Andy, Bert and Harry talked until far into the night, discussing the proposed meeting of the Goliath and the submarine Neptune at the North Pole.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Andy, “that the Goliath will be able to make the trip on schedule. What I’m wondering about is the tin fish.”
“You can cease worrying right now,” replied Harry. “The Neptune isn’t a cast-off navy submarine refitted for a polar cruise. It’s a long-distance underwater cruiser of the latest type and only a multi-millionaire explorer like Gilbert Mathews could afford to operate such a craft. Believe me, it’s some boat.”
“And believe me,” added Bert, “the Goliath is some airship. Wait until you see it in the daylight. Its size will fairly take your breath away.”
“I can believe you easily enough,” replied Harry, “for the eastern newspapers have been carrying a great many feature stories about the Goliath. Only the National Airways haven’t been giving out a lot of actual facts and with reporters barred from the plant here, they’ve had to guess at part of the stories they’ve been printing. Everyone is anxious for an actual view of the big ship.”
“You’ll be in on all of the previews,” Andy promised, “and if you stay with us long enough I can promise you several trial flights.”
“Bert and I will probably be through in a month,” said Harry. “Then I’ll have to hop down to Brooklyn and make the final adjustments on the set aboard the Neptune. After that’s done I may be able to get back here for a few days. I’d certainly like to go along on the trial runs.”
There were no more alarms that night and finally the three young enthusiasts ceased talking and dropped into deep slumber.
The next day was clear with a warm sun and a definite note of spring was in the air. Birds, on their northward flight, wheeled over the hangar and the grass was a fresher, brighter green.
Andy made the rounds at the hangar with Harry, an eager observer, at his side. Assembly of the main gondola was starting, a task which Andy was to personally supervise. In this large car would be located the control room and the passengers quarters with their individual staterooms, dining salons and lounging quarters. Quarters for the crew were built inside the hull and in the middle of the ship between the banks of gas cells.
Harry was properly impressed with the size of the Goliath and exclaimed at the engineering progress which had been made in its construction.
Andy explained how the double-strength duralumin had increased the strength of the frame to such a point that a disaster such as had befallen the Shenandoah could not strike the Goliath.
“How many passengers will you be able to carry when the ship goes into transcontinental service?” Harry asked.
“We’ll have sleeping accommodations for 200,” replied Andy, “and during daytime runs between large cities will be able to carry an extra 100.”
“Will the fares be pretty stiff?” asked Harry. “Not as much as you would expect. They will average railroad plus Pullman.”
“In that case,” said Harry, “you can be sure of capacity business for a good many years.”
“We’ll have to if National Airways is to break even on the operation of the Goliath,” said Andy.
Bert, who had remained in the office to check over blueprints on an especially complicated piece of radio equipment for the Goliath, hurried up.
“Andy,” he said. “Herman Blatz is here.”
“Who?” asked Andy.
“Blatz,” repeated Bert, “Herman Blatz. He’s the civilian observer from Friedrichshafen.”
“Of course,” grinned Andy. “I’d forgotten the name for a moment. What does he look like?”
“Fine looking sort of a fellow,” replied Bert. “He’s just about our own age; not quite as tall as you are and dark; brown eyes and hair that is almost coal black.”
“If you don’t mind running back to the office,” said Andy, “tell him that I’ll be along presently. I want to make sure that the assembly of the gondola starts smoothly.”
Andy became engrossed in the direction of the subforemen and their crews and he even forgot Harry, much less the newcomer who was waiting for him in the office.
An hour later Bert returned.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded. “I thought you said you’d be along right away. Blatz has been cooling his heels for more than an hour.”
“Sorry,” grinned Andy, who had been helping with the assembly. “I was so interested I forgot all about him. I’ll come along with you.”
The young engineer crawled out from beneath the duralumin frame on which he had been working, wiped his hands on a piece of waste, brushed off his dungarees, the universal uniform of engineers, foremen and mechanics at the Bellevue plant.
Andy stepped into his office, blinked his eyes to accustom them to the dark interior, and looked into the face of Lieut. Serge Larko, secret agent of Alexis Reikoff’s Grega, who had been assigned the task of bringing about the destruction of the Goliath. But Andy was to know the visitor as Herman Blatz, civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, and he stepped forward with a cordial greeting.
