The Red Zeppelin (Hilary Manningham-Butler Book 2)

by Jack Treby

  ‘You monster!’ I breathed, struggling desperately to make sense of what was happening. I put a hand to my mouth, thinking to make myself retch. But it was already too late for that.

  Sir George smiled coldly. ‘You look surprised. You didn’t suspect me at all?’

  ‘I...no...I...’ I really hadn’t. Sir George was a national hero, a world renowned explorer. Why would he get involved in anything as grubby as murder? ‘You’re...you’re responsible for all this? For everything that’s happened on board the Richthofen?’ It was unbelievable. Every schoolboy in England knew his name. His exploits were reported in the Times. ‘Why...why would you...?’

  ‘Why did I do it?’ He chuckled quietly. ‘For the money, old boy. What else? I’m not ready to be put out to grass just yet.’ He took another sip of whisky. ‘There are places in this world that have never been seen by a white man. And I want to see them. But expeditions cost money. And after that last debacle in Antarctica, no one was willing to invest. So, I needed to make alternative arrangements. It wasn’t just the money, though.’ His eyes lit up. ‘It was the thrill of it. Playing the odds. Taking the chance. There’s nothing to beat it. The rush of adrenalin.’ He downed the dregs of his glass. ‘This whisky really is excellent. I might have another, if you don’t mind.’

  I watched the fellow in disbelief as he poured out another glassful. I couldn’t believe he was standing there so calmly, rationalising his actions, after what he had just done to me. ‘You’re not going to get away with this,’ I stammered, clutching my throat. ‘I’ll see you hang.’ I would scream the place down, summon the steward, cry blue murder so everyone could hear.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Sir George conceded. ‘I’ve had something of a run of bad luck these last few days. By all means summon one of the stewards. Have me restrained. Give me up to the law. But that won’t save you, old boy. And if you do cause a fuss, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you.’

  ‘Help me?’ I snorted. ‘How can you help me?’ What on earth was he talking about?

  ‘I’m not a cruel man. You are going to die, but there’s no need for you to suffer.’ He downed the whisky in one. ‘I can make it quick for you, old boy. Put you out of your misery.’

  I laughed bitterly. ‘What are you going to do? Slit my throat?’

  ‘Nothing so crude.’ He glanced through the door across the promenade ‘It’s a lovely evening. I thought you might go for a swim.’

  I tried to laugh a second time, but barely a sound came out. The taste of the poison was burning the inside of my mouth. My heart was thumping ever faster and my hands were gripping tightly to the chair. ‘You’re mad,’ I said again. ‘That’s your idea of help, is it? Throwing me out the window. Then you can blame me for everything that’s happened.’

  He nodded sagely. ‘It would be convenient to have you out the way.’

  ‘You’re dreaming.’ The glass panels were barely large enough to fit a man through in any case. ‘I’m not going to help you. I’d rather suffer and see you exposed for the scoundrel you are.’

  ‘It’s your choice of course.’ Sir George placed his glass back on the table. ‘You’re thinking of calling out for the steward in the corridor. A good idea. Why don’t we bring him in here? Then the two of us can sit and watch you die.’

  I rose unsteadily to my feet. I couldn’t fathom what he was playing at. How could he be so calm? He couldn’t possibly believe he would get away with any of this.

  ‘No, don’t trouble yourself,’ he said, raising his hands to ward me off. ‘I’ll summon him myself.’

  He disappeared out the door and round the corner into the lounge hall. A few seconds elapsed and then I heard a dull thud. Seconds later, there was a light scraping sound and Sir George reappeared, dragging the unconscious figure of the steward into the games room.

  I regarded him with astonishment. ‘You really are mad,’ I breathed. ‘You can’t expect to get away with this.’

  ‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m a gambling man. This is my last throw of the dice.’

  ‘But...but...’ I looked down at the prone form. Sir George appeared to have to hit him pretty hard. ‘There are other people about.’ There were a nearly a dozen passengers within shouting distance. ‘He’s not the only one who’ll hear me.’

