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“You will not go, Jacob,” she said, just as firmly. “It is entirely too dangerous for you to be out. You are too easily recognized as American.”

She looked around at the faces of the others, frowning and clearly skeptical.

“Evi, I – “

“I said no, Jacob.” She stood ramrod straight, looked into his eyes. “You must trust that you have prepared me for this.”

ZOE

There was no chance of sleep on the three-hour midnight train they were fortunate to board from Haarlem to Enschede.

There were few passengers, and no overt German presence, but Zoe quaked to think of the consequences if they were to be confronted by Gestapo officers – if they needed to try to explain their journey, if the pistol hidden in Evi’s bag was discovered.

Despite herself, she shuddered, remembering as though it were yesterday, the Nazi pistol shoved into her face on her last trip home from Enschede.

Thus far , godjzidank, the ride had been uneventful, and quiet save for the clacking of wheels against steel.

It gave her time to share with Evi as much as she knew about when the Germans had come after her father and why.

But they were weary and anxious by the time they debarked at nearly three in the morning, as much from stress and misgiving, Zoe knew, as from the lack of sleep.

The city streets seemed other-worldly in the dead of night, subdued, and weirdly shadowed, lit by a sliver of moon and the occasional street light, and devoid of any footsteps but theirs.

They moved slowly, looking ahead and behind, braced for a noise, for another human being, for a Nazi checkpoint – but there was nothing but the clouds of their own breath dissipating into the night as Zoe directed their route.

Finally, Zoe stopped and pointed across the street at the barn her mother had alluded to – a good-sized structure long in disrepair, nearly stripped of its once-red paint, and seemingly deserted.

Cautious, they looked both ways, crossed the deserted street and listened.

Nothing.

But then, one would expect, if there were people inside, that they were sleeping.

A padlock on the wooden door confirmed that something was inside – but there was no way to know , in the pre-dawn quiet, if it was hay, provisions, or human beings.

Evi pulled her blue knit cap down nearly to her eyes, and at her signal, staying in in the shadows, they moved into the adjacent alleyway.

Zoe half-expected – maybe half-wished – to see a sentry standing guard. But as far as she could see, it seemed deserted.

Evi stood motionless for a long moment. Then she reached into her bag, retrieved her pistol, and shoved it into her pocket.

“Go back, Zoe,” she whispered, pointing across the cobblestoned street. “You cannot help me here. Cross the street, stay out of sight, and wait for me.”

She paused. “I am going to test to see if anyone is inside. But we need to be prepared. If anything happens – if there is shooting – you need to save yourself. There is nothing you can do to help me if there is trouble. Catch the next train and go home.”

Zoe stared, alarmed at the full impact of the danger she was putting this young girl into. What in the world had she been thinking?

“Evi, no,” she begged. “! I cannot let you do this. I am so sorry. We will find another way –”

Evi shook her head. “It may be useless,” she whispered. Very likely, there is no one inside. This will be only a test, Zoe. I will be careful, I promise.”

Zoe searched the girl’s face in the faint moonlight, but if Evi was apprehensive, she hid it well.

“And you must promise that if there is trouble, you will run as fast as you can.”

Zoe wavered, finally nodded, and moved back into the shadows, feeling more helpless and more anxious than she had ever been.

She watched Evi move toward the barn.

Unable to bring herself to cross the road, Zoe crouched deep behind a bed of neglected hawthorn bushes and watched as Evi put an ear to the back door of the barn and listened.

In the next moment, as Zoe watched, Evi bent, gathered a handful of something – maybe small stones or gravel – then tossed it in a spray against the door of the barn, and backed into the shadows.

MILA

German officers were everywhere in Amsterdam, guarding entrances, stopping people at makeshift check points, marching in the streets in that chilling, stiff-legged gait that never failed to rattle her – the more so now because of the pistol Mila carried, buried deep in her shoulder bag.

Exhausted and hungry, she bought a raw turnip from a sidewalk vendor and sat on a bench in the gathering dusk to devour it .

At four in the afternoon, she was no closer to locating Pieter than she had been when she had stepped off the bus nearly twelve hours earlier.

Assuming he had discovered where de Boer was being treated, she was certain he would have taken up a post nearby.

