“Any questions?” Pieter asked.
There were a few murmurs, but everyone seemed to know what they had to do. The briefing broke up and most people hurried from the building. Time was short.
“See you out there, Frettchen.” It was Ursula, her two sidekicks beside her.
“Can we call a truce, Ursula?”
She looked at him. “I have neither the time nor the inclination,” she said pompously, and pushed past.
Tygo shook his head and hurried over to his sister. “You ready?” he asked, anxious to be on his way to the airbase.
“Yes, but we need you to take out the driver. After that we’ll take the car, and you’ll have to get us through any checkpoints, to the arms dump at Haarlem. We can load what we need from there and bring it to the bridge.”
“After that, you can do what you like,” Pieter added.
Tygo felt a surge of relief. The Red Queen was burning a hole in his pocket.
Günter never saw it coming. With a cheery greeting, Tygo clambered into the back of the car, wearing brass knuckledusters that Pieter had loaned him for the purpose, and hit him just behind his left ear. Günter slumped forward over the wheel, unconscious, the horn blaring momentarily till Tygo could haul him back off it.
Pieter opened the driver’s door, and together they bundled the comatose soldier into the printing works. Once inside they stripped him of his uniform and left him tied up, watched over by a Resistance guard who had stayed behind. Pieter pulled on the driver’s uniform. It just managed to fit, although the sleeves were too short. He jammed the gray forage cap on.
“Quickly now, we need to make a couple of stops in the city.”
The three of them hurried out, Tygo taking the trouble to relock the door. Out in the street, Alisa climbed into the trunk while Tygo and Pieter got into the front seats. Pieter started the car, and they were away.
They drove out through the city slowly and cautiously. They were almost clear when they ran into a mobile checkpoint: A field police Kübelwagen had been placed across the road. Pieter slowed the vehicle.
“Checkpoint!” he shouted back to Alisa. She had a Sten gun in the boot with her, and she would cock it now.
“Where are you going?” the military policeman asked, leaning in.
“I have orders here from Oberst Krüger.” Tygo handed the man the letter Krüger had written him, together with his Gestapo warrant disk.
The man studied them, then looked inside the car. Tygo sat still, staring straight ahead.
“Where are you going?” the man repeated, handing the papers back.
“My destination is secret. If you wish to contact Oberst Krüger’s office they will be happy to confirm that.” Tygo’s heart was going thump, thump, thump.
The other police officer was walking around the car, his submachine gun pointed at them. “This is Oberst Krüger’s car, ja?” he said.
Tygo nodded. “I am acting under his orders, like I said.”
“Then where is Günter?”
It was just Tygo’s bad luck to run into a policeman who actually knew Krüger’s driver.
“He’s sick today; this is Klaus, his replacement.”
Pieter nodded to the men. The lead policeman looked at his colleague, who shrugged.
“All right, on your way.”
Pieter put the car into gear and they pulled away. Tygo looked in the rearview mirror; the two policemen were staring after them.
They drove on without meeting any further patrols or checkpoints. After a short while, they were passing through the outskirts of Haarlem and then back into the countryside, overtaking the occasional cyclist and pedestrian as they struggled with carts filled with foraged kindling. The countryside had been picked clean of anything that could be eaten or burned, and the rest was covered in snow and ice.
Pieter made a right turn up a farm track and the Opel bounced and bumped over the rutted frozen mud, the wheels spinning until Pieter dropped the car into a lower gear. At the end of the track was an abandoned farmhouse, brick-built with traditional Dutch gables. A windmill was behind it, bereft of its wooden slat sails, long ago taken for firewood. It made for an excellent hiding place, and it had not taken them long to reach it. Time was still on their side.
They all climbed out of the car, Alisa stretching out her freezing, cramped body. She kept the Sten gun slung over her shoulder. Tygo stamped on a frozen puddle with his boot. It made a star-shaped little crater like a bullet hole.
