me about the Underground Army in Nordland. It is very important. Once I have that, he’s yours.”
“I understand. It should be easy if he doesn’t suspect anything.”
“He may be very careful. He knows that at this rendezvous is the only location anyone in England knows he will be at.”
“Right. But I can’t think of any better way to take him alive.”
Our plan was simple. I would sit right out front tomorrow, dressed in Anders’s British battle dress. I would watch for Rolf coming up the trail. There were several places where it was visible, and with binoculars you could even make out the road below in the valley. As soon as I saw him, I’d wave him up and walk inside the hut before he got too close. Anders would be hidden in the woods, about twenty yards from the hut. He’d have a clear view of Rolf all the way and would follow him inside, once Rolf had gone through the door. Easy.
“Yes,” agreed Anders. “Alive, there is no better way.”
He closed his book.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was another beautiful day. I was surprised at how nice it was this far north, especially after all those rainy and chilly summer days in England. What I did on my summer vacation, I thought idly, remembering childhood September essays. Never anything like this. I leaned back on the bench, so that its front legs came off the ground and my back rested against the hut. I felt the sun warm my face and would’ve taken off the wool jacket I wore if it hadn’t been a disguise. A black bird cawed above me, drifting on the wind with its wings outstretched. I put the binoculars up to my eyes and scanned the road down in the valley for the hundredth time.
There it was. The milk wagon on its morning run. It stopped at the path and a figure got off, dressed in the same British browns I wore. He didn’t stop to wave good-bye to the old lady. I could almost make out the rhythmic metal clanking sounds of the milk cans echoing up the hillsides as the cart wobbled on down the dirt road. I signaled to Anders, who was hiding at the tree line. We were on.
I caught sight of Rolf several times as he hustled up the trail. He was faster than I had been. I made a show of walking back and forth in front of the hut, so he would see me. I guessed he’d signal me as soon as we sighted each other. That was my cue to go into the hut.
Finally, I saw him stop. He put his hand across his brow, to block out the sun. It felt like he was looking straight into my eyes. I waved one arm back and forth in a slow, deliberate motion. He waved back. I changed to a “come on up” motion, and stood watching him for a few minutes. He disappeared and reappeared as the trail dipped and turned. His head bobbed up once and I could almost make out his features. Time to go. I made sure he could see as I opened the door to the hut. I stepped inside and pulled out my automatic, flipped off the safety, and chambered a round. The sharp snick of the slide snapping back was reassuring, comforting in a lethal sort of way. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I felt my heart thumping against my chest and breathed deep again, willing myself to slow down, to listen to every sound outside, and not to my own blood pumping through my veins. I waited.
I stood away from the windows so he couldn’t see me as he approached. I tried to watch the path from the back of the room, but the window was too small. I sat down on the edge of one of the beds, pistol ready. I figured he’d come in tired, expecting to find his friend, and his guard would be down. It should be easy. I told myself that three times. Piece of cake. I waited.
Ten minutes passed. What the hell was he doing? Maybe he was winded and had taken a break. I got up, sneaking a peek out one of the windows. Nothing. I opened the door just a bit and listened. Nothing. A slight breeze blew through the fir trees and made a gentle swishing sound. I stepped outside, onto the stone step below the door, and craned my neck to either side. Nothing. I stepped to the side and looked over to where Anders was hiding. I heard a bird singing, then the flutter of wings as it flew away. The sound of glass breaking was louder than the wind.
I barely had time to realize that sound was completely out of place when a tremendous blast came out of nowhere. My eardrums felt as if they had split. A flash of bright light, then a vortex of glass and wood came fly-ing out of the hut, slamming the partially open door flat against the wall. It knocked me to the ground. Everything was spinning, the hut and the pine trees all revolving as if I were tumbling through space. My gun wasn’t in my hand anymore. I tried to get up. It didn’t work out too well. Dust and debris from the explosion settled over me. Blood from my hands and face made red rivulets in the gray dust. I tried to shake off my confusion; a little voice from the back of my head was telling me to find my gun.
I heard somebody yelling. I looked up and saw Rolf Kayser standing six feet away, Sten gun gripped tightly in his hands, the murderous snub-nosed barrel pointed at my chest. The only thing I had going for me was the look of utter surprise on his face. His dark eyes were wide, and his whole body seemed to be shaking, as if not killing me then and there was causing him to short-circuit.
“Boyle! Gud forbanner De! What are you doing here? Where is Anders?”
I could barely understand him over the ringing in my ears, but I could hear and see his confusion, which at least bought me time.
“Maybe we should start off with why did you try to kill me with that grenade?” I asked as I started to get up. I noticed my. 45 lying a few feet to my right. I took an unsteady step toward it and fell back to my knees as if I was weak, which wasn’t hard to do. This maneuver brought me closer to my piece.
“I didn’t try to kill you, you fool! I came here to kill a traitor. I didn’t expect to find you here. Now, where is Anders?”
Good question, I thought. Rolf advanced until he stood next to me. He kicked at my shoulder with his boot until I was flat on the ground, looking up at him. I could see how tightly his left hand was gripping the magazine of the Sten gun and the little black hairs on his trigger finger. He was unshaven and there were bags under his eyes, so that they looked bruised. I wondered if he had sleepless nights.
“Where is Anders?” he demanded again, through gritted teeth.
“Right here.” The calm voice came from behind me. I could see Rolf’s eyes look up. He didn’t move the Sten gun.
“Well, hello, old friend,” Rolf said, a maniacal smile creeping onto his lips. “I’m sorry this didn’t end quickly, as I had planned.”
“Let him go, Rolf,” Anders said evenly. “There’s been enough killing.”
“Not enough! Not while you live, traitor!”
“Rolf,” I said, “what are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?” Rolf demanded, keeping his eyes firmly on Anders and the barrel of the machine gun about twelve inches from my nose. It didn’t inspire me with confidence in our plan.
“Anders, I assume you’ve got him covered, right?”
“Yes, Billy, just as he has you covered.”
“Put the gun down, Anders, or I’ll kill him,” Rolf growled.
“And then me,” Anders answered. “If I am a traitor, why would I care about an American’s life? It’s just one life among many.”
“Boyle,” Rolf said, jabbing the gun at me, “what are you doing here with this turncoat?”
“You came here to kill him?”
“Of course. I am many things, Boyle. You know that much by now. But I’m not a traitor. I know something about my friend Anders, something I couldn’t tell you back in England.”
“Because it would have incriminated you.”
“Yes. I couldn’t tell you that the night Birkeland died I saw something. I was someplace I wouldn’t have been if what I had told you was true.”
Two and two were adding up pretty fast.
“You saw Anders go into the map room. When you came down from Knut Birkeland’s bedroom. After you killed him.”
For the smallest part of a second his eyes flicked downward toward mine. In a flash they were locked on to Anders again.
