The Last Airship (15 page)

“Yes,
well buddy, after today, I’m not so convinced that we’re going to be the ones
to solve this 75 year old riddle, anyway.”

“Oh,
let’s not write this thing off just yet. We’ve only just begun,” Sam replied.

Tom
had seen that same look in Sam’s eyes many times before. It was a look that
said,
fuck the odds, I’ll have it my way.

“We’ll
see.”

“Tom…”

“Yeah,
Sam?” Tom filled their second glass.

“Don’t
forget, we’re still having one hell of an adventure.”

“That
we are. And, as I hope will always be the case, I will join you on your crazy
escapades.” Tom drank more of his cognac, and then asked, “So what’s our next
move?” 

“Okay,
so I’ve been thinking about it and this is what I’ve come up with,” Sam said,
handing Tom the grid map of the western side of the Alps. “There’s little point
in trying to fly over every single point on this grid, because for the majority
of it, an airship would have been clearly visible from a helicopter.” 

“I
agree.” Tom looked dubious. “So, where are we going to search for her?”

“We’re
going to do a reconnaissance of the area within this grid, of course. But we’re
not going to be looking for the Magdalena.”

“What
are we going to be looking for?”

“Any
areas where such an airship could conceivably disappear for three quarters of a
century.”

“There
must be hundreds of places to hide something in these mountains.” The wrinkling
of Tom’s brow showed that he expected Sam to come up with a better plan than
this.

“Not
hundreds capable of concealing the 150 foot canopy of the airship.”

“No?”
Tom still looked doubtful.

“Just
five.”

“Five?”
Tom was incredulous.

“Yep,
just five.”

Sam
handed Tom a second version of the same topographical map. Superimposed over
this one, he had highlighted places where something as large as the airship
could potentially have been kept hidden for years.

Tom’s
pale green eyes scanned the markings on the map.

There
were a number of rivers and lakes, and the constant erosion of the
predominantly porous limestone rocks that formed the mountain range would, in
all probability, have created numerous limestone caves. A quick study of any
topographical map would inform you that only a few of them were large enough to
hide something as big as the Magdalena.

In
fact, there were only five places on this side of the Alps that were even worth
considering.

Three
of these were large caves, and two were covered by deep sections of snowpack,
which wouldn’t thaw out in a thousand years. Although large portions of the
mountain were covered in snow, there were only two locations where the snowpack
remained virtually unchanged year round. All of the lakes, although certainly
large enough for an airship to disappear into, thawed out in the summer, and
were too clear and unspoiled to obscure anything beneath their waters from
above.

“I
think you’re on to something, Sam,” Tom said. “That is, unless the entire
Magdalena has been concealed by seventy five years’ worth of tree growth.”

“These
are predominantly pine trees which cover these mountains. A thousand years of
their growth would have trouble concealing the crippled remains of the
Magdalena.”

“I
hope you’re right.”

“I’m
right. And I’m going to prove it,” Sam said, with his signature certainty.

And
I sure hope you do…

Tom
conducted a number of flights over the course of the next two weeks. But with
each new day, he confirmed what he’d believed from the start –
a ship that
wants to stay hidden, will.

The
available landing sites were generally pretty poor, but the Robinson 44 was
capable of landing on the even the smallest locations.

There
were many large caves, tunnels, and snow fields, but none of them were quite
large enough to hide the Magdalena.

Despite
the constant hum of the engine and the whine of its rotary blades, there was a
melancholy quiet inside the cockpit on their return. Both men knew that they
had exhausted their initial theories, and that their subsequent ones had come
to nothing.

In
truth, Tom realized that they still knew very little about what they were
looking for. Their specialty was in sea-related searches, not in treasure
hunting in the Alps.

Sam
was the first to break the silence.

“What
about a lake?”

“What
about it?” Tom looked at the glassy lake below, and he could see the reflection
of the helicopter on its clear surface. “We’ve already discussed lakes. They’re
too clear.”

“Might
it have sunk into any of these lakes?” Sam was serious.

“Are
you kidding me?”

“No.
Why?”

“Look
down at that lake there, Sam. What do you see?”

“I
see giant rocks, holes, and even some fish. What do you see?”

“That’s
exactly what I mean, Sam. If there were an enormous airship in that lake, or
even something the size of one, in an area which is frequented by so many
tourist choppers, it would have been spotted long before now.”