“Let’s be quick about this.” Pieter led them into the farmhouse. The sun was low in the sky and it was gloomy inside. They stood in the hallway for a moment, then walked through into the kitchen. “The cellar is through the pantry—you go back and keep a lookout in the hall, Tygo. Your sister and I will get the stuff.”
Tygo nodded and walked back into the hall. He rested his hand on the butt of the P38 stuffed into his waistband. The minutes ticked past. Tygo opened the front door and stepped outside through the covered porch. The sun was almost gone, the sky a purple bruise.
Snap! It was the sound of a hammer being flicked back on a pistol, and it was right behind him. He spun around and found himself facing the military policeman from the last checkpoint. He must have been hiding by the side of the porch.
“Take your pistol out and drop it on the ground.”
Tygo thought about trying to talk his way out of it, but he could see that the man was deadly serious. He drew the Walther out of his waistband and let it fall to the ground. There was a round in the chamber and the safety was off; perhaps there was a way …
“Move!” The man spoke urgently but quietly. Tygo wondered where his partner was, why he hadn’t heard their vehicle. The policeman was shoving him back into the house, the barrel of the gun jabbing Tygo’s back.
“Stop,” the policeman hissed, once they were in the hall. Before Tygo could say anything, Pieter suddenly appeared from the kitchen carrying a heavy-looking wooden box in both hands.
“Hey, Tygo, give your …” he began, then he saw the policeman and his voice died.
“Stay where you are!” the policeman barked. He put his arm around Tygo’s neck and pulled it tight, jamming the gun into his cheek.
“Of course, no problem.” Pieter stood there, holding the box.
Thank God, thought Tygo, Pieter hadn’t said the word sister! As far as the policemen knew, it was just the two of them.
“Hans!” he yelled now. “Cover me!” He started to back out of the house, using Tygo as a shield. “You!” he said to Pieter. “Come to me, keep ahold of the box!”
Pieter walked toward them slowly as they stepped outside. When they were a few yards outside the policeman stopped.
“Hans, what are you doing hiding behind our car?” Pieter called out.
“Be silent!” the policeman ordered, but now Tygo knew where the other man was, and hopefully so did Alisa.
“Very slowly, put the box down,” the policeman said.
Tygo felt the arm around his neck begin to relax. He glanced down on the ground and saw his pistol lying in the snow a few yards away. He looked back up and saw Pieter was staring at him as he lowered the box to the ground. He nodded his head ever so slightly.
“Okay, now put your hands up.”
Pieter raised his hands in the air. Tygo saw a flicker of movement behind him in the house. So did the guard.
“Hey!” he said, letting go of Tygo’s neck.
“Now!” yelled Pieter.
Tygo slammed his elbow back as hard as he could into the policeman’s ribs and then dove to his left, rolling toward his pistol. As he did so, submachine guns burst into life. His right hand found the pistol, and he swung up and around onto one knee.
The first policeman was spinning back toward the car, his machine gun firing wildly into the air, his body bucking from the bullets hitting him. Tygo saw Alisa in the doorway, the Sten at her hip, her left hand gripping the magazine.
Pieter was lying flat in the snow.
> The second policeman suddenly appeared from behind the car. He leaned forward on the hood, aiming his submachine gun. Tygo fired three shots; the last hit the policeman in the shoulder and he fell back, the machine gun sliding off the hood.
Pieter ran forward across the snow. The first policeman was lying still, dead. He reached the second one, who was on his back, pushing himself along the ground with his legs, one arm useless, but desperately trying to draw his pistol from his holster with his good arm.
“Stop, don’t!” said Tygo, but the man continued.
“I said stop or I’ll shoot.” Tygo was almost pleading.
The man got the pistol free, raised it.
There was a single gunshot, but it wasn’t Tygo’s or the man’s. A red hole the size of a cherry appeared in the man’s forehead and he fell back, lying still. A crimson corona quickly haloed around his head.
Alisa was standing next to Tygo, smoke curling from the end of her Sten. She switched out the magazine, tossing the old one aside and slotting the new one in. She snicked the bolt. Her expression was blank.
