“Oh, dear.”
“The police have to decide what to do about it.”
“I’m not sure I-”
“Frankly, we’d rather not prosecute a schoolboy for a childish prank.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. .”
“On the other hand, he can’t go unpunished.”
“Indeed not.”
“Apart from anything else, our German friends will want to know that the perpetrator has been dealt with firmly.”
“Of course, of course.”
Harald felt sorry for Heis, but at the same time wished he were not such a weakling. So far, he had done nothing but agree with the bullying Peter.
Peter went on, “So the outcome depends on you.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“If we let him go, will you expel him from school?”
Harald immediately saw what Peter was up to. He wanted to be sure that Harald’s transgression would become public knowledge. He was only interested in the embarrassment of the Olufsen family.
The arrest of a Jansborg schoolboy would make headlines. The shame of Heis would be exceeded only by that of Harald’s parents. His father would be volcanic and his mother suicidal.
But, Harald realized, Peter’s enmity toward the Olufsen family had blunted his policeman’s instincts. He was so happy to have caught an Olufsen drunk that he had overlooked a greater crime. He had not even considered whether Harald’s dislike of the Nazis went beyond slogan-daubing to espionage. Peter’s malice had saved Harald’s skin.
Heis showed the first sign of opposition. “Expulsion seems a bit harsh-”
“Not as harsh as a prosecution and possible jail sentence.”
“No, indeed.”
Harald did not enter the argument himself, because he could see no way out of this that would enable him to keep the incident secret. He consoled himself with the thought that he had escaped the Gestapo. Any other punishment would seem minor.
Heis said, “It’s almost the end of the academic year. He wouldn’t miss much schooling if he were expelled now.”
“Then it will not permit him to avoid much work.”
“Something of a technicality, considering that he is only a couple of weeks away from leaving.”
“But it will satisfy the Germans.”
“Will it? That’s important, of course.”
“If you can assure me that he will be expelled, I can release him from custody. Otherwise, I’ll have to take him back to the Politigaarden.”
Heis threw a guilty look at Harald. “It does seem as if the school has no real choice in the matter, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Heis looked at Peter. “Very well, then. I will expel him.”
Peter gave a satisfied smile. “I’m glad we’ve resolved this so sensibly.” He stood up. “Try to keep out of trouble in future, young Harald,” he said pompously.
Harald looked away.
Peter shook hands with Heis. “Well, thank you, Inspector,” Heis said.
“Pleased to help.” Peter went out.
Harald felt all his muscles relax. He had got away with it. There would be hell to pay at home, of course, but the important thing was that his foolishness had not compromised Poul Kirke and the Resistance.
Heis said, “A dreadful thing has happened, Olufsen.”
“I know I’ve done wrong-”
“No, not that. I think you know Mads Kirke’s cousin.”
“Poul, yes.” Harald tensed again. Now what? Had Heis somehow found out about Harald’s involvement with the Resistance? “What about Poul?”
“He has been in a plane crash.”
“My God! I was flying with him a few days ago!”
“It happened last night at the flying school.” Heis hesitated.
“What. .?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Poul Kirke is dead.”
10
“Dead?” said Herbert Woodie with a squeak in his voice. “How can he be dead?”
“They’re saying he crashed his Tiger Moth,” Hermia replied. She was angry and distraught.
“The damn fool,” Woodie said callously. “This could ruin everything.”
Hermia stared at him in disgust. She would have liked to slap his stupid face.
They were in Woodie’s office at Bletchley Park with Digby Hoare. Hermia had sent a message to Poul Kirke, instructing him to get an eyewitness description of the radar installation on the island of Sande. “The reply came from Jens Toksvig, one of Poul’s helpers,” she said, making an effort to be calm and factual. “It was sent via the British Legation in Stockholm, as usual, but it wasn’t even enciphered-Jens obviously doesn’t know the code. He said the crash was being passed off as an accident, but in fact Poul was trying to escape from the police and they shot at the aircraft.”
“The poor man,” said Digby.
“The message came in this morning,” Hermia added. “I was about to come and tell you, Mr. Woodie, when you sent for me.” In fact she had been in tears. She did not cry often, but her heart was touched by the death of Poul, so young, handsome, and full of energy. She knew, too, that she was responsible for his being killed. It was she who had asked him to spy for Britain, and his courageous assent had led directly to his death. She thought of his parents, and his cousin Mads, and she had wept for them, too. Most of all, she longed to finish the job he had started, so that his killers would not prevail in the end.
“I’m so sorry,” Digby said, and he put his arm around Hermia’s shoulders in a sympathetic squeeze. “Lots of men are dying, but it hurts when it’s someone you know.”
She nodded. His words were simple and obvious, but she was grateful for the thought. What a good man he was. She felt a surge of affection for him, then remembered her fiance and felt guilty. She wished she could see Arne again. Talking to him and touching him would reinforce her love and make her immune to the appeal of Digby.
“But where does that leave us?” Woodie asked.
Hermia collected her thoughts rapidly. “According to Jens, the Nightwatchmen have decided to lie low, at least for a while, and see how far the police carry their investigation. So, to answer your question, it leaves us without any sources of information in Denmark.”
“Makes us appear damned incompetent,” Woodie said.
“Never mind that,” Digby said crisply. “The Nazis have found a war-winning weapon. We thought we were years ahead with radar-now we learn that they have it, too, and theirs is better than ours! I don’t give a fuck about how you appear. The only question is how we find out more.”
Woodie looked outraged but said nothing. Hermia asked, “What about other sources of intelligence?”
“We’re trying them all, of course. And we’ve picked up one more clue: the word
Woodie said, “
“It’s their word for a four-poster bed,” Hermia told him.
