‘Give me the key.’
She handed it to Karl as if it was on fire.
‘If someone comes, don’t answer, okay?’ Jørgen said. ‘Just keep quiet, and pretend you’re not home. And show me your telephone.’
She looked up at him. Her fear had turned into a cold hard expression. ‘The Germans’ll kill me for this,’ she said. ‘And the rest of the village. They’ll think it’s my fault.’ She stuck out her chin. ‘All you Resistance men are the same; you care nothing for innocent Norwegians. It’ll be like the massacre at Telavåg. I hate you. Every last one of you.’
Her words stabbed him where it hurt. Jørgen took out his pistol, anger flaring. ‘Just show me the telephone.’
She was cowed then, and that hurt worse. The thought he’d just threatened an innocent woman made him squirm. She showed him where the wooden booth was at the corner of the shop, while Karl kept lookout by the door. Jørgen gestured the woman to sit on a rush-topped stool where people obviously waited to use the phone. He dialled the operator with the booth door open and the gun still pointing at her, the receiver clamped between ear and shoulder. When he got through to Dr Moen, the doctor was amazed.
‘Nystrøm?’
He explained that he was the only survivor of the Vidar. He didn’t mention Karl, though he could clearly see his tall, broad-shouldered figure pacing by the door.
There was silence on the other end, though he could hear the slight buzz of the line.
‘Doctor?’
‘Sorry, I can’t help you. You shouldn’t even be calling, the line could be tapped. It’s too dangerous to do a pick-up in these circumstances.’ Moen gave an audible sigh. ‘I have to think of the others I help.’
‘I understand.’ The disappointment was needle-sharp. He was on his own. He didn’t dare think what that meant.
A pause and the line crackled — mumbling in the background. Eventually, another voice, younger, hurried, said, ‘I can tell you though, there are three fishing boats moored at the end of the spit, out past the warship. If one of those went missing in the middle of the night, well…’
Jørgen was saying thank you to the unknown man when Moen cut in over him. ‘Good luck, Nystrøm.’
The line went dead.
The postmistress was still sitting on the stool, twisting the strings of her overall in her hands. ‘All your friends went down on that boat?’
He nodded. A sudden vision of Lars, sinking in the dinghy, made him swallow.
Karl had hooked a finger round the blind and raised the corner. ‘Watch out!’ he said, dropping the blind. ‘Wehrmacht man.’ He swivelled his gun on the postmistress. ‘Stay out of sight. Don’t make a sound, or I’ll shoot.’
The door shook and rattled as the German tried to open it. ‘You open?’ the voice came from outside. A bang, as if he’d kicked the door. The woman scurried away and ducked down behind the counter, obviously expecting trouble.
Another bang. ‘Lousy shop. I only want tobacco. Open up.’
Jørgen and Karl kept the gun trained on the door as it rattled and strained against the jamb.
After more expletives in German, there was the sound of footsteps as the soldier walked away. Jørgen let out his breath. ‘Thank God. I thought he was going to break the door down.’
‘You get through to Milorg?’ Karl asked him.
‘Yep. Nothing doing. Got to find my own way. There’s a boat at the end of the spit. When you’ve made contact with your man, I’ll head for that.’
‘Okay. Watch the door in case he comes back with reinforcements. I’ll call Falk now, get him to call off the men and arrange a pick up.’
‘Hope you have better luck than I did.’
The woman emerged from under the counter to plead with Karl. ‘Please, just leave me in peace. We didn’t want to be in any battle.’
‘Stop whining,’ Karl said, pointing his gun. His aggressive tone was enough to silence her. He strode towards the telephone booth and ducked inside, swinging the wooden door shut.
In Oslo, Falk was having his second cup of coffee and his third biscuit. He’d always had a sweet tooth and it showed in his waistline. Whilst he was doing it, he was reading through the papers for the deportation of the Jews. He was to supply two hundred officers for the transportation of prisoners via the SS Donau which would leave Oslo for Stettin on the 26th November. He wiped a crumb from his lips. From there, onwards to the German camp Auschwitz.
When the telephone rang in the outer office it made him jump and knock his coffee cup against his teeth.
A moment later, Selma knocked, put her head round the door. ‘Karl Brevik on the telephone, sir. Shall I put him through?’
