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“Perhaps…and this is a lot to ask, Mila, this is something we can accomplish together.”

EVI

Evi planted her feet apart, took careful aim, and fired. In successive shots, all five of her targets fell from their resting places.

Jumping excitedly, she grinned and turned to Jacob, who pumped a fist in the air.

“Good job, Itty Bitty,” he said.

But Evi thought he seemed oddly distant, as he had for most of the afternoon.

She hefted the Colt and waited for his instruction. When it did not come, she turned to face him.

“I think maybe that’s all for today,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and there are things I need to do. ”

She frowned.

“I know. I’m sorry to cut your session short.”

“I understand,” she said, although she did not. She stashed the pistol in the bottom of her book bag. “Um…When shall I be here again?”

Jacob hesitated. “I’m – not exactly sure,” he told her. “Anyway, I’m not sure you need me anymore. You’re already a pretty damned good shot.”

Her mouth dropped open. Alarm flooded through her. “But Jacob…” She could not find the words.

He sighed, finally, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Look, Evi…”

His amber eyes begged for understanding. “We figured out there may be…a way for me to get home.”

She felt her breath catch. “Home?”

“To America. To my unit. Do you understand?”

She nodded, although she had no idea what he was thinking. Would she ever see him again?

“This is something I need to do,” he said, lightly touching her cheek. “And I need to do it now - tonight.”

She nodded dumbly, not wanting to move, not wanting his hand to leave her face.

But he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, turning away.

She watched his receding back for a moment, then ran to the Beekhof’s back door.

Inside, Mevreow Beekhof was peering into a pot at the stove. Evi moved past her, closed the front door behind her, and did not stop until she reached her bicycle.

...

She had no idea what made her back the bicycle into the shrubbery and wait for Jacob to appear.

But she did, and after a while, as the early winter dusk began to fall, Jacob strode out of the Beekhof’s front door.

An olive-colored backpack was strapped to his back, a cap pulled low over his forehead.

She watched him walk down the long, curved driveway on foot, and when she lost sight of him, she walked her bicycle quietly down the drive behind him.

When he reached the roadway, he stopped for a moment and peered in both directions. Adjusting the backpack with a shrug of his shoulders, he struck out quickly to his left.

ZOE

Zoe made her way through the cobblestoned streets, maintaining as normal a pace as she could manage so as not to attract attention, and thankful, when she reached the back door of the Dans Hal, that the alleyway was deserted.

She pounded on the door with a full fist, knowing the sound would be lost if there was no one in the hidden back office, or if the mimeographs were cranking out papers. When there was no answer after she tried a second time, she went around to the front door, knocked once, and quietly slipped in.

She saw the usual hum of Dans Hal activity, women at large tables drawing, cutting, pasting, chatting, while children milled about at their feet. It was precisely the image Resistance personnel wished them to project – an average, apolitical group whose only goal was maintaining Dutch culture.

But there was certain danger if, as Lukas had warned, German authorities or their Dutch collaborators were to look beneath the surface – past and present issues of the underground newspaper, foodstuffs hidden away for the desperate, evidence of the Dans Hal as a beehive of activity by and for the Resistance.

She scanned the faces for Leela Bakker, spotted her at a back table and hurried to her side.

“Leela, we need to talk.”

Leela dropped her scissors, led Zoe past the false wall, into the hidden office .

Zoe spoke quickly, reluctant even with Leela, to reveal Lukas Jensen’s dual role as Dutch police officer and informer.

“I have been warned by a reliable source,” she told her, “that the Dans Hal could be raided by the NSB – perhaps as soon as tomorrow. I know you do what you can to keep this office hidden, but if it is breached – “

“I understand.” Leela looked around her. “All the papers – everything needs to be removed…We can take most of it to our homes, I think, carried out in book bags. I will get the women started and put out the call for volunteers.”

Zoe nodded.

“What about the mimeograph machines?”

Zoe thought for a minute. “There is no way to move them discreetly – and maybe no need. Have one of the women draw up dance party notices – and Dutch Carnival. Crank out a few copies, leave them lying about as evidence of what the machines are used for.”

“Business as usual…” Leela nodded, already in motion, gathering materials for removal.

