looked more like a millionaire playboy than a fugitive spy as he got on the train at Kirstenslot. Nevertheless he was nervous. He felt trapped in the railway carriage. If a policeman accosted him he could not run away.
In Copenhagen he walked the short distance from the Vesterport suburban station to the main line station without seeing a single police uniform. A few minutes later he was on another train to Vodal.
On the way, he thought about his brother. Everyone had thought Arne unsuited to Resistance work: too playful, too careless, perhaps not brave enough. And in the end he had turned out to be the greatest hero of all. The thought brought tears to Harald’s eyes behind the sunglasses.
Squadron Leader Renthe, commanding officer of the flying school, reminded him of his old headmaster, Heis. Both men were tall and thin and long-nosed. Because of the resemblance, Harald found it difficult to lie to Renthe. “I’ve come to, er, pick up my brother’s effects,” he said. “Personal stuff. If that’s all right.”
Renthe did not appear to notice his embarrassment. “Of course,” he said. “One of Arne’s colleagues, Hendrik Janz, has packed everything up. There’s just a suitcase and a duffel bag.”
“Thanks.” Harald did not want Arne’s effects, but he had needed an excuse to come here. What he was really after was about fifty feet of steel cable to replace the missing control cables of the Hornet Moth. And this was the only place he could think of where he might get it.
Now that he was here, the task seemed more daunting than it had from a distance. He felt a wave of mild panic. Without the cable, the Hornet Moth could not fly. Then he thought again of the sacrifice his brother had made, and told himself to stay calm. If he kept a cool head, he might find a way.
“I was going to send the bags to your parents,” Renthe added.
“I’ll do it.” Harald wondered whether he could confide in Renthe.
“I only hesitated because I thought perhaps they should go to his fiancee.”
“Hermia?” Harald said, surprised. “In England?”
“Is she in England? She was here three days ago.”
Harald was astonished. “What was she doing here?”
“I assumed she had taken Danish citizenship and was living here. Otherwise, her presence in Denmark would have been illegal, and I would have been obliged to report her visit to the police. But obviously she would not have come here if that had been the case. She would know, wouldn’t she, that as an army officer I’m obliged to report anything illegal to the police.” He looked hard at Harald and added, “Do you see what I mean?”
“I think I do.” Harald realized he was being given a message. Renthe suspected that he and Hermia were involved in espionage with Arne, and he was warning Harald not to say anything about it to him. He obviously sympathized, but was not willing to break any rules. He stood up. “You’ve made things very clear-thank you.”
“I’ll get someone to show you to Arne’s quarters.”
“No need-I can find my way.” He had seen Arne’s room two weeks ago, when he was here for a flight in a Tiger Moth.
Renthe shook his hand. “My deepest condolences.”
“Thank you.”
Harald left the headquarters building and walked along the single road that connected all the low buildings that made up the base. He moved slowly, taking a good look inside the hangars. There was not much activity. What was there to do at an air base where the aircraft could not fly?
He felt frustrated. The cable he needed must be here, somewhere. All he had to do was find out where, and get hold of it. But it was not that simple.
In one hangar he saw a Tiger Moth completely dismantled. The wings were detached, the fuselage stood on trestles, the engine on a stand. His hopes rose. He walked in through the giant doorway. A mechanic in overalls was sitting on an oil can, drinking tea from a big mug. “Amazing,” Harald said to him. “I’ve never seen one taken to pieces like that.”
“Has to be done,” the man replied. “Parts wear out, and you can’t have them failing in midair. On aircraft, everything has to be perfect. Otherwise you fall out of the sky.”
Harald found that a sobering thought. He was planning to cross the North Sea in an aircraft that had not been looked at by a mechanic for years. “So you replace everything?”
“Everything that moves, yes.”
Harald thought optimistically that this man might be able to give him what he wanted. “You must get through a lot of spares.”
“That’s right.”
“There’s what, a hundred feet of control cables in each aircraft?”
“A Tiger Moth requires one hundred and fifty-nine feet of ten-hundredweight cable.”
And that’s what I need, Harald thought with mounting excitement. But once again he hesitated to ask, for fear of giving himself away to someone unsympathetic. He looked around. He had vaguely imagined that airplane parts would be lying around for anyone to pick up. “So, where do you keep it all?”
“Stores, of course. This is the army. Everything in its place.”
Harald grunted with exasperation. If only he could have seen a length of cable and picked it up casually. . but it was pointless to wish for easy solutions. “Where’s the store?”
“Next building along.” The mechanic frowned. “Why all the questions?”
“Idle curiosity.” Harald guessed he had pushed this man far enough. He should move on before arousing serious suspicion. He gave a sketchy wave and turned away. “Nice talking to you.”
He walked to the next building and stepped inside. A sergeant sat behind a counter, smoking and reading a newspaper. Harald saw a photograph of Russian soldiers surrendering, and the headline “STALIN TAKES CONTROL OF SOVIET DEFENSE MINISTRY.”
Harald studied the rows of steel shelves that stretched out on the other side of the counter. He felt like a child in a sweet shop. Here was everything he could want, from washers to entire engines. He could build a whole aircraft out of these parts.
And one entire section was given over to miles of cable of different kinds, all neatly wound on wooden cylinders like cotton reels.
Harald was delighted. He had learned exactly where the cable was. Now he had to figure out how to get his hands on it.
After a moment, the sergeant looked up from the newspaper. “Yes?”
Could the man be bribed? Yet again, Harald hesitated. He had a pocketful of money, given to him for this purpose by Karen. But he did not know how to phrase an offer. Even a corrupt warehouseman might be offended by a crass proposal. He wished he had thought more about his approach. But he had to do it. “Can I ask you something?” he said. “All these spare parts-is there any way that someone, a civilian I mean, could buy, or-”
“No,” the sergeant said abruptly.
“Even if the price was, you know, not a major consideration-”
“Absolutely not.”
Harald did not know what else to say. “If I’ve given offense. .”
“Forget it.”
At least the man had not called the police. Harald turned away.
The door was solid wood with three locks, he noted as he left. It would not be easy to break into this warehouse. Perhaps he was not the first civilian to realize that scarce components might be found in military stores.
Feeling defeated, he made his way to the officers’ quarters and found Arne’s room. As Renthe had promised, there were two bags neatly lined up at the foot of the bed. The room was otherwise bare.
It struck Harald as pathetic that his brother’s life could be packed into two bags, and that his room should then bear no trace of his existence. The thought brought tears to his eyes again. But the important thing was what a man left behind in the minds of others, he told himself. Arne would always live in Harald’s memory-teaching him to whistle, making their mother laugh like a schoolgirl, combing his glossy hair in a mirror. He thought of the last time he had seen his brother, sitting on the tiled floor of the disused church in Kirstenslot, weary and scared but determined to fulfill his mission. And, once again, he saw that the way to honor Arne’s memory was to finish the job he had started.
A corporal looked in at the door and said, “Are you related to Arne Olufsen?”
“His brother. My name is Harald.”