Brevik? Impossible. His thoughts raced. The ship had blown itself up. A suicide mission as Nystrøm tried to sink the German warship. Two men got away; eyewitnesses said one was Nystrøm, and they were still searching for him. But the other — he’d assumed… He slammed his cup down. ‘Put him through.’ He grabbed the receiver.
Brevik’s voice came through in an intense whisper. ‘You messed up. You nearly killed me. Here’s the deal. I’ve got Milorg man Jørgen Nystrøm here with me. The Germans think I’m one of the Milorg men that keep him company. You have a choice. Either you get me out of here, or I leave with Nystrøm and give the English all the information I have.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ Falk blustered, trying to take in all this information.
‘No. No time. You promised me my money. Do you want Nystrøm or not?’
Falk’s pulse quickened. The thought of arresting Nystrøm after all this time was sweet. But he didn’t want Brevik alive to tell the tale.
Brevik was still talking in a rapid whisper. Falk pressed the receiver to his ear until it hurt.
‘You’ll need to send a car to fetch us,’ Brevik was saying. ‘There’s a Mercedes parked close to here. A gas-powered thing. Get word to the Germans we want out. But I won’t go anywhere without Nystrøm. He’s my insurance, and if you mess up again, I’ll shoot him. Understand? Once we’re in Oslo and I get paid, I’ll hand him over.’
‘Yes.’ Falk managed to get a word in. ‘Yes to your terms. Now tell me where you are.’
‘Stortlefjord. The Post Office. I want to see the car pull up outside before we come out, or Nystrøm’s dead.’
So Brevik was still there by the fjord? Why hadn’t the Wehrmacht found them before now? Bloody inefficiency. ‘Deal,’ Falk said. ‘You’ll have your car. Stay where you are. I’ll get word to German command and the Stapo.’
The line went dead. Falk found his heart thudding uncomfortably loud in his chest. Today was going to be a good day after all. He rubbed his stomach where a twinge of indigestion stabbed in his side. Then he picked up the receiver again and asked Selma to put him through to Fehlis.
Karl was a long time on the phone. Through the glass in the door Jørgen could see him cranking the handle, then talking rapidly, though he had turned his back to them. Finally, he sauntered out, and gave Jørgen a smile. ‘They’re arranging a pickup. But it won’t be until tomorrow. So I guess I’ll just have to spend the night here.’
‘I don’t want you here overnight,’ the woman protested. ‘Please, I don’t live very far away. I just want to go home.’
‘Unless you want a bullet through the head, you’ve no choice,’ Karl said. She paled. ‘But you could do something useful. Neither of us has eaten. Can you get out some food — bread, meats, cheese?’
Silently, she went to the counter and began to slice up a loaf of black bread.
Jørgen went to the door to check for Germans and see which way the patrol was facing on the road. ‘Looks quiet out there,’ he said to Karl. ‘If you pass me the key, I’m going to get on the road soon as I can. I’m definitely not hanging on for your quisling friends.’
‘Aw, come on. A few minutes more whilst you have some food won’t make a difference.’
‘I’d rather get going. Being cooped up like this makes me jittery. Just give me th
e key.’
Karl walked over, one hand feeling in his pocket, as Jørgen held out his hand for the key. ‘Sorry. No can do.’ Karl leapt forward and pressed his gun to Jørgen’s neck.
Jørgen’s stomach dropped like a stone. ‘You wouldn’t.’ His mouth went dry.
‘Best sit down, Jørgen. I’m not playing games.’
‘You double-crossing bastard. You’re going to hand me over.’
‘Don’t move,’ Karl said. ‘Drop the gun.’
Jørgen hesitated, but Karl pressed the muzzle of the gun against the soft flesh of his neck. The woman dived down behind the counter, hands over her head. Jørgen let his gun fall with a clatter.
‘Move to the door,’ Karl said. ‘Nice and slow.’
Jørgen shuffled until he was close to the door with its blind hanging down. Karl lifted the blind with his other hand. ‘Karl, can we at least —’
‘Shut up. I’m not bluffing.’
