“Good news?” Müller asked.
“Not for me, I feel like my stomach is on fire.” He rubbed his stomach with his gloved hand.
“Has the Führer made his decision?”
“He is conducting the morning briefing with the OKW now, reviewing the position on the Western Front. I will ask him for a decision as soon as that meeting finishes.”
The two men stood in the snow for a few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Then the door to the Führer’s hut opened and a series of army generals started to drift out with their adjutants. They all looked tired and dispirited.
“We cannot hold this operation beyond tonight, you know that,” said Müller quietly. “Either we leave or we stand it down.”
“Don’t tell me my business,” snapped Bormann. “I will speak to him. Wait here.”
He pushed through the thinning crowd and disappeared inside. Müller lit a cigarette and glanced around. In the west corner of the courtyard, Eva Braun was standing with her sister, Gretl. The two women were both dressed for the road, in wool skirts and coats, strong walking boots, and fur hats.
Müller thought they looked tense as they chatted together and stamped their feet. Well, if all went to plan, in two weeks they would be wearing cotton dresses and enjoying the warm winter sunshine of Buenos Aires. The Führer would give the final order, and the Type XXI U-boat, which would by then be waiting underwater just off the coast of the United States, would launch the missile that would reduce New York to dust.
After ten minutes Bormann emerged from the hut, wearing the same tight smile on his face.
“Good news?” Müller asked again.
“Not for our boys in the Ardennes.”
“It’s bad?”
“It’s over. Retreating on all fronts, no fuel for the Panzers, no bullets for the infantry. Same in the east—a massive offensive by the Reds, over two million men.”
“Well then, surely—”
“Of course the Führer has made the right decision!”
Müller rubbed his gloved hands. “Operation Black Sun is authorized?”
Bormann nodded. “Get the vehicles started and the crews ready,” he said. “We leave in thirty minutes.”
After Tygo had escaped from the taxidermist, he had immediately cycled back to Gestapo Headquarters. On arrival he had been informed that Krüger had left some time ago with Willa, heading for an undisclosed location. He had left a sealed envelope in his office for Tygo.
Tygo had run upstairs to Krüger’s office. On his desk was the envelope. Tygo ripped it open and saw that Krüger had written out the coordinates of the airfield. He recognized them: 52–37 Nord 4–53 Ost. He looked over at the large-scale map on the wall and quickly located the place … only there was no sign of an airfield there. It was all woods and dunes on the coast not far from Zandvoort, which had been a holiday resort before the war. The whole area had been out of bounds to civilians since the Occupation. It would take a couple of hours to cycle there, Tygo thought, perhaps a little more.
He sat down at the desk, jotting a route out below the coordinates on the piece of paper. When he had finished he sat there and stared at the paper package from the taxidermist’s. What if the stone wasn’t inside? What then?
Finally he reached forward and started to open it. He slipped off the string and tore at the paper, revealing a stiff cardboard box. Slowly he took off the lid and stared at the contents.
It was a stuffed field mouse wearing traditional red wooden clogs and a striped sailor’s jersey, topped off with a little red pointed Dutch hat.
Tygo held it in his hand for a moment, then gave it a squeeze; he could feel something hard in the mouse’s abdomen. He pulled up the jersey and saw an incision from neck to tail. He pulled roughly at the stitching, and out it popped onto the desk in front of him. The Red Queen. Bigger than a gobstopper, a single red diamond. From his work with Krüger, he knew enough to know that red diamonds like this simply did not exist.
“Unbezahlbar,” Tygo whispered. Priceless, that was what Krüger had called it. It seemed crazy that something so small could be worth so much, but when he looked at it, it was truly extraordinary.
He picked it up between his thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. The stone seemed to come alive, to catch fire … the most perfect ruby color, iridescent, as dark as pigeon’s blood, shooting out blinding little flashes of light. There existed no other diamond of that size and color in the whole world. And he was sitting in Gestapo Headquarters holding it in his hand. A two-hour cycle ride and Krüger would have it, and he and Willa would be free.
He started to get up, then stared at the typed coordinates again. What about the Resistance, his sister and Pieter? Here was a chance to kill Hitler, maybe even to end the war. Deep down he knew he had to get them this vital information, and as soon as possible.
Getting through the city took Tygo some time; he should have used his skates, he thought. The patrols were out in force, checkpoints had increased, and he could feel that the German field police were getting edgier. He was stopped at least five times and asked for his identity papers. His Gestapo warrant disk and Krüger’s letter did the trick every time, though, and he finally got to the printing works around ten.
The drab gray street was deserted except for the three lookout boys, who duly piped and drummed his arrival. Tygo propped his bike by the front entrance and banged on the door.
“Hurry up!” he yelled.
After a moment or two the hatch behind the grille in the door slid back and the same guard’s face appeared.
“You again.”
“I need to see Pieter.” Tygo could feel his temper rising.
“Go away,” said the man, but not in such polite language.
“Listen, I have some very important information for him.” Tygo leaned forward with his face to the grille.
The other man’s face came closer too. “Get lost, sonny.”
