No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2)

by Terri Wangard

  Her last comment came out more as a question. “Yes.” He bobbed his head. “Rafe. Can. Read.”

  She swatted his arm. “It should be more interesting than scrubbing toilets. In the meantime, I’m headed for Falun. Care to join me? Getting permission shouldn’t be a problem. Dad told me Dan’s joined the rest of your enlisted crewmembers quartered there.”

  They hopped aboard the bus just as the driver was ready to pull out. Before long, they chugged into another small resort town. No sooner did they step from the bus then they were hailed. “Jennie? Lieutenant?”

  Behind them stood a young man with an arm in a sling and an everlasting smile. Neatly dressed with a vest, tie, and fedora, he looked like he’d raided his father’s wardrobe.

  “Dan.” Rafe laid a light hand on his uninjured shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  He shifted his arm. “Hurts like the dickens.” His smile never dimmed. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m taking care of routine military business for my dad as an excuse to socialize.” Jennie grinned at her favorite gunner. “How do you like Falun?”

  Dan’s eyes gleamed. “Too bad we weren’t here two hundred years ago. We could have visited Fet-Mats. You’ve heard of the copper mine here, right? They make red paint from the copper and that’s why all the houses are red.”

  Dan would make a fine tour guide. “Two hundred years ago, after a mine had collapsed fifty years earlier, they found a dead miner, Fet-Mats, still looking like he did the day he died. His fiancée recognized him and passed out. Course, by that time, she’s a real old lady. They put him on display for thirty years until he started decomposing. Wanna see his tombstone?”

  Jennie stopped and stared at him. “Dan, that’s positively gruesome.”

  With his smile stretching across his face, he shrugged his right shoulder.

  “There’s a museum at the mine. It’s kind of interesting if you have nothing else to do.”

  Rafe looked at him sidelong. “And have you nothing else to do?”

  Dan nodded at his sling. “I can’t go biking or boating with the others.”

  They were heading for the mine when a bicyclist raced pell mell toward them. “Dan! Dan!” The cyclist raised a hand to wave and nearly upset his balance. George, the waist gunner who always wore overalls. He skidded to a stop in front of them. “Oh, Lieutenant. Good thing you’re here. Mickey’s dead.”

  Dan’s smile disappeared. “What are you talking about? He took a girl canoeing.”

  George’s head bobbed as he panted. “Yeah, but the canoe went belly up. The girl swam to shore, but Mickey’s nowhere to be found.”

  Rafe waved down a passing wagon and asked for a ride. He dropped the back gate, lifted Jennie up, boosted Dan, and vaulted himself up. George handed up his bike and joined them.

  Thoughts swirled in and out of focus. Today was a holiday. Lots of folks ought to be at the lake. Jennie twisted a lock of hair around her finger. Why didn’t anyone see what happened? Help them? Couldn’t Mickey swim?

  Rafe and Dan had questions of their own. While the wagon lumbered north, they quizzed George. “Where’s Rusty? Didn’t he try to help Mickey? Is there a search party?”

  “The guys weren’t together. I guess they wanted privacy with their girls. Rusty and his girl heard screaming. Mickey’s girl had made it to shore and went crazy. Rusty sent his girl for help and he went out where he thought they’d been, but he couldn’t tell where the canoe had turned over.” George never stopped shaking his head. “Trying to do a search pattern in a canoe ain’t easy.”

  Lake Varpan was two miles north of town. This was the road they’d traveled when they arrived in Falun. Jennie had idly noticed canoes on the cozy lake she estimated to be a mile across. Maybe she’d seen Mickey, right before he died.

  When they finally arrived, Mickey was still missing. Several boats wove back and forth. A policeman appeared to be in charge.

  Arms crossed, Rusty stood on the shoreline, two canoes pulled up at his feet. Water filled the bottom of one. He did a double-take at the sight of Jennie and Rafe, and brightened. “Lieutenant Martell, can you believe this? Mickey flies over a dozen combat missions and then drowns in a peaceful lake. Can you beat that?”