“You’re
right, Tom. It would have been impossible to lose the Magdalena on this side of
the mountain for any prolonged period of time,” Sam said, as though Tom had
been agreeing with his train of thought, instead of disputing it.

“So,
it was never here, then?”

“No,
I didn’t say that. I believe it definitely passed over this area; the location
of the gold Kevin found confirms that.” Sam’s confident grin returned as he
spoke.

“Then
where did it end up?”

“I
have an idea Tom,
and I think it’s time to take this search elsewhere.”

*

Sam
dumped the topographical map of the Southern Limestone Alps in front of Tom.

“Okay,
so let’s just say that they were trying to clear the range. The gold bullion my
friends found was ... here, he said, pointing to the spot. But there is no
other evidence of the Magdalena anywhere around this place. Perhaps they were
trying to lighten their load in order to clear the mountain top,” Sam
suggested.

“That’s
nuts,” Tom replied. The zeppelin had a maximum ceiling of 650 feet. There’s no
way these guys were ever going to get over that mountain, and they must have
known it. My bet, they turned around somewhere, and put her down on this side
of the mountain – possibly hundreds of miles further north?”

“Then
our previous list of five places to hide her, would increase to thousands,” Sam
didn’t sound convinced. “But, what if they knew precisely where they were and
thought that they could fly her through the giant mountain passes?”

“You
mean, weave her through the Tyrol Valley?” Tom asked, incredulously.

“It
must have been possible.” Sam said.

“But
very unlikely.”

“Well,
clearly they didn’t make it.”

“There
is that,” Tom conceded, and then went on to say, “Besides, what were they even
doing there in the first place?”

“What
do you mean?”

“Okay,
say you wanted to escape Hitler’s stranglehold – where would you have flown
from Munich in order to escape?”

“Switzerland,
of course,” Sam answered immediately.  “It was the only neutral country located
nearby.”

“Of
course it was. So, why did the Magdalena fly due south, towards the Southern
Limestone Alps and towards Italy? Mussolini had already partnered with Hitler.
If they’d somehow managed to clear the Dolomites, they would still be within
Hitler’s grasp. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless
they simply didn’t realize where they were?” Sam commented. 

“There
is always that possibility. GPS was nonexistent in the 1930s.”

“Perhaps
someone on board was a traitor? Or there’s always the possibility that one of
the passengers or crew might have been coaxed to take the treasure-laden ship
somewhere else entirely?”

“Anything’s
possible,” Tom said. “The other thing that troubles me is this, if the
Magdalena really has been resting somewhere on the southern side of the Alps,
don’t you think someone would have noticed her remains by now? I mean, the
biggest climbing haven in the world runs throughout the Dolomites; skiers in
the winter, paragliders and base jumpers in the summer, and helicopter joy
flights all year round. I’m sorry to say it, pal, but if she was on the other
side of the Alps, someone would have already found her!”

“When
all the likely causes have been ruled out, the only natural course of action is
to investigate the unlikely ones. Now, you have to remember that the Magdalena
wasn’t a zeppelin, per se. She was a dirigible, built by Peter Greentstein, a
very rich, former employee of Zeppelin Enterprises. He himself had seen the
decline of the era of the great airships after the Hindenburg disaster, and he
had decided to reinvent the glory days of airship travel. Is it not possible
that he built the Magdalena to make this journey? One of the greatest problems
with airships in Europe at that time was its impassable mountain ranges. Had he
discovered a way to overcome that?”

“I
don’t buy that theory at all. Perhaps, if the mountain rose to a height of only
two, or even three thousand feet, it might have been possible, but we’re
talking about almost ten thousand feet! No, my money says that they turned
around and went back the way they came. We’ll find them on this side of the
mountain, if anywhere at all.”

“Okay,
show me where on the map, on this side of the mountain, where you think you
could possibly hide a 150 foot airship for 75 years?”

Tom’s
intelligent, hazel green eyes scanned the topographical map for almost five
minutes.

Then,
he studied Google Earth on his laptop for another forty five minutes before
saying, “It couldn’t be done. Not there. Someone knows where she is. Maybe the
Nazis already discovered her, took her apart in pieces, and never acknowledged
it, just as they never acknowledged so many of their other war crimes?”