In a second, Tygo had reached through with his left hand and grabbed the man’s scarf, pulling it through the grille and wrapping it around the vertical bar. He pulled it tight, jamming the man’s face up against the grille.
The man’s face was red. “He’s not here,” he hissed as he struggled for air.
“What?” said Tygo.
“You heard.”
Tygo hadn’t been expecting that. He thought for a moment. “What about my sister?”
“They went out together.”
The young man’s face was going a darker shade of red. Tygo kept up the pressure. “Where?”
Once again the man told Tygo to get lost, his language even more colorful.
Tygo cinched the scarf tighter still. The man’s eyes were now bulging in their sockets, his lips blue.
“Blue Windmill café,” he just managed to whisper, then his eyes rolled up in his head. Tygo let go of his grip; the scarf loosened and the man promptly disappeared backward and landed with a thump on the floor inside, unconscious.
Tygo knew that café; it had been Alisa’s favorite place before the war. But it was on the other side of the Amstel. He turned and ran for his bike.
He stood outside the café for a minute or two. It looked closed: The blackout blinds were down on the front door, and it was shuttered and locked. Tygo took out his leather pouch of picks and selected one. He probed the lock with the snake pin and had the door open in a minute.
The place was empty, really empty. The furniture was gone, the glasses and the bottles were gone, everything was gone. A dog was lying in front of the fireplace. On its back, legs in the air, frozen stiff and almost comically dead.
Tygo looked down at the floor. Sure enough, there were footprints on the boards, where the snow had melted off boots, leading to a spiral staircase at the back.
Tygo knelt down and unlaced his own boots, slipping them off. Had that Resistance fighter been lying? He might have set him up for an ambush. He padded softly over the wooden boards and up the cast-iron grille treads of th
e staircase. There was a landing at the top of the stairs, with doors leading off it.
Tygo held his breath and listened. He was pretty sure someone was in the end room. He slid along the wall toward it, but halfway there, a floorboard betrayed him with a low squeak as he stepped on it. He lifted his foot off and it squeaked again. He thought he heard movement from the end door, feet hitting the floor.
He was almost there when the door literally flew at him, coming off its hinges and hitting him full on, slamming him off his feet. He fell straight down on his back, the door on top of him, a tremendous weight on top of that.
“Don’t move a muscle,” a deep voice growled from behind the door. A painfully familiar one.
“For God’s sake!” yelled Tygo. “It’s me, Tygo.”
He felt the great weight being lifted off him, and then the door was removed and Pieter was standing, staring down at him.
Tygo pulled himself to his feet. “You nearly broke my neck!” he said.
“Next time I will!” Pieter replied. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of woolen trousers held up with suspenders. His barrel chest was a carpet of black hair. He turned and stepped back toward the bedroom. “I thought we agreed never to see each other again.”
“We did,” said Tygo.
“Then you had better have a good reason for being here, because all that stuff about Hitler wasn’t worth a bucket of warm spit.”
“Actually, I do, and you’re wrong. I’ve got new …” The word “information” died in his mouth.
His sister, Alisa, had appeared in the shattered doorway. He stared at her, then at Pieter.
“You were saying …”
“I was saying …”
“Why don’t we all go downstairs?” his sister said.
Tygo nodded. Was something going on between his sister and Pieter? Surely not.
They stood at the bar, Alisa and Pieter on one side, Tygo on the other. Pieter was like some big gorilla, his fist clamped around the neck of a bottle of Dutch gin. He took a swig and passed it to Tygo, who took a quick sip just to be polite. He coughed and his eyes watered. He was surprised to see his sister take a healthy slug, and he realized all of sudden she looked a lot older than she had last year.
“So don’t keep us in suspense. What information do you have?” Pieter cracked his knuckles.
Gorilla, Tygo thought again.
“It’s all true,” he said, “Hitler is being flown out tonight from here.”
“Rubbish. We checked the airports, we’ve got people on the inside of everything.”
“Yes, but I’ve seen the coordinates—they’ve built a secret airstrip out at Zandvoort, by the beach. There’s a special plane waiting for him. Krüger’s taken Willa there. It’s going to happen, I swear.”
“So she did come to find you,” said Alisa.
Tygo nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m going to save her.”
“Oh, Tygo,” Alisa said, and smiled.
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
Pieter took a final swig, wiping his mouth. “Hitler flying out tonight? I know what I think,” he scoffed. “But I’m going to ask your sister what she thinks.”
Alisa took Tygo’s hand. “Look, Tygo, I know you’re in trouble with Krüger, and I know you care about this girl Willa, but if this is some sort of silly story …”
“I’m not lying.” Tygo was angry, but Alisa was not moved. She stared intently at him.
“If you are, I will kill you,” Alisa said very quietly.
“If I am, I will let you.”
Alisa looked over to Pieter and nodded.
“Seriously?” Pieter said, then sighed. “All right, let’s hear it.”
Tygo took a breath and dove in. “Like I said, I have the coordinates, and I’ve made a plan of the route to it. They’re going to fly Hitler out with some other people; I saw a list of their names. They’re taking a secret weapon with them. I’m pretty sure they’re going to Spain, and then after that to Argentina, probably by submarine. I saw another order signed by a Kriegsmarine admiral called Dönitz.”