  A shout rang out across the lake. From one of the boats, a pole was slowly extracted from the water. One man reached down and pulled up a foot. Jennie caught her breath. The pole was shaken free and stowed. A hook glistened on its end.

  “Snared like a fish,” George muttered.

  A man joined the crewmembers, introducing himself as Captain Bryson, assigned as the camp commander of the internees. “Someone will need to identify the body. I’ll contact the legation in Stockholm. We’ll see what they want done.”

  Jennie backed up a step, having no desire for an up-close look at the body. His name was Mickey. Didn’t the captain know him, or did he no longer want to think of him as a person?

  “He’ll be buried in Malmö. That’s where those who arrived dead or were found washed ashore are buried. They’re being kept together and, after the war, their families may want them brought home.”

  Rusty and George followed the captain, but Dan turned away. He glanced back at Rafe. “Mickey was ordered to return to Malmö to work on planes. He wasn’t happy about that. But he would’ve preferred to go back alive.”

  Rafe nodded, his gaze on the lake. “Like Rusty said, more than a dozen missions, and he dies because he fell out of a canoe. When you’re least expecting it, life can take a terrible swipe at you.”

  He must be thinking of the day he was kicked out of the Hitler Youth. Or, more likely, the day his father rejected him. Jennie slipped her hand around his, and he gripped hard.

  While they rode back to Falun with Captain Bryson, the captain questioned Jennie on the protocol for handling the tragedy, and together they went over routine housekeeping details. He then sent a cable to Stockholm.

  Afterwards, she, Rafe, and Dan strolled down a tree-lined lane. Home gardens featured a dazzling early riot of summer’s gayest colors. This is what they missed by living in an apartment.

  “He’s in hell now, where he wanted to go.”

  Dan’s abrupt words brought her to a stop. “You can’t be serious.”

  Rafe slowly nodded. “He thought heaven would be boring, sitting on a cloud, playing a harp all day. The people in hell would be more interesting.”

  The young man she met on the Queen Mary had been a swaggerer, interested in the ‘dames.’ The parable of the rich man in torment and Lazarus being comforted by Abraham fit this situation. “He’s got to be regretting that choice now. Like the dickens.”

  Shivers convulsed her. Rafe wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned against him. A single tear slipped down her cheek and plopped on his new suit.

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Friday, June 9, 1944

  Jennie bounced on her toes as the train pulled into the station. Dad had arranged Rafe’s transfer and he should be on this train. She scanned the windows. There, the man in the brown suit coat. He disembarked, yawning. His face brightened when he spotted her, and he came forward with a smile and a wave.

  “I don’t see how people at this latitude can stand it. Sunrise at two thirty in the morning.” With a shrug, he dropped a bulging duffle bag at his feet, gave her a hug, and scrubbed his face. “I should be grateful we’re not here during the dark days of winter.”

  “Just remember. The first day of summer is two weeks away and after that, the days will start getting shorter.”

  “Yeah. Minute by incremental minute.” He offered a sleepy grin and picked up his bag. “Where to?”

  She looked at his bag. “Is that all you have?”

  “All my worldly possessions in Sweden.”

  Jennie turned to the exit. “Uh, oh. We’re under surveillance. I think that man at your ten o’clock position is Swedish police. They tend to be stiffer than Nazi spies.”

  Rafe took a panoramic look around before settlin
g his gaze directly at the man. The watcher walked ten paces away, stopped, and pivoted back their way.

  “Should we go over and say hello?” Rafe smoothed a hand down his suit and finger combed his hair. “Might as well make his job easier.”

  Jennie linked her arm with his and tugged him toward the exit. She stopped short when a toddler scurried in front of them, eager to investigate a spittoon. Rafe placed a hand on the child’s head and steered him away. “You don’t want to play with that, little man.”

  His accented Swedish drew the boy’s wide-eyed interest.

  The hassled mother caught up with the tot. She nodded to Rafe. “Tack.”

