Page 27

“How tiresome, all this talk of death and destruction,” she purred, ignoring her father’s searing look. “What I long to know, my dear Obersturmfuhrer , is what is happening on the German stage these days!”

She raised a glass. “Nobody, after all, does music like the Germans. I would give anything to own a recording of Marlene Deitrich’s “ Lili Marleen !”

“Ach,” the German beamed, clearly pleased to find common ground. “I heard the song played just yesterday on OSS Radio. Glorious, is it not? It is said even the Americans are making much of it, though I cannot for an instant think why!”

He leaned across the table.” Did you know, Fraulein Brouwer, that the words to that song were written some thirty years ago by a German school teacher from Hamburg?”

Mila smiled and shrugged deeply, again baring her cleavage. “I did not know that, Obershtumfuhrer !! How very clever you are!”

The German leaned forward, looking pleased with himself, she thought, and openly admiring the view. He mopped his brow with a linen cloth. “I will personally see that a copy of zis recording is delivered to the lovely fraulein .”

Mila sat back as Riet brought in a sugared apple tart.

“ Wonderbaarlij k!” She smiled at their guest. “May I serve?”

...

“When you play with fire, Mila” her father told her when his Nazi dinner guest had gone, “you will almost certainly be burned.”

Mila did not respond and her father did not persist. She went to the kitchen, instructed Riet to pack up the dinner’s considerable leftovers and deliver them to the Dans Hal in the morning. They would feed more than one hungry family, she thought with satisfaction.

In her bedroom, she settled Hondje with a few bits of the pork, then closed the door of her clothes closet behind her.

“It appears, Godjizdank ,” she reported to Pieter, “that the enemy still has no idea who originated the Cinema blast – except, of course, that it was a Resistance operation. ”

She could envision Pieter, drumming his fingers on his desk as he listened.

“If right is on our side, they never will know,” he said. “But they are inflamed, and more alert than ever, especially since it came on the heels of the train explosion and the loss of all that cargo.”

“Hitler, himself, is enraged, we were told. In addition to cutting rations again, the rank and file has direct orders to retaliate at their discretion – eliminating two Dutchmen for every German lost, if starvation doesn’t kill us first.”

She could hear Pieter’s sigh. “No doubt they will exact their pound of flesh in any way that suits their purpose.”

Mila hesitated. “Is there any word of Daan?”

“Only confirmation of de Boer’s betrayal – this time by his personal driver who, it turns out, is supportive of Resistance efforts. Stand by, Mila. We are formulating a plan. Not another Dutch hero must be sacrificed to the bastard’s greed.”

EVI

In all her life, she had never hidden anything of consequence from Mam. But the Colt pistol that Jacob had entrusted to Evi – a duplicate of the one he kept for himself – felt like a hot potato in her hands.

She hid it first in a rain boot. She put it under her mattress, concealed it under a pile of sweaters on her shelf. Finally, she stowed it in the bottom of her book bag, where Mam would have no reason to look.

If she felt awkward as they ate their watery cabbage soup, her mother did not seem to notice. In fact, she was unusually quiet.

Finally, Mam dropped her spoon in the empty bowl. Evi jumped at the sound.

“ Lieveling ,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

“I talked today with Leela Bakker. It seems that some German Jewish escapees have been hiding out for months in one of the old limestone caves near Limburg. But the farmers who have been aiding them, Leela said, are crying out now for food and medical supplies – and even clothing.”

Evi frowned.

“God knows we do not have much to spare, Evi, but those people are desperate.” She paused. “Leela is gathering together what she can…and she asked me to –”

Evi’s head snapped up. “Mam...”

“Evi, you know as well as I do that whatever we can provide will be more safely delivered over water.”

“Mam, you told me yourself that you think you might have been observed when you transported Rachel…”

“One trip, Evi. That is all I agreed to. Who can navigate the inlets and canals better than I can?”

“But Mam, the Germans are more watchful than ever. Checkpoints are springing up all over…”

But her mother’s face was set. “That is precisely why the waterways are better, Evi. There are Resistance volunteers all along the Meuse who can help me get these life-saving supplies to their destination.”

Evi spooned up the last of her soup.

“I will be careful, Evi, I promise. I can do the turnaround in the daylight hours, when many boats are on the water….”

