Havoc - v4 Read Free

right moment. The
Hindenburg
cruised at a thousand feet as she plowed through the overcast sky. Beyond the protective bulk of the airship’s hull, rain fell in gusting curtains. Now that Bowie was ready, the airship continued over desolate stretches of pine. From above, the canopy of trees was an impenetrable mass. His whole body shook with frustration. At any moment a passenger or crewman would come by and his plan would be ruined. From above on the A deck promenade he heard someone play a few notes on the lightweight Bluthner baby grand piano.
    There!
    Another farmhouse appeared at the edge of the forest. Even from this height Bowie could see the place was run-down. The shingle roof sagged in the middle like the swayback of an old horse, while the porch seemed in danger of collapse. Yet there was light in the windows, and a trail of smoke caught the breeze at the top of the chimney and smeared across the landscape. The nearby barn appeared much newer.
    The flight path would take the
Hindenburg
right along the edge of a cleared field a quarter mile south of the farmyard. With luck the farmer would find the safe before whatever crop he grew overwhelmed the pasture.
    Chester had to do nothing more than let go of the safe. It fell through the angled window with a crash that was quickly swallowed by the roar of wind whipping into the airship. Bowie hadn’t been prepared for the blast of rain-soaked air. He staggered back from the rail, then whirled away, running back up to his cabin just as the door to the crew’s mess opened. He was trailed by angry German voices but no one had seen what he’d done.
    Unfortunately, Chester Bowie also couldn’t see the safe plummet to the ground. A hundred feet before it plowed into the sandy soil, the note he had so laboriously tied to the handle was stripped away. It stayed aloft in the stormy air for nearly an hour and by then it was shredded to confetti and spread across two counties.
     
     
    Rain cut forking trails along the gum rubber poncho as drops pooled and poured across the fabric. For nearly eighteen hours the lone figure had remained hidden under its folds, unmoving and nearly unblinking. From his perch atop a hangar he had an unobstructed view of the landing field a half mile away and the metal framework of the mooring mast. From here it looked remarkably like a miniature Eiffel Tower.
    His target was twelve hours late, a bit of irony since his hurried orders had forced him to rush into position.
    Moving so as not to change the outline of the weatherproof poncho, he brought his rifle up to his eye. The scope was a trophy he’d taken from a sniper during the Great War. He’d adapted it to every rifle he’d ever used. He stared through the optics, centering the crosshairs on the milling throng of the landing crew. They’d just returned to the field after a brief downpour. He estimated there were more than two hundred of them, but such a number was needed to manhandle the giant airship in the face of even a gentle breeze. He let the reticle linger on individuals for a moment before moving on. He spotted the airfield’s commander, Charles Rosendahl. The man next to him had to be Willy von Meister, the Zeppelin Company’s American representative. Despite the occasional gusts, the sniper could have dropped either man with a shot through whichever eye he chose. A ways off were a radio journalist and a cameraman, both of them checking equipment as everyone waited for the
Hindenburg
’s late arrival.
    He was about to lower the heavy rifle when everyone on the ground turned at once, raising an arm skyward in what almost resembled the Nazi salute. The sniper shifted a fraction. Out of the pewter sky came the
Hindenburg
.
    Distance could not diminish the size of the airship. It was absolutely enormous, a defiant symbol of a resurgent Germany. She was sleek, like a torpedo, with stabilizers and rudders larger than the wings of a bomber. At its widest the zeppelin was one hundred and