“No, not then. I was left out at first. Apparently they thought I wasn’t suitable for secret work. By Christ, they were right. But now they’re desperate, so I’m in it. I have to take pictures of some machinery at the military base on Sande.”
Harald nodded. “I drew a sketch of it for Poul.”
“Even you were in it before me,” Arne said bitterly. “Well, well.”
“Poul told me not to tell you.”
“Apparently everyone thought I was a coward.”
“I could redraw my sketches. . although they were only from memory.”
Arne shook his head. “They need accurate photos. I came to ask you if there’s a way to sneak inside.”
Harald found this talk of espionage exciting, but it bothered him that Arne did not seem to have a well-thought-out plan. “There’s a place where the fence is concealed by trees, yes-but how are you going to get to Sande if the police are looking for you?”
“I’ve changed my appearance.”
“Not much. What papers are you carrying?”
“Only my own-how would I get any others?”
“So if you’re stopped by the police for any reason, it will take them about ten seconds to establish that you’re the man they’re all looking for.”
“That’s about it.”
Harald shook his head. “It’s crazy.”
“It has to be done. This equipment enables the Germans to detect bombers when they’re still miles away-in time to scramble their fighters.”
“It must use radio waves,” Harald said excitedly.
“The British have a similar system, but the Germans seem to have refined it, and they’re shooting down up to half the aircraft on a raid. The RAF is desperate to figure out how they’re doing it. It’s worth risking my life.”
“Not pointlessly. If you’re caught, you won’t be able to pass the information to the British.”
“I have to try.”
Harald took a deep breath. “Why don’t I go?”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“No one’s looking for me. I know the site. I’ve already been over the fence-I took a shortcut one night. And I know more about radio than you, so I’ll have a better idea of what to photograph.” Harald thought the logic of his argument irresistible.
“If you’re caught, you’ll be shot as a spy.”
“Same applies to you-only you’re virtually certain to be caught, whereas I’ll probably get away with it.”
“The police may have found your sketches when they came for Poul. If so, the Germans must know that someone’s interested in the base on Sande, and they will probably have improved their security as a result. Getting over the fence may not be as easy as it was.”
“I still have a better chance than you.”
“I can’t send you into danger. What if you’re caught-what will I say to Mother?”
“You’ll say that I died fighting for freedom. I’ve as much right as you to take the risk. Give me the damn camera.”
Before Arne could reply, Karen came in.
She walked softly and appeared without warning, so Arne had no chance to hide, although reflexively he made a move to get up, then stopped himself.
“Who are you?” Karen said with her customary directness. “Oh! Hello, Arne. You’ve shaved off your moustache-I suppose that’s because of all the posters I saw in Copenhagen today. Why are you an outlaw?” She sat on the covered hood of the Rolls-Royce, crossing her long legs like a fashion model.
Arne hesitated, then said, “I can’t tell you.”
Karen’s agile mind raced ahead, drawing inferences with impressive speed. “My God, you’re in the Resistance! Was Poul in it, too? Is that why he died?”
Arne nodded. “He didn’t crash his aircraft. He was trying to escape from the police, and they shot at him.”
“Poor Poul.” She looked away for a moment. “So you’ve taken up where he left off. But now the police are on to you. Someone must be sheltering you-probably Jens Toksvig, he was Poul’s closest friend after you.”
Arne shrugged and nodded.
“But you can’t move around without risking arrest, so. .” She looked at Harald, and her voice went quiet. “You’re in it now, Harald.”
To Harald’s surprise, she looked concerned, as if she were afraid for him. He was pleased that she cared.
He looked at Arne. “Well? Am I in it?”
Arne sighed and gave him the camera.
Harald arrived in Morlunde late the following day. He left the steam bike in a car park next to the ferry dock, feeling it would be too conspicuous on Sande. He had nothing with which to cover it, and no way of locking it, but he trusted that a casual thief would be unable to figure out how to make it go.
He was in time for the last ferry of the day. As he waited on the dockside, the evening slowly dimmed, and stars appeared like the lights of distant ships on a dark sea. A drunk islander came staggering along the quay, peered rudely at Harald, muttered, “Ah, young Olufsen,” then sat on a capstan some distance away and tried to light a pipe.
The boat docked and a handful of people got off. To Harald’s surprise, a Danish policeman and a German soldier stood at the head of the gangway. As the drunk boarded, they checked his identity card. Harald’s heartbeat seemed to falter. He hesitated, scared, unsure whether to board. Had they simply stepped up security after finding his sketches, as Arne had forecast? Or were they looking for Arne himself? Would they know Harald was the brother of the wanted man? Olufsen was a common name-but they might have been briefed on the family. He had an expensive camera in his satchel. It was a popular German make, but all the same it could arouse suspicion.
He tried to calm his mind and consider his options. There were other ways of getting to Sande. He was not sure he could swim two miles in the open sea, but he might be able to borrow or steal a small boat. However, if he were seen beaching the boat on Sande he would be sure to be questioned. He might do better to act innocent.
He boarded the ferry.
The policeman asked him, “What is your reason for wanting to travel to Sande?”
Harald suppressed a feeling of indignation that anyone should presume to ask such a question. “I live there,” he said. “With my parents.”
The policeman looked at his face. “I don’t remember seeing you before, and I’ve been doing this for four days.”
“I’ve been away at school.”
“Tuesday is a strange day to come home.”
“It’s the end of term.”
The policeman grunted, apparently satisfied. He checked the address on Harald’s card and showed it to the soldier, who nodded and let Harald on board.
He went to the far end of the boat and stood looking out to sea, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He was relieved to have passed the checkpoint, but furious that he had to justify himself to a policeman when moving around his own country. It seemed a silly reaction, when he thought about it logically, but he could not help feeling outraged.
At midnight the boat left the dock.
There was no moon. In the starlight, the flat island of Sande was a dark swell like another wave on the horizon. Harald had not expected to return so soon. In fact, when he left on Friday he had wondered if he would ever see the place again. Now he was back as a spy, with a camera in his bag and a mission to photograph the Nazis’ secret weapon. He vaguely recalled thinking what a thrill it would be to become part of the Resistance. In reality, it was no fun at all. On the contrary, he was sick with fear.
He felt worse as he disembarked on the familiar quay and looked across the road to the post office and the grocery store that had not changed since he could remember. His life had been secure and stable for the first eighteen years. Now he would never feel safe again.
He made his way to the beach and began to tramp south. The wet sand gleamed silver in the starlight. He heard a girlish giggle from an unseen source in the dunes, and he felt a pang of jealousy. Would he ever make Karen giggle like that?
It was near dawn when he came within sight of the base. He could make out the fence posts. The trees and bushes inside the site showed as dark patches on the dunes. If he could see, so could the guards, he realized. He dropped to his knees and began to crawl forward.