by Kris Tualla
Teigen and Bennett were loading flats onto a trolley when Falko opened the door and strode into the backstage area.
“I came to say goodbye,” he said as he shook Teigen’s hand. “And to say that you did a fine job here.”
“Thanks.” Teigen chuckled and considered his friend. “Is it bad that I wish the explosion had more impact?”
Falko grinned. “You might be surprised. Helgesen was very pleased. He’s talking about ordering more desks.”
“He is?” That was good news.
Falko nodded. “Yep. So who knows?”
Teigen made a gesture of hopeful helplessness. “Then I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”
“In the meantime, I think you should make a few copies of the schematic for the desk.” Falko winked. “Just in case.”
October 26, 1943
Trondheim, Norway
It was a good thing that Teigen decided to act on Falko’s parting suggestion. Over the last seven months, five of the special desks had been built and shipped to Milorg groups in Oslo, Kristiansand, Stavanger, Trondheim, and Narvik—all Norwegian ports where the Germans originally attacked and still maintained strongholds.
And, except for the far northern city of Narvik, all were regular stops for the Royal Shakespearean Acting Troupe.
Teigen’s arming of the new desks had begun in Oslo three months ago. He worked with Milorg and showed his designated partner how to install the cigarette lighter and gunpowder.
“Don’t add the powder until you’re sure that the lighter will light,” he cautioned. “And then immediately strap the drawer closed. Tightly closed.”
The man nodded nervously. “Got it.”
The newly built desks were made with hinged tops; Helgesen had obviously passed Teigen’s comments on to the craftsman. The polished tops could be latched in place once the desk was armed, so that was very helpful. And Teigen realized right away that he needed to buy several of the same style of cigarette lighter—ones with push levers—so that his design would work consistently.
“I thought of something else,” he told Colonel Berntsen once the Oslo desk was armed and ready to be delivered to the Germans. “The desks need to be delivered to the Nazis at different times in every city so that they don’t explode either while the troupe is in town or right after the troupe leaves.”
Berntsen nodded. “Good thinking, Hansen. Though I’m not sure the Germans are smart enough to connect your presence with the sabotage, it pays to be cautious. I’ll notify the various outposts.”
The next concern Teigen had needed to be discussed with Selby. “I know you asked for Schmidt to be the target in Bergen, but we can’t designate a target in every city.”
Selby rolled her eyes and looked at him like he was simple.
“Obviously. The explosions happen in cities where we perform, so if all the victims are known consorts of mine that would shine a klieg light on us as the culprit.”
He should have known she’d be a step ahead of him. “Right. So we’re in agreement.”
Selby nodded. “In Oslo, Kristiansand, and Stavanger I don’t care who gets targeted. Or even if it’s someone specific or just whoever’s unlucky enough to open the drawer…”
Teigen noted her omission. “But in Trondheim…”
Selby’s expression turned to hardened steel. “Fritz Walder needs to die.”
Teigen knew about Walder’s attack on Selby. The officer had been transferred from Ålesund to Trondheim as a result of being found lacking. Apparently winding up in a gutter passed out drunk and being discovered there by local Norwegians didn’t present the image the Nazis strove for.
Plus, waking up in a gutter with a nasty bump on the head and clutching an empty bottle of aquavit left some doubt as to exactly what had occurred. Walder couldn’t retaliate for Selby’s dumping him because he couldn’t prove what happened.
But Selby was keenly aware. “I mean it, Teigen. Fritz needs to receive that desk.”
“That’s fair,” he agreed. “I’ll do what I can.”
And that’s exactly what he was working on now.
“Major Berntsen says we’re supposed to deliver this desk while you’re still here,” Teigen’s contact Karl told him. “He says that the troupe was in town for Bergen, but gone for Oslo, Kristiansand, and Stavanger. He wants to change the pattern.”
“Understood.” Selby will be happy to hear that. “What have you heard about the other explosions?”
“Reports of the exploding desks are always circulated on the Milorg underground radio,” Karl said. “But the Germans are keeping quiet officially, as I’m sure you’ve noticed—I think they’re afraid of giving ideas to other resisters.”
Teigen chuckled as he opened the hinged top on the desk. “I don’t think Milorg is lacking ideas.”
Karl leaned over the opened desk. He pointed to the gap behind the front drawer. “So the bomb goes here?”
*****
Selby sat in her hotel room that whole afternoon trying to memorize her lines for Taming of the Shrew but she couldn’t concentrate. She looked at the clock on the nightstand, wondering when Teigen would return and tell her when Fritz was going to receive the armed desk.
I hope it’s while we’re still here.
The troupe had already vacated the previous three cities for various lengths of time for the last explosions. In each city, however, there were arrests and imprisonments afterwards.
“But breaking the pattern is important,” she muttered. “And we don’t even perform in Narvik.”
Falko Jensen had drawn the assignment of traveling north to arm that desk. In fact, he should be there now. Having two explosions in close proximity time-wise, but several hundred miles apart geographically, would keep suspicion away from the troupe.