“I was going to shoot,” Tygo said thinly. Alisa nodded and put her arm around his shoulders. He thought he might cry.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” said Tygo. “I didn’t hear them coming.”
Pieter joined them.
“They must have left their car up the track,” said Alisa.
“We have to move fast,” Pieter said. He appeared to be grinning. “We’ll take their vehicle as well. Every cloud has a silver lining. We can double up the amount we can bring.” Tygo was amazed at how relaxed Pieter was being, as if they were going on a picnic and there was extra ginger ale. “Come on now, help your sister!”
He set off at a jog up the farm track to retrieve the policemen’s Kübelwagen. Tygo and Alisa ran back to the house.
Minutes later Tygo was loading cases of ammunition, grenades, and explosives into the trunk of the Opel. Alisa reappeared, carrying a couple of German MG 42 machine guns. Tygo took them and tried to find a space for them.
“Put them on the backseat,” his sister said.
“Have you killed a lot of people?” Tygo asked as he slid the guns across the backseats.
Alisa took a moment to answer. “I’ve shot a lot of people. Don’t know how many I’ve killed.”
Tygo nodded. Alisa glanced down at the body of the dead policeman. He didn’t look very old, in his twenties probably. He was somebody’s son, perhaps even somebody’s father.
“It’s a terrible thing, Tygo, to take a person’s life.” Alisa’s eyes were wet, but perhaps it was just the biting cold. “Maybe after tonight, if we succeed, then everyone can stop killing each other for good.”
Tygo suddenly had an awful feeling inside, like a premonition. “Don’t die, Alisa,” he said, and he felt tears on his cheeks.
Alisa leaned forward and kissed him quickly on his forehead, like a mother.
“I won’t.”
Krüger left the girl under guard in his tent and headed through the trees to the radio truck. It was a few minutes before six o’clock, time for the hourly radio check with the Führer’s convoy.
Krüger pulled himself up the metal ladder and into the back of the truck. It was warm inside from all the electronics and was lit with dull red bulbs screwed into the ceiling. Two radio operators were sitting on metal chairs, headphones over their ears and large, horn-shaped Bakelite microphones around their necks. The sound of constant radio traffic filtered in. Beside the radios were two Enigma machines.
Krüger checked his watch; the second hand was closing in on the twelve. He nodded to the operator, who flicked a couple of dials and then spoke into the microphone.
“New Moon calling Night Wolf, New Moon calling Night Wolf, are you receiving?”
There was crackle and a hiss of static. “Night Wolf receiving” came a voice back to them.
Krüger grabbed a set of headphones and a hand microphone.
“Night Wolf, this is New Moon, all is ready here, what is your position?” He let go of the transmit button and waited.
“This is Night Wolf.” Krüger recognized Müller’s voice through his headset. “We have stopped for refueling. ETA to New Moon is five hours. Five hours.”
“Five hours—understand, Night Wolf. Radio check in one hour.”
“Radio check in one hour, New Moon. Out.”
Krüger took off the headphones. Five hours until the Führer arrived. Tygo had better be here in the next five hours, or everything he had planned was for nothing. No ranch, no pretty Argentinian wife, no pleasant hours relaxing by a swimming pool. Well, Krüger swore to himself, if Frettchen didn’t appear, he would take great satisfaction in putting a bullet in that young girl’s head before he made his own escape.
They dragged the two policemen into a ditch by the side of the house and drove the remaining short distance south toward the coast and the outskirts of Zandvoort. They didn’t meet any patrols, and after turning off the main road they followed the narrow single lane surrounded by thick woods until they reached the bridge they’d spotted on the map. It had an old wooden sign marking it as the Red Shank Bridge; Red Shank was the name of a common wading bird in that area. Over the bridge the track continued, as did the woods, leading a couple of miles farther on to sand dunes and the beach. The trees were mostly pine, with some beech and spruce among them. The snow lay thick on the ground.