Jørgen was still, but his mind raced. What were the probabilities of getting out of this alive? Less than five percent if he made a run for it, and the door would have to be open. If he didn’t fight, Karl would hand him over to be questioned by the Stapo. He’d be dead by now if he didn’t have some value to Karl and the Germans. But if he bided his time that meant a journey to a cell and probably more guards. Several enemies, instead of one on one.
Karl lifted the blind again, waiting for someone.
Jørgen’s thoughts kept churning. Easier to give the Germans the slip if they were on the move. But then again, the more guards, the worse the odds. He hedged his bets. He’d wait until the moment the door opened, then try to make a run. If they shot him, well, it would be better for Larsen’s Shetland operation than him giving up their secrets under torture.
They must have waited there for forty-five minutes. Jørgen’s legs started to shake. He was tired and tense, and ready to run, but every minute of waiting made his heart race faster. A cold sweat trickled down his back. Finally, he heard it, the noise of a car engine start up, the roar of motorbikes. Karl lifted the blind for the umpteenth time. Jørgen glimpsed a big black car and a motorcycle escort drawing up outside the shop.
The pressure on his neck eased a touch. He risked a look at Karl who was pulling the key from his pocket. Not yet, he told himself. Go easy. Got to wait until the door’s open.
Karl put the key in the lock and pulled up the blind for one more look. There were voices outside and a creak of a car door opening, over the hum of the idling engine.
‘Do exactly as I say,’ Karl said, pressing the gun to the back of his skull. His hand reached past Jørgen to turn the key and pull open the door.
A push from behind and Jørgen was out. Cold wind battered his face. A voice in his head screamed ‘Run!’ but there was no time. The car was there, but there was no space to move. Karl pushed him in through the car’s open door, and was about to follow him.
No sooner had Jørgen hit the leather seat than there was a double pistol shot from behind him. Instinctively, he turned.
He was unhurt.
Then he understood. They’d gunned Karl down right inside the car door.
Karl was clinging to the car roof, an expression of bewilderment on his face. He was slipping, and he tried to haul himself up by grasping the sill. His eyes looked into Jørgen’s with disbelief, his mouth opened to speak, but no sound came.
The German nearest the car had levelled his gun again, and now pulled the trigger at point black range. A dull crack and Karl fell.
Jørgen stared in horror at the crumpled shape at his feet, before anger surged inside him. Almost immediately his body hit panic mode. He saw his chance and shot across the seat to where the guard on the other side had his door half open. He thrust his whole weight behind the door and gave the man an almighty push. With a cry, the German staggered before he was knocked off his feet. Jørgen scrambled over him and began to run down the street, dodging side to side to the path by the fjord. Chance of escape, three percent. He leapt over a hay-drying fence, almost stumbled and ploughed onwards into the dark. Shots rang out after him — the strafe of a machine gun, flashes in the dark. A motorcycle started up and roared behind him, but the machine couldn’t get over the fence.
Men shouting to each other.
Mustn’t stop. Across fields. Over a gate. Into the dark, his chest like a dry husk, his side in a spasm of cramp. He pelted past the lights of the warship on his right, which was sounding a klaxon alarm. He was vaguely aware of men like ants gathering on the deck.
Head down, he saw the end of the land and the glimmer of open sea.
Frantically he rushed up and down the rocky promontory searching for the boats.
He glanced back. They were gaining on him.
Another burst of fire.
There! A sudden rush of euphoria. He rushed down the rocks to the pebbly shallows and unhooked the nearest boat from its moorings. It was an Oselvar, a sailing boat like the ones he’d seen in Shetland. He pushed the boat hard and leapt in. He barely thought, just hoisted the sail and to his relief, it filled like a great pale balloon. The wind was stiff and he grabbed the rudder and turned it into the breeze.
Another spate of fire missed him by a bare inch but tore a hole in the bottom of the sail. It wasn’t enough to stop him bearing away. He kept heading out to sea, out over the waves with Shetland firmly in his sights.
CHAPTER 34
At the harbourmaster’s stores, a large hangar with a tin roof, Astrid spoke to the harbourmaster about Jørgen Nystrøm and the Vidar to see if more news had come.
