Page 32

Haarlem, the Netherlands

MILA

The plan was for Mila to reunite with Pieter at the auto park within moments after de Boer went down. But from the time the big man hit the ground, nothing went as expected.

Sirens sounded almost at once. Whether a passerby had telephoned police headquarters or whether the two police vehicles that screeched to the curb simply happened by was irrelevant. Floodlights lit up the area almost at once, and uniformed officers began to cordon off the streets.

From behind her, the few hardy souls out walking in the cold began rushing toward the tumult at the fountain, making it risky for Mila to push the other way without drawing suspicion.

On the other side of the square, she feared, Pieter could be trapped with a pistol in his possession, unable to flee.

More police vehicles, sirens wailing, rolled into the square. A pair of helicopters maneuvered into place and hovered above the scene at the fountain, and the loud, unnerving WAH-wah-WAH-wah of an ambulance echoed in the frigid night air .

Mila watched, frozen in place, as de Boer was loaded onto a stretcher and tethered by technicians to what looked like a jumble of tubes. Could the traitor still be alive?

Allowing the procession of bystanders to pass, she walked quickly in the direction of the auto park, praying Pieter had been able to flee.

She rounded a corner to find herself face to face with four advancing Gestapo.

“ Fraulein? Wohin gehst du so schnell?” Where are you going so quickly?

“ Unteroffizieres ,” she began in fluent German. “I have been out enjoying this beautiful city. Even in winter, it is spectacular.”

The officers looked from one to the other.

“Sie sind Deutche ?” You are German? Identifikation! ”

“ Deutche, nein, ” she smiled, producing the false papers that identified her as Swiss. “ Nur ein bewunderer .” Only an admirer.

The taller of the two studied her papers, looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you aware there has been a shooting?” he asked in German.

“ A shooting ?” she repeated, blue eyes wide, grateful for her fluency in the language. “ Vo ?” she asked innocently. Where?

More narrowed eyes. Whispered words between them.

She was about to invoke the name of her German benefactor when, finally, the tall one handed back her papers. “Go back to your hotel, Fraulein” he warned. “At once.”

She inclined her head, a puzzled look on her face. “ Ja, sicher ,” she said. At once.”

She could feel their eyes on her back as she traversed the street, turned left at the next corner. She walked faster as she neared the grey Renault. Her shoulders slumped. It was unoccupied.

Shivering, she retreated into the shadows of the car park. Lieve god , what now? What if Pieter had been unable to retreat? What if de Boer’s officers had grabbed him ?

EVI

Baby Jacob lay sound asleep in her arms, a dribble of formula trickling from tiny rosebud lips onto his rounded chin. Evi, lost in the infant’s contentment, dabbed at the drip with a bit of cloth.

“Evi…” Mam stood over her shoulder. “For the baby’s sake, I am glad for your help. But please…Do not get too attached.”

“I know…”

“Arrangements are in place, and there is only so much formula. I must move him downstream today, while there is still enough to keep him fed him on his journey across the border.”

“Please, Mam, be careful…”

“I am always careful.”

“Yes, but…” Evi sighed. “There are Germans everywhere. They are more watchful than ever.”

Mam stood with her hands on her hips. “Perhaps you would like to come with me, Evi, ja ? You can look after the baby while I navigate.”

Evi wavered. She had thought she might go back to the Beekhof farm. Jacob must surely still be upset at his failure to – ex-fil-trate .

But Mam needed her help today – and little Jacob, as well…

...

They were on the river before nine in the morning. Evi piled cushions and woolen blankets in the hold to make a bed for the baby. She fed him a bottle, still wondering at the sight of this tiny child struggling, as they all were, to survive.

He was asleep before the bottle was half empty. Evi climbed to the main cabin as Mam piloted the barge.

They were past The Hague and nearly to Rotterdam. Evi was near to nodding off herself when she heard the gears begin to grind .

“Evi!,” Mam shouted. “There is a spit of land on the port side. Get ready to jump!”

“But – ?”

“Do not ask questions, Evi. Jump! Now! Find your way back to Haarlem!”

“But the baby – “

“You cannot carry him. Let me worry. Now, Evi, jump now !

Evi glanced toward the hold. Glanced back at Mam.

She had never heard such urgency in her voice.

Grabbing her bookbag, she leapt from the port side, landed heavily on a gravel-filled slope, clawed her way to a grassy knoll, her left knee badly scraped.