Selby looked at the clock again. If the second hand wasn’t moving, she would have sworn the cursed thing had stopped.
A knock on her door made her jump.
Selby tossed the script onto her bed and ran to the door. When she yanked it open and saw Dahl standing in the hall she had to struggle not to look disappointed.
“Hi.” She stepped back so the actor could enter. “Come on in.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Dahl held up his script as he walked past her. “Would you mind running lines with me?”
“No, not at all.” At least it would be a useful distraction. “Sit wherever you want.”
Dahl looked at the bed and then sat in the only chair in the room. His tall, masculine frame was at odds with the worn floral fabric covering the decidedly feminine chair.
Selby walked to the bed, retrieved her own script, and sat leaning against the traditionally painted wooden headboard.
“Where do you want to begin?”
He flipped a few pages. “Act Two. When Katherine and Petruchio are alone for the first time.”
Selby turned to the page. She read over the scene quickly then looked at Dahl. “Okay. I’m ready.”
As the pair spoke William Shakespeare’s centuries-old dialog to each other, Selby realized how similar her relationship with Dahl was with Kate’s relationship with Petruchio.
The strong-willed and determined Katherine had never met a man like Petruchio before. When she insults him, he replies sweetly. When she goads him, he offers clever responses. She belittles him, and he still treats her with patience and offers kind words.
True, Selby had never been mean to Dahl; but she did continually refuse his gentle advances—and yet he persisted. No matter how thoughtful and consistent the man had been, Selby always held him at arm’s length.
So how was Teigen Hansen able to bash through her concrete wall without even trying?
“Selby?”
She blinked and stared at Dahl. “I’m sorry. Could you say that line again?”
Dahl’s brows pulled together. “What on your mind? Is it the desk?”
“No. Well yes, but…” Selby’s pulse surged as she considered how honest to be. “I w
as just struck by Kate and Petruchio’s conversation.”
Dahl set his script aside. “Struck how?”
Time to jump in. “How similar she is to me, and Petruchio to you.”
Dahl looked like someone had just punched him in the chest. “I have to disagree, Sel. You’ve never treated me like Kate treats Petruchio.”
“No, I haven’t been mean or rude to you,” she began. “But I have refused your romantic advances. Every time.”
Dahl’s eyes rounded. “And now?”
Oh, no.
This was going in the wrong direction.
Selby shook her head and leaned forward. “You are an amazing man, Dahl. You’re brave, talented, smart. And way too handsome for your own good.”
“But…” His shoulders slumped. “You aren’t interested.”
He looked so crestfallen that Selby wanted to cry. “We’re not a good match.” Tears stung her eyelids. “I’m not good enough for you.”
“Good enough!” Dahl looked incredulous. “Selby, how can you say something like that?”
“There are things you don’t know about my past. I’m… damaged.” A single tear dripped down one cheek. “I don’t think I’ll be good for anyone.”
Dahl looked desperate. “I don’t care if you’re not a virgin.”
Selby huffed a laugh in spite of the severity of their conversation and wiped the lone tear away. “Actually, I am still a virgin. Barely.”
Dahl abandoned the girly chair and crossed to the bed. He sat by her feet. “Then what is it?”
Selby’s composure took another hit. Dahl’s expression was so compassionate and loving that she wondered for the first time if she was completely wrong about absolutely everything.
“I can’t tell you,” she deferred. Her palms began to sweat.
“Don’t you trust me?”
Selby gasped. “Of course I trust you. But I care very deeply about what you think of me.”
He leaned back a little. “And you’re afraid that if you tell me your deep, dark secret that my opinion of you will change?”
She gave an apologetic shrug. “It will.”
Dahl’s gaze fell to his hands. His fingers twisted together like he was fervently trying to hold on to something but it was slipping from his grasp.
“You’re wrong, Selby.”
Her voice was very small. “I don’t think I am.”
Dahl lifted his devastated regard to hers. “Does Hansen know?”
Selby gasped again, this inhalation ragged with shock.
“What? No!” Her heart tried to break out of her chest and she held it inside with a fist pressed to her sternum. “Why would you ask me that?”
Dahl wagged his head. “I’m hopeful, not blind.”
“Blind?” Was their relationship that obvious?
Dahl snorted. “It’s clear to all of us that Hansen is smitten with you, if not downright in love. And you two spend so much time together.”
Selby knew it was true, even of she hadn’t allowed herself to fully believe it. “That doesn’t mean anything. We’re really just good friends.”
Dahl was clearly skeptical. “You’re not in love with him?”
Am I?
No. I can’t be.
“I am not.” Selby willed it to be true.
Dahl’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you know yourself, Selby Hovland.”
Selby glared at him. “Don’t insult me, Petruchio. It’s not your role.”
Dahl startled. “Sorry, Kate. It was only an observation, not an insult.” He reached for her. “Forgive me?”
Selby pulled a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dahl was right—she was overreacting. She accepted his proffered hand.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, too.”
Dahl smiled weakly. “Friends at least?”
“Friends forever, I hope. Dear ones,” Selby said truthfully. “I do love you in that way.”
