15
Harald’s first day working at the Nielsen farm was more successful than he had dared to hope. Old Nielsen had a small workshop with enough equipment for Harald to repair just about anything. He had patched the water pump on a steam plough, welded a hinge on a caterpillar track, and found the short circuit that caused the farmhouse lights to fuse every night. He had eaten a hearty lunch of herrings and potatoes with the farmhands.
In the evening he had spent a couple of hours at the village tavern with Karl, the farmer’s youngest son- although he had drunk only two small glasses of beer, remembering what a fool he had made of himself with liquor a week ago. Everyone was talking about Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union. The news was bad. The Luftwaffe claimed to have destroyed 1,800 Soviet aircraft on the ground in lightning raids. In the tavern, everyone thought Moscow would fall before winter, except the local communist, and even he seemed worried.
Harald left early because Karen had said she might see him after dinner. He felt weary but pleased with himself as he walked back to the old monastery. When he entered the ruined building, he was astonished to find his brother in the church, staring at the derelict aircraft. “A Hornet Moth,” Arne said. “The gentleman’s aerial carriage.”
“It’s a wreck,” Harald said.
“Not really. The undercarriage is a bit bent.”
“How do you think it happened?”
“On landing. The back end of a Hornet tends to swing out of control, because the main wheels are too far forward. But the axle tubes aren’t designed to withstand sideways pressure, so when you swerve violently they can buckle.”
Arne looked terrible, Harald saw. Instead of his army uniform, he wore what seemed to be someone else’s old clothes, a worn tweed jacket and faded corduroy trousers. He had shaved off his moustache, and a greasy cap covered his curly hair. In his hands he held a small, neat 35mm camera. There was a strained expression on his face instead of his usual insouciant smile. “What happened to you?” Harald said anxiously.
“I’m in trouble. Have you got anything to eat?”
“Not a thing. We can go to the tavern-”
“I can’t show my face. I’m a wanted man.” Arne tried a wry grin, but it finished up as a grimace. “Every policeman in Denmark has my description, and there are posters of me all over Copenhagen. I was chased by a cop all along the Stroget and only just got away.”
“Are you in the Resistance?”
Arne hesitated, shrugged, then said, “Yes.”
Harald was thrilled. He sat on the ledge he used as a bed and Arne sat next to him. Pinetop the cat appeared and rubbed his head against Harald’s leg. “So you were working with them when I asked you, at home, three weeks ago?”
“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.