“You didn’t mention that before,” Pieter said skeptically.
“Stop it, Pieter!” Alisa snapped.
“Oh, come on, Alisa …” replied Pieter.
“He’s my brother. I love him and I trust him. If he says that’s what’s going to happen, then that’s what’s going to happen.”
Tygo was astonished to see Pieter hold up his hands in apology.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry.” Pieter looked at Tygo. “Just supposing it’s true, what are we supposed to do? Storm the plane? We don’t have the people for that, the weapons.”
“No, there’s a better way,” said Tygo. “Do you have a map?”
“Just a minute,” Alisa said, and disappeared back upstairs. She returned with a large-scale map, which she spread across the bar.
Tygo pointed out the location of the airstrip. “There’s only one road there, through the woods. Look. You have to approach it on the road going south from Haarlem. There’s an unmarked turn that goes over a bridge crossing the Northern canal.”
“A bridge?”
“Yes, exactly. Don’t you have explosives, dynamite?”
“Blow the bridge,” said Pieter.
“Ambush the convoy,” Alisa chimed in.
“The plane leaves at midnight,” said Tygo.
Pieter glanced at Alisa. “It’s new moon tonight—it will be dark, good cover for us.” He looked at his watch. “It’s noon now—we have three hours of daylight, maybe a little more, to get everything ready and in position. It’s going to be tight.”
“What choice do we have?” said Alisa.
Pieter shrugged and leaned forward, handing the bottle of gin to Tygo.
“You know, Tygo, if this is true—you just might win the war tonight.”
Tygo grinned and took a swig. It burned all the way down. He handed it back and turned to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?” his sister asked.
“I have to get back to Willa. I promised.” He felt for the Red Queen deep in his pocket.
Alisa shook her head. “I’m sorry, Tygo, we need your help first.”
Tygo stared back at his sister, torn. It was the hardest decision he’d ever had to make.
But at last he nodded: Krüger and Willa would have to wait.
Tygo knew he couldn’t refuse, but he still fretted about Willa, stuck in the clutches of Krüger. If it all went well there would be time, he told himself. Pieter had asked if he could somehow get them some transport, and on his way back to Gestapo HQ he had a brilliant idea that would kill two birds with one stone.
As soon as he was inside the building he hurried to the radio communication room. One of the operators recognized him; Krüger often assigned him the job of bringing down his written messages for transmission.
“Hello, Frettchen, how can I help you today?”
Tygo picked up a message pad and wrote out a short message. “Could you send this to Oberst Krüger, most urgent?”
The operator took the pad. “Message reads: ‘Red Queen safe. Request immediate transport order. Signed Frettchen.’”
Tygo nodded.
“It’ll be a couple of minutes.”
Tygo paced continuously while the radio operator sent the coded signal and they waited for a reply. They did not have to wait long. The operator passed the message across:
“‘Request granted. I hereby order the Transport Department to provide immediate use of any available vehicle to Tygo Winter in pursuit of his duties to Oberst Krüger. By order.’”
Tygo hurried down to the basement, where the transport department was. He showed the quartermaster his warrant disk and the order just issued by Krüger. Normally the quartermaster would have told him where to go—cars and gasoline were in short supply—but Tygo was in no mood for this.
“Contact him yourself, if you doubt me,” he said.
Instead, the quartermaster picked up the phone and called Günter, Krüger’s driver. What the hell—they could take his Opel.
Tygo ordered Günter to stop Krüger’s car a sensible distance from the printing works so as not arouse the itchy trigger finger of the guard at the door. Tygo knew he didn’t need much of a reason to shoot him; that was also why he’d taken the precaution, when they had stopped, of removing the P38 service revolver from the holster attached to the inside of the front passenger door.
“Wait here,” he said, enjoying giving orders rather than taking them. He got out of the car and slotted the revolver into the back of his trousers. It was like a cold stone at the bottom of his spine.
Tygo jogged to the front of the works. He knocked. The same face appeared.
“Hello again.”
There was no reply; the young man just opened the door. But if looks could kill, thought Tygo, pushing past him.
He stood at the back as Pieter briefed a group of about thirty women and men, mostly in their twenties, Tygo guessed. To his surprise Ursula and the two boys were there too.
“What are they doing here?”
Alisa glanced over at them for a moment. “Pieter thinks we need every single person we can get our hands on—that convoy is going to be very well armed. We could lose a lot of people.”
Tygo listened, finally realizing what a deadly undertaking was being planned. So did the others, he could see that too. Steely faces, determined, listening intently as Pieter assigned each of them their own task in the ambush. All except Ursula, who stuck her tongue out at Tygo when he caught her eye. It made him grin; perhaps they would have stayed friends if things had been different for him and his family.
Alisa was standing beside him, and Tygo could see from the way she glanced at Pieter that there was something between them. He realized he was beginning to feel a bit like that about Willa. The briefing was drawing to a close. Pieter and Alisa had agreed beforehand not to tell the other members who the target was, but only to say that it was a very high-ranking member of the German army.
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