  ‘No, you’re right, Mr Bland. You can wake the whole ship if you want to. Scream and shout as much as you like.’ He moved forward around the table and, before I had any idea what he was doing, he leapt at me. I felt hard metal pressed against my throat. A sweaty hand clamped my mouth shut. I couldn’t see what Sir George was pressing against my neck, but I could feel the serrated edges. Another bloody steak knife. He was consistent, I had to give him credit for that. ‘We’re going for a little walk,’ he whispered. ‘Just down the stairs. It shouldn’t take a minute. I would appreciate it if you kept quiet.’ He started to manhandle me towards the door. ‘If you struggle or make a noise, I will slit your throat without a second thought. It won’t be a pleasant way to die.’

  I allowed him to direct me out into the lounge towards the corridor. He was taking one hell of a risk. We had to get the length of the connecting passageway without being seen. There was at least one other fellow on duty, probably in the stewards’ cabin on the port side, keeping an eye on the bell pushes. Given all that had gone on, the crewman would be bound to investigate any loud footsteps.

  At this point, I could easily have made a noise, kicked my feet, drawn attention. I was dead anyway, what did a couple of minutes matter? But a knife to the throat is a powerful disincentive. I did not doubt that Sir George would carry out his threat.

  We made it to the stairs and headed down to B Deck. My brain was fuzzing. I could barely breathe, but still I found a moment to wonder just what his intentions were. Was he really expecting me to jump out of the airship of my own volition? And from where? The windows of the starboard promenade were already far behind us.

  The lights were dimmed in the lower corridor. Max the barman would probably be in his cot by now, on the other side of the airlock at the far end of the passageway. He would be unlikely to hear anything from this distance. The crew sections would be busy, of course, even at this hour, but none of the crewmen were likely to venture into this part of the ship. There was a set of narrow windows at floor level on the right hand side, running the length of the corridor, but these could not be opened. There was a second set of stairs behind us, parallel to the ones we had just descended. This was the exit ramp, the retractable stairs that led out of the Richthofen once the airship had landed safely. And it was this set that Sir George now directed me towards. The steps were laid out horizontally on the lower curve of the ship. A couple of bolts and a handle kept them in place during the flight but they could be lowered at will.

  Sir George released my neck from his grip and thrust me towards the steps. I tripped over the uneven surface and smacked to the ground, just avoiding the aluminium handrail. While I was struggling to get myself up, the man unbolted the locks; then he grabbed the handle and gripped onto it firmly, his face beaming with triumph.

  I was having difficulty finding my balance. The rat poison was slowly beginning to have its effect. I was feeling nauseous and was having trouble concentrating. Part of me wanted to vomit but nothing was coming up. I had barely eaten more than a sandwich at dinner. I dropped backwards onto the horizontal stairs, unable to lift myself up except onto the back of an elbow.

  ‘Not feeling too well, old boy?’ Sir George asked, with mock sympathy. ‘It’ll really start to hit you in a few minutes. This will be much quicker.’ He gestured to the handle. ‘Kinder in the long run, don’t you think?’ A quick flick of his wrist and I would plummet into the icy depths.

  I clasped a hand to my face and regarded my nemesis with despair. ‘People looked up to you,’ I breathed. ‘All those schoolchildren who learn about you. The great explorer. What would they think? You’re just a common murderer!’

  Sir Geor
ge did not flinch. ‘Hardly common, old boy. And it was never my intention to kill anybody.’

  ‘Don't make excuses.’ Anger was bubbling up inside me. ‘You...you killed Jacob Finch in cold blood. And you killed Walter Kendall.’

  ‘You can’t blame me for his death,’ Sir George countered sourly. ‘You killed the American. I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on his head. Why would I? I needed him alive. You were the one causing all the trouble. It was you I wanted to dispose of.’

  I coughed in surprise. So Maurice had been right. The rat poison had been intended for me all along. ‘Well, it looks like you’ve got your way,’ I admitted, coughing again. ‘Tell me one thing though. That...that damned file. How did you get it out of England? You must have had an accomplice.’ Sir George had not been on the plane out of Croydon.