“Our best hope if the Germans enter the hall,” Zoe said, “is that we give them no reason to look beyond the outer room. Be charming, be busy, perhaps a dance class for the little ones. Show them photographs, Carnival brochures, dance invitations, handmade decorations….”

“We will do our best,” Leela said. “ Leive god for the warning…”

Zoe felt the tightness in her chest begin to easde. Leela could be relied upon to take charge.

“Leela, “ she began.

“No need, Zoe. Go! Take a stack of these with you in your handbag.”

MILA

Mila packed a small overnight bag – a black jersey dress with a deep vee-neckline, black high-heeled pumps she’d buffed to a shine, a change of under garments, some make-up. Checking the contents one last time, she closed the lid, snapped the bag shut, set it near the doorway of her bedroom .

Pieter had secured an automobile and enough petrol for the short trip to Amsterdam, no more than a twenty-minute drive. The plan they had conceived was deceptively simple…the best kind of plan, Mila knew, a small variation of the operation she had mapped out for Evi Strobel.

De Boer, according to his driver, lunched each weekday at the same Amsterdam restaurant – an elegant brasserie near the Rembrandtsplein underwritten by the Germans, primarily for their own enjoyment and for friends of the Reich.

Mila was to charm her way in, catch de Boer’s eye, and hopefully arrange an evening date, subtly suggesting the promise of sex if he would agree to meet her first at the famous fountain on the Leidersplein so she could see it at its glorious lighted best

She powdered her nose and made a last turn before the mirror. If all went well, Pieter would be waiting to deliver a bullet and melt away into the night. It was a clean, straightforward plan, and if the traitor’s driver could be counted upon to keep his word, as foolproof as any plan could be.

She looked at her watch. It was time. Straightening, she took a deep breath, picked up her overnight bag and quietly headed downstairs. She had arranged with Reit to be sure Hondje was fed and walked in her absence. Now, all she needed to do was avoid a confrontation with her father.

At the bottom of the stairs, she peered around the corner into the hallway. It was quiet. Her father was either working in his study or had gone to his office near St. Bavo Church. Either way, she was able to avoid him. She slipped quietly out the front door.

...

As arranged, Pieter was waiting for her in the next street behind the wheel of a pre-war gray Renault sedan. He got out when he saw her, and went around to open her door .

Mila bent to get in, brushing lightly against his coat, aware of the tweedy scent of him.

“You are well?” he asked.

She smiled in response.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“ Guod .”

He closed her door, moved back to the driver’s side, slipped into the vehicle. “We will first check in to the hotel.”

EVI

Jacob walked quickly, clearing brush out of his way as he moved, staying close to the inner edge of the road.

Evi followed a distance behind, far enough behind that she had to pedal fast around the curves just to keep him in sight in the dimming light.

What am I doing ? she scolded herself. I will be mortified if Jacob sees me . But curiosity pulled at her in much the same way as Mam pulled the yarn to unravel her afghan blankets. Where on earth could he be going?

She fell once, tangled in the wheels of her bicycle, scrambling to duck out of sight when he looked behind him, as he frequently did. She clambered up again and righted the bicycle. Now she recognized the terrain.

To her astonishment, Jacob was nearing the tavern where he had shot her would-be rapist. He passed by the precise spot where it happened, in fact, then began to make his way into the pines behind it.

Too puzzled now to stay well back, Evi hopped off the bicycle, left it lying in the brush, and threaded her way into the pines, just far enough back to keep Jacob in sight.

She saw him stop in the midst of a clearing – perhaps, she thought, the very clearing where the Resistance shooters had waited for Evi to show up with the drunken Nazi.

In the dim light of a sliver of moon, she saw him check his watch, look up at the sky, pull out a flashlight, and send a beam of light up into the darkness.

In the dead quiet, she heard a low thrum. Jacob again flashed a beam of light into the sky, and the thrumming sound came closer…an aircraft.

Behind her, in the same instant, she heard the back door of the tavern thrown open. She heard the hearty laughter of drunken soldiers bantering in their native German. She held still as the raucous laughter receded. She hoped the Germans were moving toward the roadway.

The noise above her deepened, and in the semi-darkness she saw a helicopter over Jacob’s head, rotors turning.

Looking up at the hovering aircraft, she saw the U.S. Air Force logo on its side.

Where were the German officers? Surely, they had heard the racket, too. Evi peered behind her, drawing back into the shadows.