Throughout the deceptively gentle flight over Europe and then across the wintry Atlantic, the zeppelin's chefs had astounded the wealthy passengers with exotic meals, pates and caviar, incredible desserts and sugary confections. Vargas, though, had little appetite. He had spent most of the time in his interior cabin, hiding, dreading. The lullaby hum of great propellers reminded him of more sinister machinery…

A crewman stepped through the observation lounge on his way to the bridge. He wore a white uniform, a smartlooking cap, gold epaulets, and a mannequin smile on his clean-shaven face. He nodded to some passengers.

"Excuse me, Captain," a rail-thin woman interrupted him. She had short graying hair done up in a tight style more than a decade out-of-date, as if she had never passed beyond her days as a young flapper.

The crewman's smile barely changed. "I'm just the copilot, madam."

"Will the snowstorm delay us? Is there anything to worry about? Those buildings look very high — "

The flurry of white flakes and the gusting breezes did not seem to bother the huge dirigible. Thanks to the constant knot in his stomach, Vargas could feel any increase in the swaying motion. After the horrific explosion of the first Hindenburg in Lakehurst, New Jersey, two years before, everyone had good reason to be skittish.

Vargas had seen photographs of that other airship's fiery destruction after atmospheric electricity ignited a gas leak in the dirigible. (Some said the explosion was caused by anti-Nazi saboteurs.) He had seen images of the charred skeleton of the great zeppelin lying on the burned ground like the bones of a prehistoric monster. Oh, the humanity!

But that disaster was nothing compared to what terrors lay in store for the human race… if Vargas could not get away.

The copilot gave the old flapper a reassuring smile. "Not at all, madam. The Hindenburg III has none of the potential hazards of its predecessors. For us, even a blizzard is nothing more than frosting on the cake."