  He smiled, content it seemed, in my final minutes, to satisfy my curiosity. Sir George always had liked the sound of his own voice. ‘I did have an accomplice. Chap by the name of Mick Durrant. We sailed together on my last expedition. A veteran seaman. Bit of a Lothario too. He was the one who got your file out of the country.’

  I shook my head. ‘But...but he fled the airfield. He was picked up in Holyhead. He wasn’t on the flight to Friedrichshafen.’ I flinched momentarily as a stab of pain hit my stomach, but I steeled myself against it. ‘Somebody...somebody else must have acted as courier for you. Someone on board this ship.’

  Sir George shook his head. ‘There was no courier. I didn’t need one, old chap.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘What do you think pays for all this?’ He gestured vaguely to the ship. I looked up at the dull ceiling above us, not quite sure what he was getting at. ‘How do you think they cover their running costs, the Zeppelin company? For a huge craft like this? It isn’t from paying passengers.’ He smirked. ‘It’s the mail. That’s where the money is, old boy. They carry the post between Europe and the Americas. It’s piled up in bags and franked during the flight. Post from France, Spain, Germany. And post from the United Kingdom.’

  Suddenly I understood. ‘And the post was carried on the flight from Croydon?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  That was why Captain Rüdiger had been happy to deputize as pilot, when the original fellow had called in sick. The company couldn’t afford to lose revenue from the mail.

  ‘My man Durrant slipped the rolls of film into an envelope and slapped an address on it for Rio de Janeiro. The envelope wouldn’t have been franked until the Zeppelin left Friedrichshafen. And if anyone searched the cabins, they wouldn’t find anything.’ As Finch had discovered, much to his chagrin. ‘But I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be on board, least of all a policeman. That was when the whole thing started to unravel.’

  ‘Special Branch. They checked the original file on Saturday morning. So they were onto you from the start.’

  ‘Durrant got away but they had a chap following the negatives. Your Mr Finch. He managed to get a ticket on board the Richthofen. And by Jove, what a fool that man was. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I could tell at a glance that he was no threat to me. But then Special Branch got in touch with your people, the SIS. And they got in contact with Charles Lazenby.’

  And that, of course, was how I had become involved.

  ‘But how...how did you know about the prince’s file in the first place? You’ve never been a member of Special Branch.’ I coughed. ‘And...and you’re nothing to do with the security services.’

  ‘No, I’m just an opportunist and a gambler,’ Sir George admitted cheerfully. ‘And so, I have to say, is Charles Lazenby.’

  My mouth fell open. ‘He was in it with you?’

  ‘It was his idea. He used to work for Special Branch, until he got a transfer to the SIS.’

  I did remember hearing that, come to think of it.

  ‘He’d toyed with the idea of walking out with that file for years. A nice little nest egg for his old age. But he’s clever. He knew he’d never get away with it while he was still an insider. So he bided his time. Waited a few years. And then he struck.’

  ‘But how do you know him?’

  ‘We’re old friends. Gamblers. Drinking acquaintances. We’ve played a lot of cards together. I did a lecture in Madrid a few months ago and we met up for a game.’

  ‘He’s a card sharp like you?’

  ‘I’m not a card sharp, old boy. I don’t need to cheat.’ The man spoke with the quiet authority of a professional gambler. ‘It’s easy enough to keep track of the cards, if you pay proper attention. The important thing is not to win every match, otherwise no one will play with you. You just have to make sure you’re up over all.’ He chuckled quietly. ‘Lazenby and I were of like minds. He knew I was up for a bit of adventure. And he knew all about the clerks in the records office back in London. That little spinster in particular. He said she was ripe for the plucking.’ Sir George laughed again. ‘I suggested Durrant for the job. He knows how to handle the ladies. He got a position as a baggage handler, contrived a meeting and then set about seducing the poor creature. Had her eating out of his hand. She thought they were going to run away together. The sad, deluded girl.’

  ‘And you and...and Lazenby would split the cash when you sold the files to the American press?’