She swiped at the blood with the hem of her skirt and sat to catch her breath, scanning the horizon for the barge.

Just down the coastline, she caught sight of it, inching its way toward shore, followed, to her horror, by a German patrol boat, big and grey, pulling quickly alongside.

She watched, terrified, as two black-booted Germans leapt from the e-boat onto the barge before it was fully stopped against the pilings.

She tried to move, to do as Mam had told her, but she could not take her eyes from the barge. It seemed to take forever before Mam emerged, her red shawl around her shoulders, one of the Germans close behind, his rifle at her back.

Evi leaned forward, squinting into the wind, and watched, unbelieving, as the rifle sounded and Mam, like a rag doll tossed into the air, tumbled soundlessly into the sea.

ZOE

Kurt made a place for her on the wooden bench where he sat to tell his stories. His voice was barely above a whisper .

“I told you, Zoe, that I was able to smuggle Jews and German dissenters across the border. My routes took them from Cologne to Rotterdam where, if they were wily, and fortunate, they could make their way to safety.”

Zoe studied the lines of Kurt’s face, a prominent nose under warm brown eyes, dearer to her each time she saw him.

Kurt sighed. “I was part of a group called Die Rote Kapelle - the Red Orchestra – a network of Resistance workers united against the Nazi regime. Among those I helped to escape were some high-level military defectors and diplomats the Reich had been pursuing.”

Zoe listened.

Kurt paused, leaning back. “Needless to say, when the Gestapo caught on, they began pursuing me, as well – especially in Rotterdam, once they realized I had slipped out of Germany. So, I took a new name and re-settled here, first in Amsterdam and then in that little house in Haarlem before the Germans starting grabbing up land.”

“ Lieve god you were able to dodge them…”

“Thus far, anyway. Apparently, at the time we were told to evacuate, they had not yet identified me…But now, one way or another, it appears they have made the connection.”

Zoe wondered who might have betrayed him – and what the Reich had paid them for their loyalty.

She held up a hand. “But Kurt, they have no way of knowing, at this point, whether you are alive or dead…”

Kurt offered a wry smile. “And still my name appears on your cousin’s list of ‘most wanted…”

Zoe glanced across the room, where Gerritt was deep in conversation with two of the Jewish physicians who were still treating those who needed care, even here, in this secret sanctuary, with the barest of supplies.

“Kurt, you know that Gerritt will never give up anyone to the Germans – not as long as we – ”

“Not as long as we are able to remain hidden.”

She nodded.

Tentatively, he placed a hand over hers. It felt warm and protective. “I love your passion, Zoe,” he said. “And your faith in goodness and right.”

She placed her other hand gently over his.

“But the Reich is relentless,” he whispered. “I fear you are far more confident than I that we can remain out of sight for very long.”

MILA

Minutes passed, each longer than the last. From the shadows of the auto park, she saw flashing lights on the move, no doubt Dutch and German police prowling the streets for the assassin.

Assassin .

She trembled, as much from fear as from the cold. What on earth was she to do if Pieter did not find his way back…?

At long last, she saw a tall, slim figure in a dark overcoat moving slowly toward the auto park. She peered through the night, hardly daring to breathe, until she could be sure.

Pieter.

She moved forward until he saw her and signaled. Glancing around her in the near-empty space, she slipped into the grey Renault.

He looked solemn and spent in the glare of the klieg lights still emanating from the crime scene.

“ Godzijdank ,” she murmured, wanting to touch him, to embrace him in the joy of knowing he was alive. But she only looked at him and held her hands in her lap.

“So many police, so very fast,” she murmured.

As if he read her mind, Pieter reached for her, an awkward hug hindered by the steering wheel. “I am here, Mila… I am here. ”

He touched her face, then straightened. “But I cannot be certain de Boer is dead.”

Mila frowned. “I saw him being lifted into the ambulance…”

“A passerby got in the way of my shot. My aim was less than perfect.”

She blinked. “You think de Boer is still alive?”

“I cannot be sure. But if he is, we may not have another go at him. The Gestapo and their Dutch police accomplices are already on high alert.”

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine sprang to life.

“The pistol…” she asked.

“I have it. A German Mauser with a long and complex history. There is little chance it will ever be traced to the Resistance.”

Pieter looked carefully in all directions before pulling out into the street. “I wanted this kill,” he muttered. “For Daan…”

Mila looked straight ahead. “I know.”

She knew, too, that if de Boer was still alive, neither Pieter nor she would be completely safe.