Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  When the two men approached the coastal region, the cover of the woods would thin and there was likely to be more German military activity. In the depths of the forests and mountains there were few German patrols, the likelihood of their returning safely being slim, for the heart of the country that was Norway belonged to the Norwegians in the same way that their hearts in turn belonged to the mountains, fjords and forests of their native land. Sten knew this. All Norwegians knew it. Theodor Broch, mayor of Narvik, had said it best when he crossed the border into Sweden to join Norwegian forces there. "Now strangers had taken over our land. They would loot it and pluck it clean before we returned. But the country itself they could not spoil. The sea and the fjords and the mountains —— to these we alone could give life. We were coming back. The mountains would wait for us."

  Sten halted before they left the cover of the forest. "We'll wait here until dark, then cover the last seven or eight kilometers to the coast."

  "Do you have anything to eat? I couldn't take anything with me; it might have looked suspicious."

  "With 400,000 Germans occupying our land, none of us have very much."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't want to come here. I was ordered. I don't want to take your food." He paused, and when the discomfiture of the silence that ensued became too uncomfortable for him, he forced himself to speak, embarrassed at the awkward non sequitur that followed. "Your country is beautiful and I would have liked to come here as a guest, not some uninvited intruder."

  Sten did not dislike this man with any vehement passion, but neither did he particularly feel any fondness for him. It was possible that he was deserting the Nazi cause because he could not stomach what they stood for, but, he thought, someone who jumps ship at this point in the decline of a regime may simply be abandoning a sinking vessel and looking out for their own interests without any higher moral viewpoint. He knew that the Nazis held even some of their own German citizens as hostages to their cause, so there was really no way for him to tell exactly where this scientist stood. Best leave that to the boys who would be taking him off his hands. In the meantime, he maintained a somewhat sullen appearing neutrality. Reaching into his pack, Sten produced a small tin of smoked fish and a few pieces of bread. He opened the tin, took some with his hands and offered the rest to his charge along with a portion of the bread, all of which he eagerly devoured, using the bread to soak up whatever oil remained in the container. His thanks to Sten produced a nod and a non committal grunt which was not quite what he expected, although, on reflection, he couldn't suppose that this member of the resistance would know much about him; he was unlikely to have heard any details from the Norwegian workers at the plant and thus would not realize that his sympathies had never been with the Nazi party. No, to him he was just a package to be delivered, and a grunt and nod was better than open hostility.

  "We will stay here for a few hours so you may as well try to sleep. Once we leave this shelter we will be moving quickly and constantly with no chance for rest until you are aboard the submarine that has been sent for you. If we make it."

  That was not particularly reassuring for Hulbart. The fact that his guide showed no fear, or for that matter any emotion at all, he chalked up to resignation rather than confidence. He closed his eyes but sleep eluded him; he would just have to call on what reserves he had for the final leg of his escape.

  The comfort of sleep was also denied to Sten, for recently, whenever he was out like this, waiting, which often seemed the greatest part of the resistance effort, memories of tragedies past surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome, to haunt him and call out from quiet recesses of his mind. His only chance for sleep was to so thoroughly exhaust himself that he almost collapsed, falling into a soporific state immediately. But even then, the dreams came, and he awoke tired and drained. It had not been that long since a major battle between the resistance and German troops had taken place in the mountain region of Matrefjell, a direct confrontation of the kind that Sten always hoped for, not some lurking about in shadows to blow up a delivery truck, but a battle where he could see the enemy, face him directly and destroy the invader of his cherished homeland. Funny thing about battles, though, —— regardless of who held the morally correct position, people on both sides died and there was grief enough to go around. Olaf, who had matured a great deal since their first work together that day in February when the Hydro had mushroomed into oblivion on the surface of quiet lake Tinnsjo, did not return. Dead or wounded and captured, they did not know although they hoped it was the former. But misfortune had struck deep and the battered young man was taken by the Germans to his village where, his wounds bound up sufficiently to keep him alive, he was hung from the large tree in the town square, the lanky body twitching in its final agony as it rotated slowly to the left, then back to the right. His mother could not bear to watch the execution, remaining at home with friends for support, a stoic look upon her face until neighbors came to tell her it was over, whereupon, like mothers throughout history who had lost their sons in battle, she had beat her breast in anguish and cried out, "Why my boy? He was still so young." The townspeople held her closely and did what they could to console her, but her question went unanswered.

  Sten forced these thoughts from his consciousness and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his wife and child, fortunately too young to go to war but ever in danger from the vagaries of Nazi brutality. There would be no sleep now, this he knew, but perhaps an hour or so of rest. He could only hope.

  Some time later he stood and stretched, looking up at the somber, moonless sky, fast moving gray clouds low to the ground. Hulbart watched him, the darkness accentuating the hollows of Sten's eyes and giving his head a macabre skeletal look. "Time for us to go, Mr. Scientist."

  "Hulbart, my name's Hulbart."

  "You should not have told me. The less we know about each other, the better. Safer that way."

  "As you wish." I will always be the enemy to him and he will never like me or anything that I say or do. He doesn't understand that I am not Germany.