  ‘That’s the ticket. Except the damned woman made a complete hash of the documents when she pulled out the file. Too many small bits of paper, I suppose. She put everything back wrongly and it was discovered before our copy had even left the country. Of course, if things had gone to plan, I would have been in America before anyone realised anything was awry. And there would have been nothing to connect me to any of it.’

  ‘But when it did go wrong, Charles Lazenby was called in to investigate?’

  ‘Yes, that was the only bit of good luck we had. He’s the head honcho in Spain and the airship was stopping in Seville. Your lot didn’t trust Special Branch to handle the recovery. I can’t say I blame them. And they weren’t entirely convinced your man Finch wasn’t involved in the theft himself. He had organised a second plane out of London pretty sharpish. So they wanted their own man on board. Lazenby tried to put them off, but they insisted on it. He had no choice, he had to stick somebody on the flight. He’d met you a few times, of course, and – to be blunt, old boy – he didn’t rate you at all. He put your name forward, London agreed and on board you came.’

  So I had been destined for the Richthofen from the moment I had received that first telegram on Saturday evening.

  ‘And you met up with Lazenby when you arrived in Seville?’

  ‘Yes, of course. By Jove, that was a bit of a surprise, having him turn up at the hotel. I wasn’t expecting to see him for months. Not if things had gone to plan. But I knew something had gone wrong as soon as we left Germany. That chap Finch was an obvious plant. And Lazenby confirmed my suspicions. I could have coped with one damned fool on this flight, but having two of you on board, that was a bit tricky. Lazenby did his best to put you off the scent, focusing all your attention on Walter Kendall, but I was concerned that you might still stumble across the truth.’

  ‘So you decided to bump me off?’

  ‘It was the only way, old chap. Nothing personal. To be honest, I was all for killing Finch as well, but Lazenby had a much better idea. He suggested we kill you and frame Finch for the murder. London already suspected him. If I could confirm their suspicions, they’d have a chap from the embassy meet him in Rio and that would be that. I’d get clean away, without a whiff of scandal.’

  ‘But you botched it, didn’t you? You killed the wrong man.’

  Sir George regarded me sourly. ‘That was your fault. How was I to know you were carrying a sleeping draught in your cabin that you weren’t intending to use?’

  ‘Lazenby didn’t tell you about that?’

  ‘Why would he? He’d left it up to me as to how I was going to kill you. I was planning to dope your drink. That bottle of whisky. How are you feeling by the way?’<
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  ‘Like hell,’ I said. My stomach was churning and I was having difficulty focusing my eyes. But I wasn’t gasping my last just yet. Fifteen to twenty minutes, he had said, before I passed out. That meant I still had a little time left. And if I could keep Sir George talking, there was just the chance somebody might stumble across us. Or perhaps the steward he had clobbered would wake up and raise the alarm. If Sir George was caught in the act, my death would not be completely in vain. But the damned fellow was keeping his voice low. He liked to boast but even he was not so foolish as to boast loudly just now. And I could not make a noise without him immediately pulling that handle. His left hand was still grasping the lever firmly.

  ‘Won’t be long now, old boy,’ he said.

  ‘So how...?’ I coughed. ‘How did you get hold of the rat poison?’

  ‘Simplicity itself. I liberated it from Josef Kaufmann. Lindt had been crowing about that damned tin since we left Germany. His great joke. The chap really has no sense of humour. And Kaufmann rarely locked his door so I was able to nip in and out of his cabin shortly before we left Seville. As I say, I was going to slip the powder into your whisky. But then I saw the sleeping draught among your things and that seemed the ideal solution.’

  ‘But Lazenby gave me that powder to drug Walter Kendall. He sent me a telegram, instructing me to use it on the American.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Sir George raised an eyebrow. ‘That I didn’t know. Oh, he’s clever, you have to give him that. Covering himself with London. But I’ll bet he didn’t mention Kendall by name.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ I blinked. My eyes were starting to swim, but I was damned if I was going to lose my concentration just yet.

  Sir George nodded knowingly. ‘He’ll have told his bosses he was encouraging you to dope Mr Finch, so you could search his room. That’s what they would be expecting you to do. To keep an eye on the man from Special Branch.’