bleep. He hit it again, but still there was no confirming bleep that the message was sent. John retyped the message and tried to send it again, with the same results. What’s going on? He tried again, but the message still didn’t send. Maybe I’m too far away from New York, he thought. Maybe that’s it. I’ll get some sleep and try again tomorrow.

  He didn’t sleep well that night or the next eighteen nights. The trip took longer than expected. High rolling seas made the captain slow the ship down, and a big storm one night, saw them doing only six knots. John tried each day and again at night to send a message to Bill, but it didn’t go through.

  Finally, on a warm morning in May, John walked down the gangplank in New York City. He went into a phone booth and tried to send Bill the message again, but still it didn’t go. He slumped down in the seat of the booth and closed his eyes. Please, no, he thought, don’t let this be happening.

  The time trekker put the communicator away and took a taxi to The 1800 Club. Standing in front of the building, he tried to send the message again. It didn’t go. John was now totally devastated. He walked over to Diamonds Bar & Grill and sat at the bar.

  Paddy came to serve him and with a smile asked, “What can I get you, fella?”

  John looked up and said, “Beer. Tall one, Paddy.” He put a dollar bill on the bar. The bartender walked away, pulled a tall glass of beer, came back and put it down. John picked it up and asked, “Do you remember me, Paddy?”

  “Never forget a face, Mister. Terrible with names, but always remember a face,” he said. “You were in here a couple of weeks ago. You and a friend.”

  John took a sip. “Yes. Have you seen my friend lately?”

  Paddy shook his head. “Nope! Never saw him before or since.” He started to walk away with the money.

  John put his beer down, almost spilling the drink. “Wait!” he sputtered, “You never saw him before?”

  Paddy rang up the sale at the cash register, came back and put the change down. “Nope! Never saw him or you before a couple of weeks ago.”

  John’s mouth fell open. “You don’t remember him? Bill . . . Bill Scott?”

  Paddy stood long enough to show he had interest in his customers, then turned and walked back to his taps. “Nope. Like I said, I never forget a face. Never saw him before or since.” He turned his attention to another customer.

  John stared into his beer. My God! It’s happened! I’m trapped here. I’m trapped back in 1937. I didn’t stop the Hindenburg from blowing up prematurely and the inventor of the time machine was never born because his ancestor perished on it. He drank his beer and ordered another. I have to take stock of my situation, he thought.

  John took out a pencil and paper and wrote: 1937. No job. No place to live. No friends or relatives. He took out his billfold and counted his money, then wrote again: $762.56. He put the paper in his pocket, finished his beer and left.

  The time traveler stood outside of the bar and thought, All right, first things first. Got to get a place to sleep. But, before I do that . . .

  Again, he walked over to the garden of the building that was The 1800 Club. He tried to send the message but got the same results as before. As he started to leave, a thin, old man with gray hair and a droopy mustache walked past him and stood in front of the club’s garden gate. John watched as he fumbled for a key, got it and opened the gate. He went in and closed the gate behind him.

  John stepped up to the gate and, smiling at the old man, said. “Excuse me, sir.”

  The man turned as he put the key in his sagging pants and looked at John. “Help ya?”

  “Yes, can you tell me if there’s a hotel around here?”

  The man shuffled over to the gate, stopped and pointed to the left. “’Bout eight blocks down that way. Small place called the Manhattan Hotel.”

  John nodded and said, “Beautiful garden. You do the work?”

  The old man’s face lit up. “Yep! I been taking care of this garden for over eight years now.”

  John could see he was proud of it. “Its a work of art,” he said and the man could tell he meant it.

  “Want to come in and sit for a spell?” he asked, opening the gate.

  John walked in and looked around. It was the same as he had left it a few weeks ago. He shook his head. He felt dizzy as he started to become overwhelmed by his situation.

  The old man grabbed his arm with surprising strength, “Hey, you all right, mister?” He helped John to a stone seat.

  “I’m okay, just tired. Who owns this place?”

  “Mr. Robert Mylar. It’s been in his family for years. Ever since the building’s been here.”

  John stood and put out his hand. They shook hands and John said, “Thank you, sir. I’ve got to get some rest. Thanks again.”
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br />   “You take care, young fella,” said the elderly man, letting him out.

  At the Manhattan Hotel, John got a small room for the night. He realized he had to make every penny count until he got some kind of work. The bill for the night was three dollars. To save money, he ate at a Horn & Hardart automat.

  In John’s time, the food chain had disappeared, and he enjoyed talking to the cashier who gave him change for the food dispensing machines. The food was displayed behind small glass doors with knobs that could be opened after inserting the correct change in the slot. He selected a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with carrots and peas on the side, a buttered roll and coffee and apple pie for dessert. The entire bill came to one dollar and fifty cents. Maybe I can really stretch my seven hundred plus dollars, John thought with a smile. He bought a newspaper, the Daily News for two cents at a corner newsstand and took it to his room.

  There was news about the Hindenburg. “NO SURVIVORS!” the headline screamed. “Dateline: London. Bodies are still washing up on the east coast of England and Scotland. Charred wreckage picked up by the British navy and private boats point to an explosion aboard the huge German airship Hindenburg as it flew over the English Channel. The German government has declared that the investigation points to sabotage.”

  John read and reread the article. I failed, he thought, and I can’t even get back to try again. The inventor’s great-great-grandfather died, and the Time Machine was never invented. He shook his head as he thought, but if it wasn’t invented, what am I doing here? If it wasn’t invented, how did I go back to this time? He paced the floor. I don’t understand it and I don’t have anyone to ask about it. He went to bed but hardly slept.