The mooring ropes squeaked. Spots of light lit up its flanks. It was almost midnight. Down on the ground, between the suitcases and mailbags, a radio was playing the music of Duke Ellington. “Herr Doctor Eckener!” These words were barked from outside. The balloon swayed on its ropes. Its silvery bulk still gave off the salty smell of recent travels. It seemed to be dozing. “Find him for me!” Still barking orders, a man walked into the hangar. He was followed by three young soldiers in uniform, who froze when they saw the zeppelin. The Graf Zeppelin was a balloon some two hundred and forty meters long and forty meters wide: in other words, it was as tall as a ten-story building, and it made anyone standing next to it look like a little worm. But the newcomer didn’t need this difference of scale to appear ridiculous. “Dr. Eckener! Get me Dr. Eckener!” Drowning in a uniform that was too big for him, the man who had just walked in was the Kreisleiter, the Nazi chief for the region of Friedrichshafen.