She had made the rounds of the hospitals closest to the site of the failed shooting, then widened her search to include the next nearest. But even her skilled flirtation with security guards and any medical staff she could corner did little to yield useful information.

At University Hospital, however, the increased presence of sentries told her she was in the right place.

She had walked briskly past the cordon as though she belonged there, had even managed to walk the halls on every floor, looking for the presence of the Amsterdam polizie who would likely be guarding de Boer’s room.

But in the end, it had taken every shred of charm she could muster to avoid being interrogated herself.

“ Idioot,” she berated herself. How could she think she could possibly get close to de Boer’s bedside, never mind discover where Pieter might be in a city as big as Amsterdam?

She was considering taking the next bus home in defeat when someone sat down next to her on the bench – a middle-aged woman, she saw, dressed in a long, grey coat with a black wool scarf wrapped around her face, and black oxford shoes…

the same sort of practical shoes Mila had seen on the nursing staff all day.

“ Goedenavond ,” the woman nodded without facing her . Good evening.

Mila hesitated, “ Goedenavond .”

The woman produced a bottle of water from her bag, sipped slowly as she glanced around her. “You are looking for someone in hospital?” she said.

Mila narrowed her eyes.

“I understand there is a fine new play in Brussels.”

It was a current code sentence used to validate Resistance volunteers.

Mila nodded almost imperceptibly. “I have heard as much. ”

The woman did not look at her. “I am a day nurse at University Hospital. You were walking the hall on the second floor, peering into patient rooms as though you were looking for someone.”

Mila hesitated, taking the woman’s measure. It was never easy, knowing who to trust, even when they knew the proper code words. In the end, she relied on instinct.

“My uncle,” she said. “I am looking for my uncle.”

The woman looked straight ahead, took another sip of water. “Your uncle is perhaps a well-known figure in Amsterdam?”

Again, Mila hesitated. “He is.”

“In uniform, perhaps…”

“ Ja …”

“I have a grandson,” the woman said, her expression stoic. “He is eighteen years old. He was arrested three weeks ago by the Dutch police for distributing underground newspapers.”

She looked around her, took another sip. “The police captain demanded more guilders for his release than our family could ever produce…”

Again, a sip of water. The woman closed her eyes. “I fear we may never see him again.”

Mila took her cue, looking straight ahead as she spoke. “I am so very sorry,” she said.” In these dangerous times, one cannot know where the sympathies of Dutch officials lie – even seasoned police captains…like my uncle.”

The woman paused. “You might be interested to know that such a man with a recent gunshot wound was released from hospital early this morning under heavy guard. It seems he will continue recovering at his home in Diemen…”

Abruptly, the woman stood, tucked her water bottle in her bag, and crossed the road to a bus stop.

Mila looked away, looked down at her gloved hands. Resistance, godjedank , was everywhere .

She knew of Diemen. It was not more than five or six kilometers from where she sat. Once, it had been a busy haven for Jews loyal to the Dutch Royal House – but Hitler’s Reich had long since sent the lot of them to their deaths….

If Reimar de Boer owned a home in Diemen, he had no doubt purchased it for a rock bottom price after the Jews had been evacuated…

And if the day nurse was to be believed, the traitor was once again in residence.

EVI

The back door of the barn creaked open a sliver. Backlit as he was from a dim light inside, Evi could see only a stocky figure wearing a wide-brimmed German field cap. The man briefly scanned the wooded area, scowled, and withdrew, pulling the door closed behind him.

So, there was someone inside. The question was, who besides this guard – and how many?

She scooped up another handful of gravel, tossed it haphazardly at the door of the barn and retreated into the shadows.

In the next instant, the barn door crashed open, and this time, the guard emerged with pistol drawn.

Adrenaline pumping, Evi raised the Colt, took careful aim, and opened fire. She saw the German go down in a heap, but in the next millisecond, another figure emerged with a rifle, and a searing pain ripped through her left shoulder.

She tumbled to the ground, gritting her teeth against the pain, every instinct telling her to grasp her shoulder and roll with the pain. But whoever had shot her was running now in her direction .

She heard Zoe cry out. The figure turned toward the sound, and in the split second that he looked away, Evi willed herself to roll onto her good shoulder, raise the Colt, and fire.

Then she lowered the pistol, gave in to the pain, and surrendered to a merciful blackness.

ZOE