  As they continued on their way, Jennie grinned at Rafe. “She said thank you.”

  He narrowed his eyes even as a smile teased his lips. “I actually figured that out myself.”

  “We’ll stop first at the apartment you’ll be sharing with other internees assigned to the legation. Then we’re free to explore for the rest of the day. You’re not expected at the legation until tomorrow.”

  #

  They centered their explorations on the island of Staden, the Old Town. The Royal Palace stood alongside the canal. “A tour in the royal family’s absence costs one krona. That’s about twenty-five cents.”

  Rafe pulled out his billfold. “Why not? We’re rich Americans.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Jennie poked a finger in his ribs. “I don’t get an airman’s paycheck.”

  “This will be my treat.”

  Even in the light of day, many of the palace rooms seemed dark. Part of the old castle had burned down centuries before. One surviving wing was incorporated into the new palace. With the different rooms designed in different centuries, the royal home offered a history in decorative styles under one roof.

  “My favorite royal story is that of Gustav III.” Jennie tucked her hand around Rafe’s arm. “Before he was assassinated at a masked ball in 1792, he would invite noblemen to watch him wake up in the morning.”

  “Now that’s disgusting. What if he were drooling, or snoring? His hair messed up, if he had any. He must not have been vain, to present himself at his less-than-best.”

  She laughed. “Those invitations were greatly valued. What’s really disgusting is the jar containing the stomach contents of one of his assassins. That’s supposed to be somewhere around here.”

  The tour guide overheard her. “You will find that in the armory, along with the costume Gustav wore when he was killed.”

  Rafe wrinkled his nose. “We can skip that exhibit. I’ve seen enough blood and gore to last a lifetime.”

  Jennie bit her lip. Remember where he’s been until recently.

  After leaving the palace grounds, they wandered the narrow cobble-stoned streets. Rafe held her arm on the downward slopes. The gesture was so courtly. The pavement wasn’t slick, but rushed steps could be dangerous.

  “These buildings are so close together, folks could almost reach out their windows and shake hands with their neighbors across the lane.” She craned her neck. “Not much sunlight falls in here unless its high noon.”

  “And remember, the people in olden days had to watch out for anyone tossing out a bucket of slop from an overhead window.”

  Her gaze swung upward again, and she elbowed him as he snickered. “Thank you, Rafe, for that lovely thought.” A light breeze rustled her hair. She repositioned her straw hat and tucked a lock behind her ear. “Everything’s neat and tidy now.”

  Rafe pulled her to a stop in front of a bakery. “Look at that. Mohrenkopf. My favorite sweet.” He pushed open the door and marched up to the counter. “Hej,” he greeted the clerk. “I’ll take all your mohrenkopf.”

  Jennie counted the balls in the display case. Eight. He was asking for a belly ache. “What are they?”

  “Little round sponge cakes with a bit of custard in the center, and covered with chocolate glaze. Haven’t you had any yet? They’re delicious.”

  In the middle of a meandering intersection, a statue on a large pedestal rose up from a planter of greenery. Rafe guided Jennie to a bench beneath the statue where they sat quietly to enjoy the ambience and their treat. Tiny birds pecked and chirped amid the foliage. Footsteps clattered softly on the cobblestones and, in the distance, a bicycle bell rang a warning. Closer by, a conversation in a foreign language filtered through the vegetation behind them.

  Beside her, Rafe stiffened. Before she could question him, he put a finger to his lips. He leaned back, his head turned. He was listening to that conversation on the other side of the pedestal. When he pantomimed writing, she fished in her purse for paper and pencil.

  Two male voices spoke in hushed tones that required concentration to hear. Too bad Jennie didn’t understand their language. Rafe scribbled notes, keeping an ear turned to their words. His writing was legible, but indecipherable. He wrote in German.

  The conversation concluded and footsteps paced around the planter. They would be noticed. Rafe dropped the notepad behind them and placed his hands on either side of her face. He lowered his lips to hers. She forgot to breathe. He wove his fingers through her hair on her right side and pulled it forward. Shielding her face. Good thing she’d worn her hair loose today instead of pulling it back in a clip.