They unloaded the Opel first, carrying the weapons and ammunition down the side of the canal embankment next to the bridge, and stored them just underneath the first wooden bridge support. Tygo took a moment to look at the underside. It was a typical Dutch bridge, supported by wooden piles driven into the bottom of the canal, and the central span could be lifted to allow river traffic to pass. Not that there was any: The canal itself was frozen as hard as concrete.
After they had emptied the Opel, Pieter drove it across the bridge and parked it inside the trees a couple hundred yards beyond. Tygo helped Alisa unload the Kübelwagen, then took it across the bridge himself and drove it in next to the Opel.
He walked back across the bridge with Pieter, who was peering up at the night sky; what little moon there was lay shrouded in high cloud. “Dark, that’s good,” he said.
Tygo nodded. “How long have you and my sister been … you know?”
“A few months,” Pieter replied.
“Oh,” said Tygo. “Are you going to marry her?”
Pieter laughed softly. “We haven’t discussed it. Do I have your permission?”
“It’s not funny,” said Tygo.
“No,” said Pieter more seriously. “You’re right, it’s not. She’s a very beautiful woman.”
Their boots crunched on the snow as they walked. They were nearly halfway across. Pieter hurried forward and across to the side, leaning over and looking down.
“This support, I think—this is the one to set the charges on.” Tygo leaned over the side of the bridge to look. “You think you could climb over and do it?”
Tygo found a foothold on the steel latticework running along the side of the bridge, and swung his leg over so he was straddling it. He looked down at the frozen white canal below.
“Yes, I think so,” he said, “but it might be easier to climb along underneath.”
“Whatever you want,” said Pieter.
Tygo swung his leg back and dropped down to the ground. They walked on in silence until they reached the end of the bridge, where Alisa was waiting for them. Several other members of the group had arrived, including Ursula, Tygo noted. He thought she was looking a little scared now.
“All right,” said Pieter. “Alisa, help your brother set the charges. Tygo knows where to plant it.” He turned to the others. “The rest of you, get your weapons.”
Tygo quickly crossed to Ursula’s side. “Are you okay?”
“Why do you care?” Ursula said, then added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …”
“It’s all right, I understand,
” Tygo replied. Now was not the time to make up.
He hurried back to his sister, and together they slid down the side of the bank beside the bridge. Tygo watched as she opened one of the boxes.
“I think it might be easier if I crawl through under the bridge to the middle rather than climb over the side,” he said. “It’ll take longer, that’s the only thing.”
“Okay, Tygo, if you say so. We’ve still got time, I’m pretty sure.”
She lifted out a block of what looked like putty. It was about the size of a shoe box and looked similar to the stuff Krüger had used on the safe that day in the Löwensteins’ villa. She started to roll it across her thighs, turning it slowly into a sausage shape, twice its original length.
“Try to wedge it well in—next to the pilings.” She handed it to Tygo.
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
Alisa shook her head. “Only when you detonate it. It’s actually very stable.”
Tygo nodded and slung the length around his neck. It was rather heavy.
Alisa reached back into the box and took out a silver cylinder the size of a cigarette, with two little contacts at one end. “Blasting cap. Once you’ve got the explosives in place, stick this in at one end and attach this wire to the contacts on the end.” She handed him a reel of two-ply wire, which he stuffed inside his jacket. As he did so, he remembered the Red Queen and felt for it in his pocket in a sudden panic. But it was still there, buried at the bottom underneath his filthy handkerchief. He’d twisted the pocket around for good measure to hold it secure. He would do this one last task and then he must be on his way, he thought. He wondered what time it was. Willa rushed back into his consciousness again. What was she doing? Was she all right?
“Tygo?” His sister nudged him.
“Okay,” he said and took a deep breath. “Here goes.” He pulled himself up onto the first wooden beam and started to climb through the mesh of cross-supports toward the center of the bridge. The frozen canal below dropped away from him as he worked his way along. The beams were freezing cold, but not icy, thank God, and he was able to keep a good grip on them. Once or twice he missed his footing and slid back, but he managed to recover on both occasions with nothing more serious than wounded pride.
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