“Now
it’s my turn,” Sam said, “to say, I don’t buy that story. If someone
successfully shot her down, and captured the sort of prize she was carrying,
someone would have heard about it by now. War crimes or not, these stories have
a way of getting out.” Sam stated, confidently.

“Okay,
so hypothetically, if this ship actually did somehow succeed in making it over
the mountains, then where the hell did she end up?

“Somewhere
on the southern side of the mountains,” Sam grinned, his all-knowing, I’m about
to show you my winning hand, smile. “Have a quick glance here, and tell me, as
a pilot, where would be the first place to come to your mind if you had to put
an aircraft down quick.”

Tom’s
eyes scanned Google Earth’s map of the other southern side of the mountains. He
smiled, when he saw it, “Oh, you mean here?”

Sam
studied the lake pictured before him.

Lake
Solitude.

It
was perfect. As huge as it was remote, inaccessible to all, with the exception
of mountaineers and helicopter pilots. It was also known to remain frozen for
most of the year. Its elevation being 8,500 feet.

Measuring
more than six miles long by five miles wide, and perched near the top of the
mountain
,
Lake Solitude would have been more than adequate to hold such
a large airship. Who could even guess how deep the lake could possibly be?

He
imagined the Magdalena somehow clearing the mountain peak, and then making her
descent. Something must have gone wrong and forced them to land. To the pilot,
in the middle of winter, the rocky
,
tree lined mountainside must have
looked like a nightmare; its jagged rocks resembling giant teeth, and then,
seeing a perfect clearing up ahead. Blanketed beneath the thick covering of
snow, it could have just as easily appeared to be an open field, cleared for
farming.

What
happened to you, Peter? What were you thinking?

“She’s
here, I know it is.” Sam stated, fervently.

“I
hate to burst your pride bubble and all, but, the last time this lake
reportedly thawed out in winter was before the turn of the nineteenth century.”

“Or,
was it on the night of the September 24
^th
1939?”

Tom
tapped the keys on his laptop a few more times, and then looked over at his
friend.

“You’re
wrong again. Wow, I’ll bet you wish you never invited me along for the ride. The
night in question was particularly cold. There was no way this lake would have
thawed.”

“Okay,
I have another idea. What if they somehow clipped the top of the mountain?”

“And
if they did the clip the top of the mountain, then what?” Tom asked.

“We
all know that it was nearly impossible for them to have any chance of clearing it
in the first place. What if they didn’t quite make it, and instead clipped some
of the rocks off the top of it? Is it possible that such a collision might
trigger a landslide of some sort – something that just may have been enough to
at least crack the ice covering the lake?”

“That’s
possible. At the start of the war, no one would have been at all interested in
a landslide that affected an alpine lake, especially one accessible to only the
best mountain climbers of the time.”

Tom
zoomed in to the western face of the mountain, depicted on Google Earth, and
then grinned, mischievously.

“Does
that mountain look like it’s missing something?”

“It
sure does to me. Can you find an earlier image – anything before 1939?” Sam
asked.

“Here
we go.” Tom brought up a picture of the mountain peak taken in 1920. It showed
an Italian man, with a rope casually hung over his shoulder, standing on the
large rock outcrop – it was a perfect match, to the one that was clearly
missing in the 1939 picture. “For once, Sam, you’re right. Now what?”

“How
do you feel about some high altitude diving, Tom?”

*

John
Wolfgang was glad that his daughter had made the effort to see him before
returning to Massachusetts. At first, he’d been concerned that she was there,
but it had been nice to see her. Then, when he realized what had to be done,
his concern turned to terror.

How
could he use his own daughter like this?

But,
as had been the case in previous times, in the end, the need outweighed his
ethical reservations.

It
took some convincing, but in the end, she understood what was required of her,
and said she’d make the call.

*

The
phone rang just once before Sam answered it.

“Sam?”
The reception was poor, but he thought he recognized the eloquent soft voice;
that distinctly American accent that contained a hint of European ancestry.

“Yes,
who’s this?” Sam asked.

“It’s
Aliana. Are you still in Europe?”

“Yes,
I’m staying in Ötztal, how about you?”

“Ötztal!
I spent some time in Ötztal when I was growing up. I’m in Berlin now, until the
end of the week, but I was thinking about seeing you again before I leave for
the States. If you’re interested, maybe this weekend, I could show you more of
the area, from a local’s point of view?”

“I’d
love to. Let me know when to expect you, and I’ll change my schedule.”