“We shall be delighted to have you with us,” said Andy, “and I must apologize for my tardiness in greeting you. We have just started the assembly of the main gondola and I have been giving it my personal supervision.”
“The Goliath is that near completion?” asked Lieutenant Larko, who from here on we shall speak of in his new role as Herman Blatz.
“We’ll be making trial flights in less than two months,” replied Andy enthusiastically.
“It was well that I arrived at this time,” said Blatz, “for I will be able to remain long enough for the trial flights.”
“The war department communications indicated that you would probably accompany us on the test trips,” said Andy.
“Yes,” replied Blatz. “Europe is greatly interested in the Goliath and I feel it a rare privilege that I have been assigned here.”
The young German’s pronunciation of English was clear and precise, his words close-clipped in the Teuton manner.
“I understand that you have been at Friedrichshafen some time,” said Andy.
“Yes,” replied Blatz, who dreaded questions about the Germany airship base. He wondered how much this young American might really know about him; how much he might suspect for he had sensed instantly that Andy was suspicious of every newcomer.
“I spent a year at Friedrichshafen,” said Andy. “It is possible that we know a number of the same men there. Do you recall Bauer and Schillig, who were the aces of the navigation class in 1929?”
“The names are familiar,” replied Blatz, “but I went through navigation the preceding year.” Harry and Bert came into the office and Andy introduced the German expert and the radio operator of the Neptune.
“You are going to carry a submarine radio operator on an airship?” asked Blatz.
“Oh, no,” replied Bert quickly. He was about to explain that the Goliath and the Neptune were to meet at the North pole that summer but a warning glance from Andy silenced him, and he added, rather lamely.
“Harry and I were department of commerce operators and he’s down here helping me with the final assembly of the set for the Goliath.”
“Very fortunate. I’m sure,” said Blatz.
“You understand,” said Andy, “that there are certain construction secrets which I can not divulge?”
“Of course,” replied Blatz, “and I assure you that you need have no worry on that score.”
Andy suggested that they make a tour of the plant and Blatz readily assented for he was anxious to see the Goliath. He had received some idea of the size when he had flown over at sunset two days before and glimpsed the hangar. As they walked toward the huge structure, he wondered who had chased him in the red plane. He had been tired after the long flight across the Atlantic and had lost his way after striking the Atlantic coast. He had not intended coming as close to Bellevue but when he finally got his bearings he was less than a hundred miles away and he could not resist the temptation. But it had been a foolish move for a little red plane had darted out of the shadows below and pushed him hard before he had escaped into the coming night. Another hundred miles and he had slipped out of the cockpit of the Blenkko which had served him so faithfully in the long flight from Rubania, and had dropped through the night in his chute. He had clutched a suitcase with fresh clothes and his precious identification papers as Herman Blatz in his arms.
The landing had been easy and after washing the grime of the long flight off in a nearby creek, he had changed clothes; then burned his old clothes, the parachute and the suitcase. Into the fire had gone everything which would identify him as Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian air force on special duty as an agent of the Gerka. Out of the timber and onto the highway had stepped Herman Blatz, who had hitch-hiked to the nearest town where he had rested for a day, bought a fresh wardrobe, and then continued by train and auto to Bellevue.
A suppressed excitement gripped his whole being He had done the seemingly impossible, flown the Atlantic and made his way into this carefully guarded dirigible plant, thanks to the clever subterfuge Reikoff must have used in getting permission for a civilian observer to visit Bellevue. He would get in touch with Boris Dubra, the mechanic who was a member of the Gerka, at the first opportunity.
They entered the hangar and Blatz stopped involuntarily. Andy had expected that reaction and it told him that the newcomer was a true airman for the majestic bulk of the Goliath usually struck those who were viewing it for the first time speechless.
“It’s inspiring,” gasped Blatz. “I never dreamed an airship could be so large.”
“Of course it looks larger in the hangar than it really is,” said Andy, “but we’re rather proud of the Goliath.”
“Friedrichshafen has never done anything like it,” said Andy. “Or, for that matter, has anyone else in the world.”
“You’re right,” nodded Blatz. “I wonder that you ever tore yourself away from here and came out to meet me.”