‘I know no more’n you. He was well-liked, Nystrøm. Never took to his friend though, Karl Brevik. He was a bit stand-offish with the fishermen, like we weren’t good enough for him.’ He paused in packing up some fishing weights. ‘Sorry, it’s bad to speak ill… I mean, when we don’t know what’s happened yet. But I hope Nystrøm’s safe somewhere. And I’m not the only one. Morag Airdrie’s been mooning after him for months.’
‘Morag?’ She stepped back in surprise.
‘Aye. She thinks no-one knows, but it’s as plain to see as the nose on my face.’
Astrid wandered out of the hangar, her gaze straying out to sea for the umpteenth time. There was nothing in view on the horizon, merely gulls shrieking round the mouth of the harbour as a fisherman mended his nets by the harbour wall. Did Morag know she’d been Jørgen’s girlfriend? Was that why she was so strange with her?
‘Miss Dahl!’
She turned to see Sara running towards her. She was wearing a brightly flowered frock and a blue cardigan. Her shoes shone with polish. Behind her, Isaak hurried along by the cottages. He was wearing a different coat, old but good quality.
‘Hello smarty-pants,’ Astrid said, swinging Sara up for a hug.
‘We’re leaving this afternoon,’ Sara said, breathless. ‘We’re going by boat then a train. I’m a bit scared of the boat, but Pappa says there won’t be any Nazis or guns. There are no Nazis in Scotland, he says.’ Her excited face was rosier than Astrid had seen it for months.
Astrid bent down to put Sara on the ground. ‘So soon?’ she said. ‘You were a very brave girl. We couldn’t have done it, couldn’t have got here at all, without your clever acting.’
‘Oh, Miss Dahl,’ Sara said, and suddenly reached her hands around Astrid’s neck for a hug. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘And I’ll miss you.’ Astrid hugged her back, fiercely. ‘You take care,’ she said. ‘And write to me, care of Captain Harcourt. Tell me what you’re doing in school.’
‘What will you do?’ Isaak had arrived, and was standing watching. ‘You can’t go back to Norway.’
‘I’ll stay on here a while. They need more women to do domestic stuff, get things ready for the Norwegian agents that come in and out from this place, mend clothes, you know…’
‘You’re still waiting for Nystrøm, aren’t you?’
She flushed. ‘It feels like I’d be letting him down if I didn’t wait. He
knew I was waiting and he risked his life to get us out, but we still don’t know what happened to him. I can’t rest easy until I know.’
He shook his head, but his eyes were soft. ‘He’s a very lucky man. I thought … well, I thought we made rather a good family.’
His words winded her. She looked up into his face and saw how he looked at her with a light in his eyes she’d tried to push away. ‘I —’
‘No, no need to say anything,’ he said. ‘I wish you well, I truly do. I hope he comes home safe.’ Now he was hurrying on, glossing over what had probably been the most important thing anyone had ever said to her. ‘We’ll keep in touch and there’ll always be a place for you wherever we go. London seems so far away, but I hope we’ll get resettled there, and I can begin my book business again. I’ll write, and I’ll make Sara write and tell you all her news, just as soon as we have an address.’
‘I can’t believe you’re going,’ Astrid said, her voice choked.
He held out his arms and they hugged tight, until Astrid pulled away.
‘Don’t miss your lift,’ she said, through eyes brimming with tears.
Watching them walk away was like watching half her life disappear.
‘Good luck!’ Her wave was a desperate gesture.
Isaak strode away, upright and unbowed, with Sara hopping along beside him. And for the first time she really understood what it was like to be a refugee. They had been half-way across Europe already, built a new life, and now they were travelling again to some unknown place where they must do it all over again with only one small suitcase between them.
Out on the sea, Jørgen’s euphoria was short-lived. The Germans would be after him soon enough. He couldn’t go far in this. Little boats like this weren’t built for open water. And the whole coast was riddled with Nazi patrol boats. Again, he weighed his options. There were few. He was about two miles out now and still heading for Shetland in the dark. Could he try to sail to Shetland in what amounted to a dinghy? Impossible. And planes or motorboats would soon pick him off. It left only one option. To sail up the coast and hope to get on a bigger boat. He was just thinking this when he heard the ‘tonk tonk’ of an engine. Hastily, he lowered sail. No point in advertising his presence. But when the boat heaved into view, he made out the dim outline of an old Norwegian fishing boat, a big one, not a German patrol. No lights.
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