She put her hand over Evi’s. “And it is no more dangerous than what you have been doing, trolling for German officers to be murdered.”

Evi looked into her mother’s earnest face, thinner and more lined as the months passed.

She had not been asked to repeat her tavern performance since the last near-debacle.

But neither was she afraid to do so if she were summoned – and once she perfected her proficiency with the Colt, she would be ready for more critical assignments.

She fully expected such missions would be forthcoming once she proved she could take care of herself.

She saw the Colt in her mind’s eye, hidden in the depths of her schoolbag.

“Mam, are you certain…? ”

“I am, Evi. I must help these poor people trapped in a cave. You know I must.”

Evi raised her water glass high. “Then may God keep us both from harm.”

ZOE

Zoe had had enough. She pored over the kliniek appointment book.

With fewer and fewer appointments scheduled, and Daan only God knew where, she thought it only sensible to close the doors for a while – at least until she could figure out where supplies could be replenished and how to keep the business going in Daan’s absence.

Or perhaps, by the grace of God, until the Allies managed to push their way through.

Food supplies were scarcer than ever, even for those who stood in long ration lines.

She had heard from Pieter that two Swedish aid ships loaded with food and medical supplies had arrived at the port in Delfzjjl.

The Germans had offloaded the bounty to their channel barges – but none of it had thus far been distributed to the starving Dutch.

Queen Wilhelmina, according to Radio Oranje , had personally appealed to both President Roosevelt and England’s King George for food assistance.

But if it arrived, the verdomd Germans would likely appropriate that as well…

and since the self-exiled Queen was not yet ready to return, it would be foolish to think the war would end any time soon.

Zoe found herself becoming more despairing by the day – not least because of Daan’s abduction.

The food they had managed to get to the hospital after the train explosion would not last much longer, not with dozens of mouths to feed, and with the Germans continuing to demand patient and medical staff rosters, the state of affairs in Heemstede was becoming dire.

In the past, she would have taken her concerns to Daan. Now, she knew, she must go to Pieter. She was about to pick up the receiver and dial when she heard a pounding at the front door. Not the Gestapo, surely, she told herself, fearing the worst as she grappled with the locks on her door.

But the man in the Dutch police uniform who slipped quickly inside was the young marechaussee, Lukas Jensen, who had helped transport some of the uprooted families to the hospital.

“Lukas?”

He nodded. “Dr. Visser, the Dans Hal,” he breathed heavily, as though he had been moving quickly. “The NSB – they are preparing to raid the Dans Hal. You must alert them.”

The NSB, Zoe knew, were a group pf Dutch fascists and German sympathizers who regularly betrayed their own people. An image of Daan passed through her brain.

“When, Lukas, when?”

“I do not know for certain. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day. I just – I happened to overhear, but it is not safe for me in this uniform…”

Zoe understood. Hers mind raced. The underground newspaper…Resistance supplies…falsified identification papers…half the tools the Council relied upon lay behind the outwardly innocent walls of the Dans Hal.

“ Danke , Lukas.” She led him out the back door, and locked it firmly behind them.

MILA

Pieter looked tired, his expression as grave as Mila had ever seen it. She longed to reach out, to offer some comfort, at the very least to take his hand in hers. But his manner toward her remained friendly but reserved. It was a bridge that had yet to be crossed.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he smiled wanly.

A little white lie. “I was thinking of Daan.”

Pieter sighed. “Unless he is being held in captivity, I fear we may never see him again…Worse yet, our sources tell us that a young couple hi ding two Jewish children in their attic are the latest to be sacrificed to the Germans for cash by Police Captain Reimar de Boer.”

He reached for a communique on the edge of his desk, lit a match to it and watched it burn.

He tossed into a metal wastebasket. Mila watched it turn to ash.

“However,” he said, leaning back in his chair,” we have eyes in Amsterdam observing de Boer’s daily routine – and his driver has promised assistance if we should need it.

He drummed his fingers on the desk in the way, Mila knew by now, meant he was deliberating. “But whatever we do to stop the man’s treachery, we will have to be quick and precise. Our first chance will be our best chance – perhaps our only chance…we had best get it right.”

“And how will we do that?”

“I was hoping you would ask, Mila,” Pieter’s eyes sought hers. “It is well known in de Boer’s circle,” he said, “that the man has an eye for pretty women.”

She waited.