The actor looked resigned. “Well, that’s something.”
Another knock on her door launched Selby from the bed. She stopped and tried to calm her skyrocketing anticipation before she opened the door.
Teigen stood in the hall grinning. “The desk is delivered.”
Relief washed over her nerves. “That’s fantastic!”
Teigen’s gaze moved past her and into the room. Selby turned to see what Teigen saw: Dahl sitting on her bed and the crumpled bedspread.
She whirled back to look at him. “We were rehearsing.”
Teigen’s smile disappeared. “Sorry I interrupted.”
He turned away and strode down the hall.
Selby followed, quickly pulling the door closed behind her so Dahl couldn’t hear any conversation she and Teigen might be about to have.
“Wait!”
Teigen took two more steps before he halted.
Selby ran around him and planted herself in front of him. “We were working on Scene Two,” she said quietly. “Nothing more.”
He looked down his nose at her. “It’s none of my business what you do with him.”
She punched his arm. “I wasn’t doing anything with him!”
Teigen lifted his hands. “If you say so.”
Selby glared up at him demanding, “Why don’t you believe me?”
He leaned down and met her eyes. “Why do you care so much what I believe?”
“You’re impossible!” Selby punched his arm again before rushing back to her room.
Chapter
Thirty Two
October 27, 1943
Selby kept to herself the rest of the night and had dinner sent up to her room. In the morning she skipped breakfast, too nervous to eat. Instead, she dressed in the boy clothes—shirt, trousers, jacket, shoes, and cap—and slipped out of the hotel through the kitchen’s back door.
Her brief argument with Teigen left her unsettled. She did care what he thought she was doing alone in a hotel room on a rumpled bed with Dahl. Teigen was technically her boyfriend, though not much between them had changed. She still held him at arm’s length.
She knew that if she told Teigen about her stepfather and the rough things he had done to her before he murdered her mother and killed himself that Teigen would know she was soiled.
Not to mention she was a thief and an arsonist.
No man, even in this enlightened age, would see her as wife-worthy, even if she could bring herself to let a man whom she cared about touch her intimately.
The fumbled caresses of drunken Nazi fools were disgusting, not arousing, and she never let them go too far. Those groping and unemotional attempts at sex didn’t bother her.
On the other hand, kissing Teigen lit her up inside in ways that were dangerously treacherous to her resolve.
“What if I let him get closer and was revolted by our physical contact?” she wondered softly as she walked through the early morning streets of Trondheim. “That would ruin everything.”
Selby reached the long block where the Nazis’ Trondheim headquarters were housed. She walked down the length of the block, looking for an obscure place to settle while she waited for the explosion that was sure to happen this morning.
Teigen said he would see what he could do about ensuring that Fritz Walder was the officer who received the desk. Asking God’s forgiveness even as she prayed, Selby asked Him to make sure things would turn out that way.
She did wonder how her conscience could stand condemning two men to death, but told herself once again that she was at war and these men were her sworn enemies.
Selby tucked herself into the doorway of an abandoned shop and watched the German officers enter the building to start their workday. As time passed with no sign of Walder she began to wonder with disappointment if Fritz was taking the day off.
Damn.
Today of all days.
Eventually her patience was dubiously rewarded when she saw the lieutenant swaggering down the street. His familiar face burned her stomach as the memory of his angry assault on her fl
amed anew in her mind.
Go to your death, you bastard.
As soon as the man disappeared into the building, Selby moved to find a closer place to wait in. She wanted—no needed—to be certain that Fritz was dead after the explosion happened.
Her pulse surged as she waited, making her chest feel tight and her head feel as if it might roll off her shoulders. She tried to breathe deeply but it was hard when she expected the boom of the desk at any moment.
Come on, Fritz… Open your—
BOOM!
Smoke streamed from the front door which was blown open by the blast. Norwegians rushed toward the building as Germans scrambled over each other to get out of it. Selby stood and walked forward to stand with her countrymen.
“Careful, boy,” an older man warned her. “There could be another explosion or a fire.”
Selby nodded and took half a step back without meeting the man’s eyes.
It’s done.
Satisfaction soothed her core. Fritz Walder would never attack another woman again.
And then the unthinkable happened.
His face still recognizable under a layer of smoky soot, the very lieutenant whom Selby hoped would die stumbled through the smoke and into the street.
No. No no no.
Frozen in disbelief, Selby stared wide-eyed at the Nazi officer. With a shock, she realized that was a mistake. Spinning around, she began to push her way through the crowd.
“Boy!” Fritz shouted. “Stop!”
Selby ignored the order and the crowd of Norwegians made no effort to impede her progress. Some went so far as to step in her wake. She was nearly free when a hand clamped down on her shoulder with the strength of a crane’s claw.
“I’ve got him, sir!” the brown bastard shouted.
Selby struggled to break free. The soldier grunted as bystanders’ blows were surreptitiously added to hers.
An ear-rupturing gunshot brought all movement to a halt.
“Make way!” a voice demanded, angry and hoarse from smoke. “Now!”