  The footsteps came around and faltered. They’d been spotted.

  Rafe swiveled, moving her with him. He finally broke the kiss but didn’t release her. His lips moved toward her right ear. “He’s watching us.”

  She struggled to breathe. “Really?” Someone was watching them? “That’s nice.”

  A rumble of laughter vibrated his chest under her hand. His lips returned to hers. They tasted like chocolate.

  After a long hesitation, the footsteps continued on.

  Rafe moved his mouth back to her ear and whispered. “Can you see him?”

  She peered through her lashes. “Yes, he’s paused at a doorway and is looking back at us.”

  He wrapped his right arm around her while keeping his left hand cradling her head. This time she slipped her right hand around his back while her left hand clutched his shoulder.

  “Where is he now?”

  Who? Oh. She searched through her messed-up hair. “He’s gone inside. I’m not sure if he’s at the window or not.”

  Rafe eased back. He watched her with an expression like a cat lolling in cream. Her hands clenched his jacket. She released him and tried to move away, but his arms were around her. He pulled her back and kissed her again.

  A bird fluttered to the ground at their feet with a loud chirp, startling them apart. Laughter released their built-up tension. Rafe grabbed the notepad.

  “I think we can stroll on our way now without looking like we’re trying to avoid him.” He kept his arm around her waist and his head close to hers. “I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage of you.”

  Concern darkened his eyes. Jennie grinned. “No, just the situation.”

  Rafe smiled. “We’ll have to find more of these situations.”

  Once they were away from the area, Rafe dropped his hand from her waist. “Would you be able to identify that man if you saw him again?”

  “Maybe.” She took back her notepad and, turning to a clean page, sketched a quick rendering. “Pretty vague. I had such a brief glimpse. This isn’t likely to help.”

  Rafe studied her artwork. “This is good.” He looked at her. “You’ll have to show me what you’ve been doing here.”

  Tingles shimmied up her spine. Dare she show him the portrait she’d sketched of him? She glanced backward.

  “What just happened? What were they talking about?”

  “The Germans are bringing pilfered stocks and bonds and gems into Sweden in their diplomatic pouches.”

  Jennie grabbed his hand. “We need to get to the legation and report this.” She got her bearings. “This way.”

  #

  No “Hello” or “I’d like you to meet someone.” Jennie had stuck her head in an office a
nd asked, “Ed, do you have a minute? Rafe heard something that might be of interest.”

  Now they sat in the office of an OSS spy. A secretary joined them to take dictation of everything they said. Ed directed the questioning.

  “You distinctly heard the name Wallenberg?”

  “Yes. Somebody named Oppenheim brokered deals with a Wallenberg in the past. The Swedish bank was interested in buying portfolios of stock stolen from Holland. But this man Oppenheim isn’t available now.” He glanced at his scrawled notes. Too bad he hadn’t been able to write down more completely what he’d overheard. “Now a count from Schwerin is bringing diamonds in the diplomatic pouch to sell. I got the impression the diamonds are also Dutch.”

  Despite the secretary, Ed took his own notes. He looked up. “A count from Schwerin? Could you mean Count Von Schwerin?”

  Rafe replayed the conversation in his mind. Had he heard Count aus Schwerin or Count von Schwerin?

  Ed rolled his pencil between his hands. “Von Schwerin is a member of the German Foreign Ministry, and he’s been frequently seen in Stockholm.”

  “They’re also bringing in bars of gold.”

  That raised Ed’s eyebrows. “Bars of gold?”

  “I don’t know where that’s coming from.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting. Anything else?”

  “The man who was being told this said something about seeing Hilda tonight.”

  “Hilda?”

  “I don’t know if she has anything to do with the diamonds or his social life.”

  Ed leaned forward. “Did they see you?”

  “They left in different directions. One of them saw us, but not our faces. He shouldn’t be able to recognize us.”