  Sten led the way out of the woods and they kept a quick pace down the gentle incline that led to the town. Their presence out in the open worried him because it would be suspicious to any Germans they encountered. He carried a brace of rabbits, dead for two days now, and their paltry carcasses would provide the only cover he could muster, a hunting foray to try to supplement the meager rations they had to live with. Once in the town it would be safer to move about, the locals were still allowed their nightly visits to the bars. The terrain flew by as they double-timed it down the hillside, no encounters with German patrols, and their heavy footfalls and equally heavy breathing the only sounds they heard.

  "Slow down now," Sten said, motioning to Hulbart who was several paces behind him. "Two men running through town would certainly raise eyebrows. From here on, we saunter, two fellows back from trapping rabbits, looking for a beer." Their breathing returned to normal as they rambled through the center of Tvedestrand, although Sten heard Hulbart suddenly suck in his breath as two German soldiers walked towards them on the opposite pavement. Sten briefly put his arm on his companion's shoulder, seemingly a gesture of camaraderie, or so he hoped, while he turned to him and whispered, "Easy does it, don't speed up, don't look at them, we're just strolling over to that pub on the next street. If we're stopped let me do all the talking."

  The soldiers were almost alongside them now, and one of them pointed in their direction but they still remained on the opposite side of the street. "Just keep walking," Sten whispered. When the Germans were abreast of them, Sten could hear them laughing and making comments about the rabbits that hung over his shoulder, and he sighed inwardly as he and his charge passed un-accosted, thankful for his foresight. They were the last Germans they saw that night, the hike down to the shore uneventful as they picked their way over rocks and debris until they found a sheltered location out of view from anyone not on the ocean.

  At the appointed time Sten lit a small candle and
used a tin cup, the inside highly polished, as a reflector to signal the submarine. After five minutes a return signal flashed briefly, and fifteen minutes later a small boat put ashore, two sailors jumping out and standing guard with machine guns while a third held the craft and motioned the two of them forward. Following a brief exchange, Hulbart was helped aboard, the sailors pushed off, and the German scientist, now bound for London, turned to thank his guide and protector, but saw only the retreating back of a man for whom each day was both a curse and salvation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Maria leaned over the low stone rail of the bridge, looked right and left and, seeing no one, dropped the distributor and a set of keys into the swift flow of the full stream below. She remained for a minute, staring down and listening to the sound of the water as it rushed over rocks, brushed against the bank and swirled about the footings of the bridge, fluid, ever changing, uninjured and undeterred by obstacles. Her hope of achieving some philosophical acceptance, if not an understanding, of what was happening around her and to her, was interrupted by an impatient knocking on the windshield of the car, Larry's signal to get back to the car.

  Even before she had pulled the door closed Larry eased the car forward in first gear, and then accelerated through the remaining gears as the door latched shut. He turned to look at her. "Are you all right?"

  "I don't know. Not only do I not know how I am, but I don't even know what's happening. I'm caught up in something and I'm completely ignorant about what that might be. That's not a comfortable position in which to find oneself."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Your being sorry doesn't help me any. You said you didn't know what that woman was trying to do or why she had me kidnapped, but I think you are keeping information from me."

  Larry drove on in silence for several minutes before replying. "I am keeping things back. It's better not giving you all the dope."

  "Excuse me. Dope? What is this?"

  "Dope. It's an expression that means the true information. The less you know the safer you are."

  "I don't agree with that, but there's nothing I can do about it I guess. Can you at least tell me how you knew that monster of a woman back there wasn't me?"

  "General Schroeder told me about the puncture wounds when you fell on the pitchfork. I saw the scars when you brushed your hair away from your neck."

  "I see. How come you didn't kill her? You were sure who the real Maria was."

  "I should have. I've been regretting it for the last twenty kilometers. To be honest, I didn't think you'd have approved."

  "Probably not, but why should that matter?"

  Larry didn't answer because he couldn't. Why did he care what this woman thought? Yes, she was beautiful, he admitted, but what else? There must be more; had to be. Why else would he have let himself be influenced by what he supposed were the wishes of some civilian, and not killed that viper outright. It was a mistake he now found troubling.

  The night was dark, but fortunately the sky was relatively clear and Larry was able to get his bearings from the stars, trying to keep his heading a bit south of east as he maneuvered the unmarked back roads. He had studied the area thoroughly, the roads as well as the topography, and he was confident that once it was light he would be able to figure out where they were. In the meantime he wanted to put distance between themselves and the barn, satisfied with simply driving in the general direction of Lake Constance and the primary exit point until he could map out a specific route. Next to him, Maria was already asleep, the bruises on her face obscured by the night, her beauty unmarred in the dim light, and as they rumbled down the country road Larry found himself turning more than once to admire her. After about an hour he found himself being lulled to sleep himself and thought it best to pull off the road to get some down time before continuing in the morning. He had to drive for almost another half hour before finding a spot that offered what he considered to be sufficient cover —— a small stand of trees surrounding the crumbling remains of a wooden shack, probably an out building of one of the farms in the area. It was about twenty-five meters off the road and he downshifted into second gear, slowly bumping along what seemed like a path leading to the dilapidated structure. The rough terrain woke Maria, and she blinked as she looked around. "Why are we stopping? Where are we?"

