“Finn Jonk. His trial started yesterday. It should be over in a day or two.”
“At last! What do you think will happen?”
“He’s pleading guilty. I assume he’ll be jailed for five or ten years.”
“It doesn’t seem enough.”
“For destroying someone’s mind? What would be enough?”
After lunch, when they were walking back to the Politigaarden, Tilde put her arm through Peter’s. It was an affectionate gesture, and he felt she was telling him that she liked him despite their disagreement. As they approached the ultramodern police headquarters building, he said, “I’m sorry you disapprove of my Jewish list.”
She stopped and turned to him. “You’re not a bad man, Peter.” To his surprise, she seemed to be on the edge of tears. “Your sense of duty is your great strength. But doing your duty isn’t the only law.”
“I don’t really understand what you mean.”
“I know.” She turned away and went into the building alone.
Making his way to his office, he tried to see the issue from her point of view. If the Nazis imprisoned law- abiding Jews, that would be a crime, and his list would help the criminals. But you could say that about a gun, or even a car: the fact that something might be used by criminals did not mean it was wrong to have it.
As he was crossing the open central courtyard, he was hailed by his boss, Frederik Juel. “Come with me,” Juel said briskly. “We’ve been summoned by General Braun.” He marched ahead, his military bearing giving an impression of decisiveness and efficiency that Peter knew to be quite false.
It was a short walk from the Politigaarden to the town square, where the Germans had taken over a building called the Dagmarhus. It was surrounded by barbed wire and had cannons and antiaircraft guns on the flat roof. They were shown to Walter Braun’s office, a corner room overlooking the square, comfortably furnished with an antique desk and a leather couch. There was a rather small picture of the Fuhrer on the wall and a framed photograph on the desk of two small boys in school uniform. Braun wore his pistol even here, Peter noted, as if to say that although he had a cozy office, nevertheless he meant business.
Braun was looking pleased with himself. “Our people have decoded the message you found in the hollow airplane chock,” he said in his habitual near-whisper.
Peter was elated.
“Very impressive,” Juel murmured.
“Apparently it was not difficult,” Braun went on. “The British use simple codes, often based on a poem or famous passage of prose. Once our cryptanalysts get a few words, a professor of English can usually fill in the rest. I have never before known the study of English literature to serve any useful purpose.” He laughed at his own wit.
Peter said impatiently, “What was in the message?”
Braun opened a file on his desk. “It comes from a group calling themselves the Nightwatchmen.” Although they were speaking German, he used the Danish word
Peter was taken by surprise. “I’ll check the files, of course, but I’m pretty sure we haven’t come across this name before.” He frowned, considering. “Real-life nightwatchmen are usually police or soldiers, aren’t they?”
Juel bridled. “I hardly think that Danish police officers-”
“I didn’t say they were Danish,” Peter interrupted. “The spies could be German traitors.” He shrugged. “Or they may just aspire to military status.” He looked at Braun. “What’s the content of the message, General?”
“Details of our military dispositions in Denmark. Take a look.” He passed a sheaf of papers across the desk. “Locations of antiaircraft batteries in and around Copenhagen. German naval vessels in the harbor during the last month. Regiments stationed in Aarhus, Odense, and Morlunde.”
“Is the information accurate?”
Braun hesitated. “Not precisely. Close to the truth, but not exact.”
Peter nodded. “Then the spies probably are not Germans with inside information, for such people would be able to get correct details from the files. More likely, they are Danes who are careful observers making educated estimates.”
Braun nodded. “A shrewd deduction. But can you find these people?”
“I certainly hope so.”
Braun’s focus of attention had switched entirely to Peter, as if Juel were not there, or just an underling in attendance rather than the senior officer. “Do you think the same people are putting out the illegal newspapers?”
Peter was pleased that Braun recognized his expertise, but frustrated that Juel was nevertheless the boss. He hoped that Braun himself had noted this irony. He shook his head. “We know the underground editors and we keep an eye on their activities. If they had been making meticulous observations of German military dispositions, we would have noticed. No-I believe this is a new organization we haven’t encountered.”
“Then how will you catch them?”
“There is one group of potential subversives whom we have never properly investigated-the Jews.”
Peter heard a sharp intake of breath from Juel.
Braun said, “You had better take a look at them.”
“It’s not always easy to know who the Jews are, in this country.”
“Then go to the synagogue!”
“Good idea,” Peter said. “They may have a membership list. That would be a start.”
Juel gave Peter a thunderous look, but said nothing.
Braun said, “My superiors in Berlin are impressed with the loyalty and efficiency of the Danish police in intercepting this message to British intelligence. Nevertheless, they were keen to send in a team of Gestapo investigators. I have dissuaded them, by promising that you will vigorously investigate the spy ring and bring the traitors to justice.” It was a long speech for a man with one lung, and it left him breathless. He paused, looking from Peter to Juel and back again. When he had caught his breath, he finished, “For your own sakes, and for the good of everyone in Denmark, you’d better succeed.”
Juel and Peter stood up, and Juel said tightly, “We will do everything possible.”
They left. As soon as they were outside the building, Juel rounded on Peter with a blazing blue-eyed stare. “You know perfectly well this has nothing to do with the synagogue, damn you.”
“I know nothing of the kind.”
“You’re just toadying to the Nazis, you disgusting creep.”
“Why shouldn’t we help them? They represent the law, now.”
“You think they’ll help your career.”
“And why not?” Peter said, stung to retaliate. “The Copenhagen elite are prejudiced against men from the provinces-but the Germans may be more fair-minded.”
Juel was incredulous. “Is
“At least they’re not blind to the abilities of boys who did not go to Jansborg Skole.”
“So you think you were passed over because of your background? Idiot-you didn’t get the job because you’re too extreme! You’ve got no sense of proportion. You’d wipe crime out by arresting everyone who looked suspicious!” He made a disgusted sound. “If I have anything to do with it, you’ll never get another promotion. Now get out of my sight.” He walked away.
Peter burned with resentment. Who did Juel think he was? Having a famous ancestor did not make him better than anyone else. He was a cop, just like Peter, and he had no right to talk as if he were a higher life form.
But Peter had got his way. He had defeated Juel. He had permission to raid the synagogue.
Juel would hate him forever for that. But did it matter? Braun, not Juel, was the power now. Better to be Braun’s favorite and Juel’s enemy than the other way around.
Back at headquarters, Peter swiftly assembled his team, choosing the same detectives he had used at Kastrup: Conrad, Dresler, and Ellegard. He said to Tilde Jespersen, “I’d like to take you along, if you don’t object.”
“Why would I object?” she said testily.
“After our conversation over lunch. .”
“Please! I’m a professional. I told you that.”