“I’ve just about lived with the Goliath,” admitted Andy, “for Dad and Captain Harkins have been forced to make many trips to see about materials. They will return this afternoon to greet you.”
“I look forward to meeting two such famous men. The honor is great.”
They continued through the hangar, Andy pointing out and explaining the progress which had been made on the component parts of the great airship.
“One of the pleasantest years of my life,” said Andy, “was the one passed at Friedrichshafen. I recall the day I went up in one of the small dirigibles, the Strassburg, I believe. Karl Staab was at the controls and a wind squall hit us. It pushed us clear across Lake Constance and we were lucky to get home the same day. Karl was a great joker but a wonderful navigator despite that.”
“Yes, you’re quite right,” nodded Blatz. “He always enjoyed a good laugh.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed and he looked closely at the newcomer. He started to say something; then thought better of it and quickly switched the conversation from reminiscences of days at Friedrichshafen to the present.
Andy, Bert, Harry and Blatz lunched together at the hotel where Andy introduced the German expert to the heads of the construction staff at Bellevue. Blatz was accorded a warm welcome and after lunch resumed his tour of the plant with Andy.
In mid-afternoon a National Airways plane dropped in from the north. The army flyers, warned of its coming, did not roar into the sky in angry pursuit, but squatted beside their planes and watched the cabin monoplane skid to a stop in front of one of the smaller hangars.
Andy excused himself and ran toward the plane. The first man out of the cabin was his father, and Andy received an affectionate greeting.
“Everything going O.K. son?” asked the vice president of the National Airways.
“We’ve had a little excitement. Dad,” replied Andy, “but it didn’t affect the work on the Goliath. We’re well ahead of schedule.”
“Fine,” replied Andy’s father. “We’ll need all of the extra time for trial flights before we start our northward trip.”
“Then it’s definitely settled that we’ll meet the Neptune at the North pole?”
“Very definitely settled,” replied Charles. High. “The contracts were signed yesterday. Captain Harkins has our copies with him.”
The tall, bronzed airman who was the chief designer and captain of the Goliath stepped out of the cabin of the monoplane.
“Hello, Andy,” he said, extending his hand for a cordial greeting. “Have you started the assembly of the main gondola?”
“Work got under way on that project this morning,” replied Andy, “and the crews are making unusually good time.”
“I’ve decided on several minor changes,” said Captain Harkins, “but they need not delay the general construction work on the main car.”
As they walked toward the office buildings, Andy briefly explained what had happened during their absence, how Dubra had attempted to damage the hangar, the passage and pursuit of the foreign plane, the arrival of the army patrols and Dubra’s admission that an attempt was under way to destroy the Goliath.
“The wonder of it is,” said Andy’s father, “that some foreign power hasn’t made the attempt before. Now that we are fore-warned, there is little chance of success in damaging the big ship.”
Andy saw Herman Blatz waiting for him some distance away and he spoke to his father and Captain Harkins in low tones, explaining that Blatz had been sent to Bellevue on special orders of the war department.
“I can see no objection to that,” said Captain Harkins. “Doctor Eckener at Friedrichshafen has placed us deeply in his debt through suggestions on the improvement of our general design and one of his observers is welcome as far as I am concerned.”
“National Airways feels the same way,” added Andy’s father.
Andy took his father and Captain Harkins over to Blatz where he made the necessary introductions. They were soon engaged in a spirited discussion of the improvements in aircraft building which were represented in the Goliath and Andy left them to walk back to his own office.
The arrival of Blatz had disturbed him strangely. He had hoped that he would be able to welcome the newcomer with real cordiality but instead he found a mounting barrier of resentment rising between himself and the German.
Blatz’ story didn’t ring true. Andy had tested him that afternoon when he had recalled the incident at Friedrichshafen when he and Karl Staab had been blown across Lake Constance in the old Strassburg. Blatz had recalled knowing Staab when, in reality, there was no such navigator at Friedrichshafen. The whole story and the name had been invented by Andy to test Blatz. If, as he claimed, he had been connected with the Friedrichshafen plant for a number of years, he could not have remembered a man who did not exist. Blatz had agreed too readily. Andy’s suspicions were aroused and he promised himself an investigation.