  "I need to get some rest. We should be safe here until morning." Pulling behind the shack, he switched off the ignition and turned to Maria. "Go back to sleep. We need to be up at first light. I'll wake you before we get under way so you could ... uh ... in case you need to do anything." Shit. How stupid did that sound? Why didn't I just say 'so you could go to the bathroom.'

  "Thank you, Lorenz. That is your name isn't it?"

  "Well, not exactly. If I were German it would be 'Lorenz,' and it's best you think of me that way."

  "I know you're not German, but you speak the language very well. You look Italian."

  "My parents were from Italy."

  "My mother was born in Perugia. That's in Umbria."

  "I know. My folks were originally from further south, just outside of Rome." He couldn't think of anything else to say, the awkward silence of a first date. "Better get some rest now. Good night."

  "Buona notte."

  Larry smiled.

  * *

  Predawn gray shrouded the landscape when Larry's eyes blinked open, but he could see from the sky that the sun would soon be over the horizon. He slipped quietly out of the car and crossed to what remained of the small building, hoping there might be something of use, but all he found were leaves, dirt and part of a broken bucket. Relieving himself behind one of the larger trees, he looked along the road in either direction; no sign of anyone stirring yet. A few stretches and a minute of running in place to get the circulation going in the cold morning air, and he walked back to the car to find Maria awake, standing alongside the car, arching her back and extending her arms over her head and behind her, a lithe body almost feline in appearance. Her coat was unbuttoned and he could not avoid the sight of her figure, accentuated by the backward spread of her arms thrusting her breasts forward. He found himself staring and, with the greatest of efforts, he reluctantly looked away as he approached, embarrassed that she might know his thoughts.

  She smiled at him as he came around the car and said, "I'll just be a minute and then I'm ready to go. Sleeping in the front seat leaves you all in knots when you wake up."

  "There's some food in the back seat that Maria ... well, whatever her name is, brought along. We have time for a quick breakfast."

  "Good. First I must, how do you say in English, piss, then I can eat." She hurried off to the stand of trees, Larry staring after her in amazement, thinking thoughts he had no business entertaining in the middle of a mission.

  After a quick meal of cheese, cold sausage and bread, they were on the road again, and for the first time in days the ominous feelings that had plagued Larry since almost the moment he met Eva receded into the background, and it seemed that the blueprint for the operation could be successfully followed.

  Man plans and God laughs.

  They were twenty minutes outbound when Larry stopped the car just as it crested a hill, a position that afforded a good view of the surrounding countryside, and from which he hoped to establish his position and hence the course he needed to plot for their dash to the border. He stood by the car and surveyed the area, slowly turning 360 degrees, then closed his eyes while he conjured up the topographical maps he had studied back in the OSS camp in Switzerland. Opening his eyes, he focused on the region ahead of them and to the left, mentally aligning it with the image he held in his head until the roads, river valleys and peaks that he saw before him coincided with the features on the map, dropping into place like the final piece in a puzzle. Larry knew where they were, where he had to go and what route he needed to take to get there.

  The timbre of the Mercedes engine rose to a higher pitch as he downshifted for the descent from their vantage point. "We s
hould be able to reach the beginning of our border crossing by nightfall; the timing couldn't be better."

  "Wonderful. I think I will be happy to leave this country." She watched the landscape roll by outside the window, but her eyes were unfocused and her thoughts were elsewhere. "It will be good to see Heinrich again. He has been like a father to me since my parents were killed. That woman implied that he was killed, but I don't believe her. She couldn't have had a German general murdered."

  They turned onto a larger road, still not a major thoroughfare, but it was paved and they should, he thought, make better progress, although a better road brought with it the added risk of encountering a German patrol. The danger, however, was not to come from the Germans.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Allen Dulles sat in his office shuffling through grainy pictures of high ranking German officers, some in military uniform and some in civilian dress, the pictures having been taken without their knowledge, and the various images culled from files that the OSS maintained on all Nazi commanders that it could identify. After his recent meeting with Mary, Allen had asked his staff to give him a list of all Nazi officers that had been in Zurich or Bern in the last three months, and although several did not at all match the physical description that she had provided, he nonetheless decided to include their photographs in the pictorial lineup he was preparing. "Appearances could always be altered," he thought, his obsessive nature forcing him to entertain all possibilities, including going back to his staff and modifying his request to include not only Nazis known to have been in either of the two cities Bancroft had mentioned, but anywhere in Switzerland. Further, he expanded the search to include any high officer stationed within 200 miles of Switzerland who had been absent from their post for more than a day and whose whereabouts during that time were unknown. Espionage, and intelligence work in general, consisted largely of gathering information, copious amounts and of all sorts, to be sorted, evaluated and filed for future use when it might provide some connection or link between seemingly unrelated events. Tedious and mundane, but often of critical importance.