“I’m awake,” Dodge muttered, trying to forestall further abuse. His double-vision gradually resolved, and he got his first look at the face of his tormentor, an Asian man of indeterminate age, wearing a stained and ragged-looking gray suit. Dodge didn’t see the gun, but the man no longer needed it; he had tied Dodge’s hands behind his back, securing him to an exposed beam in the interior of the gondola. The man’s jet black hair and facial features were similar to those of the man who had attacked him the previous night near the tunnel, but Dodge didn’t think they were the same person. A moment later, his captor confirmed the supposition.
“Where is Tanaka?” The voice was different, deeper, almost gravelly, without the sing-song quality he had heard from his first assailant; like that man, there was hardly any trace of an accent.
Dodge blinked. He knew who the man was referring to, but decided to play dumb. “I don’t know what that means.”
The man gazed back implacably, and Dodge braced himself for another physical assault. But instead of hitting him, the man simply said: “The woman jumped off the train. You followed her. Chu’i Tanaka followed you. What happened to him?”
Dodge saw no benefit in withholding the truth. “I don’t know. Something came out of the tunnel; another train, I think. It might have hit him.” Then he added: “I’m sorry.”
“If this is true, he died honorably.” His captor’s expression remained completely unreadable. “Where’s the woman?”
“I’ll tell you what I told your man, Tanaka: I don’t know. She got away. I thought she might have come here, but there’s no sign of her now.” Dodge let that sink in, then tried getting something back. “I’ve answered your questions truthfully. Now, would you mind telling me who you are? And why I’m tied up like this?”
The man rocked back on his haunches. “Tell me about the woman. Who is she?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Dodge narrowed his gaze. “You’re Japanese, right? I don’t know what you’re used to, but here in America, we have a custom of exchanging information.”
“You are in no position to make demands of me,” the man replied. “However, you are mistaken. I am an American.”
“You’re Nisei, then? The son of Japanese immigrants.”
“You know of this?” Dodge thought the man seemed impressed, but it was difficult to tell. “Very well, an exchange then. I am Ryu Uchida.”
“David Dalton.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Dalton. Now, tell me what you know about this woman.”
Dodge flexed his hands experimentally, testing his bonds; his fingertips were tingling with the loss of circulation, but he could tell that he was bound with wire, probably salvaged from the gondola wreckage. After a few seconds, he found where the ends had been twisted together — the wire was too thick to be cinched into a proper knot.
He felt a glimmer of hope. He didn’t know what Uchida had planned for him, but he didn’t foresee the Nisei suddenly having a change of heart, untying him and sending him on his way with an apology. But with enough time, he felt certain he could work his way free. He just had to keep his captor interested.
“She calls herself Anya. She’s a part of a European revolutionary group. They’re after Walter Barron. You know who that is, right? The arms manufacturer?”
There was a glimmer of recognition in Uchida’s eyes, but he offered no verbal confirmation. “Where was she taking you?”
“She never told me our destination, but she promised that she was going to help me get my friends back.”
“Where are your friends now?”
“I’m not certain. They might be with Walter Barron.” Dodge gave the wire a twist, but couldn’t tell if his bonds were loosening. “Your turn. What’s your interest in Anya?”
“That is none of your concern, Mr. Dalton. Do you know where Barron is now?”
Dodge got the sense that Uchida didn’t have many more questions for him, and that meant he was nearly out of time. What would happen then? He gave the wire another twist. “That’s what I hoped to discover here. I think Barron built this place. I was hoping to find some clue here about where my friends are. What do you say you untie me? We can look together.”
“There are no clues here,” Uchida answered gravely, and rose to his feet. He turned away, and for just a moment, Dodge thought he was going to simply leave him there.
That would have been preferable to what the Nisei did next.
“Mr. Dalton, it would be merciful on my part to simply put a bullet in your head. But a bullet, particularly from this gun — the Nambu type 94 8-millimeter pistol — would raise too many questions if your remains were ever found. I cannot take that risk. Your death must appear to be an accident.” He rooted in a small black duffel bag, and produced something that looked like a simple kitchen timer.
Dodge knew it was nothing as innocuous as that.
“This is a very small explosive charge,” Uchida explained patiently. “But when it detonates, it will ignite the hydrogen in the blimp. There will be nothing left of this place, or of you, Mr. Dalton. I will set it for five minutes. That should give me plenty of time to get well away from here, and for you to make peace with your God.”
He set the detonator on the floor a few feet from Dodge. “Sayonara, Mr. Dalton.”
Uchida wasted no time exiting the gondola, leaving Dodge alone with the audible ticking of the explosive device to keep him company for the last remaining minutes of his life.
Dodge breathed a curse as he redoubled his efforts to get free. His fingers felt like fat sausages. For all he could tell, he might have been twisting the wire tighter, but there was nothing to be gained in second guessing himself now.
As he worked at the wire, the newsreel footage he had seen of the Hindenburg burning up over New Jersey flashed in his mind’s eye. The zeppelin had been considerably larger than this blimp, but that offered little comfort. It wouldn’t be enough for him to simply get free before the bomb detonated; he would also have to extricate himself from the gondola and flee the hangar in order to escape the conflagration that would follow. How long would that take?
“I did not think he would ever leave.”
The voice was such a shock that Dodge squandered a few precious seconds staring in disbelief as a familiar figure crawled into the gondola. “Anya!” He shook his head to banish the torrent of questions that flooded his thoughts, and then winced as the simple gesture sent a new wave of pain through his skull. “Get out of here. There’s a bomb.”
“Yes, I heard what he said.” She hastened to his side and he felt her hands begin working at the wires.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He said it more to hide his anxiety than as a prompt for to explain her presence.
“There is much to tell you…”
“Later.”
They said it together, and Dodge could not resist a chuckle. His bravo died quickly as he glanced at the detonator. Uchida may have denied being a citizen of Japan, but there was no question that the explosive device had been manufactured there; the dial on the timer was marked with incomprehensible Oriental characters.
Kanji script, Dodge thought, unable to recall exactly where he had picked up that bit of trivia. Still, it wasn’t difficult to recognize them as numbers, or to interpret their meaning. They had just two minutes left.