“Benedikt Vessell, call me Ben.” He was a man in his thirties with a friendly grin that showed tobacco-stained teeth. “I was hoping to run into someone from the family.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out money. “I owe Arne forty crowns.”
“What for?”
The corporal looked sly. “Well, don’t say a word, I run a little book on the horse races, and Arne picked a winner.”
Harald took the money, not knowing what else to do. “Thank you.”
“Is that all right, then?”
Harald did not really understand the question. “Of course.”
“Good.” Ben looked furtive.
It crossed Harald’s mind that the sum owed might have been more than forty crowns. But he was not going to argue. “I’ll give it to my mother,” he said.
“Deepest sympathy, son. He was a good sort, your brother.”
The corporal obviously was not a rule keeper. He seemed the type who would murmur “Don’t say a word” quite frequently. His age suggested he was a career soldier, but his rank was lowly. Perhaps he put his energies into illegal activities. He probably sold pornographic books and stolen cigarettes. Maybe he could solve Harald’s problem. “Ben,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything at all.” Ben took a tobacco pouch from his pocket and began to hand-roll a cigarette.
“If a man wanted, for private purposes, to get hold of fifty feet of control cable for a Tiger Moth, do you know of any way it could be done?”
Ben looked at him through narrowed eyes. “No,” he said.
“Say, the person had a couple of hundred crowns to pay for it.”
Ben lit his cigarette. “This is to do with what Arne was arrested for, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Ben shook his head. “No, lad, it can’t be done. Sorry.”
“Never mind,” Harald said lightly, though he was bitterly disappointed. “Where can I find Hendrik Janz?”
“Two doors along. If he’s not in his room, try the canteen.”
Harald found Hendrik seated at a small desk, studying a book on meteorology. Pilots had to understand the weather, to know when it was safe to fly and if there was a storm coming. “I’m Harald Olufsen.”
Hendrik shook his hand. “Damn shame about Arne.”
“Thank you for packing up his stuff.”
“Glad to be able to do something.”
Did Hendrik approve of what Arne had done? Harald needed some indication before sticking his neck out. He said, “Arne did what he thought was right for his country.”
Hendrik immediately looked wary. “I know nothing of that,” he said. “To me he was a reliable colleague and a good friend.”
Harald was dismayed. Hendrik obviously was not going to help him steal the cable. What was he going to do?
“Thanks again,” he said. “Goodbye.”
He returned to Arne’s room and picked up the bags. He was at a loss to know what else to do. He could not leave without the cable he needed-but how could he take it? He had tried everything.
Maybe there was another place he could get cable. But he could not think where. And he was running out of time. The full moon was six days away. That meant he had only four days left to work on the aircraft.
He left the building and headed for the gate, carrying the bags. He was going to return to Kirstenslot-but for what purpose? Without the cable, the Hornet Moth would not fly. He wondered how he was going to tell Karen he had failed.
As he passed the stores building, he heard his name called. “Harald!”
A truck was parked to one side of the warehouse, and Ben stood half-concealed by the vehicle, beckoning. Harald hurried over.
“Here,” said Ben, and he held out a thick coil of steel cable. “Fifty feet, and a bit extra.”
Harald was thrilled. “Thank you!”
“Take it, for God’s sake, it’s heavy.”
Harald took the cable and turned away.
“No, no!” Ben said. “You can’t walk through the gate with that in your hand, for Christ’s sake! Put it in one of the bags.”
Harald opened Arne’s suitcase. It was full.
Ben said, “Give me that uniform, quick.”
Harald took out Arne’s uniform and replaced it with the coil.
Ben picked up the uniform. “I’ll get rid of this, don’t worry. Now clear off!”
Harald shut the case and reached into his pocket. “I promised you two hundred crowns-”
“Keep the money,” Ben said. “And good luck to you, son.”
“Thanks!”
“Now get lost! I never want to see you again.”
“Right,” said Harald, and he walked rapidly away.
Next morning, Harald stood outside the castle in the gray gleam of dawn. It was half past three. In his hand he held a four-gallon oil can, empty and clean. The tank of the Hornet Moth would take thirty-five gallons of petrol, just under nine canfuls. There was no legitimate way to get fuel, so Harald was going to steal it from the Germans.
He had everything else he needed. The Hornet Moth required only a few more hours of work and it would be ready to take off. But its fuel tank was empty.
The kitchen door opened quietly and Karen stepped out. She was accompanied by Thor, the old red setter that made Harald smile because it looked so much like Mr. Duchwitz. Karen paused on the doorstep, staring around warily, like a cat when there are strangers in the house. She wore a chunky green sweater that concealed her figure, and the old brown corduroys that Harald called her gardening trousers. But she looked wonderful. She called me darling, he said to himself, hugging the memory. She called me darling.
She smiled brilliantly, dazzling him. “Good morning!”
Her voice seemed dangerously loud. He put a finger on his lips for quiet. It would be safer to remain completely silent. There was nothing to discuss: they had made their plan last night, sitting on the floor in the disused church, eating chocolate cake from the Kirstenslot pantry.
Harald led the way into the woods. Undercover, they walked half the length of the park. When they drew level with the soldiers’ tents, they peeked cautiously from the bushes. As expected, they saw a single man on guard duty, standing outside the mess tent, yawning. At this hour, everyone else was asleep. Harald was relieved to have his expectations fulfilled.
The veterinary company’s fuel supply came from a small petrol tanker that was parked a hundred yards from the tents-no doubt as a safety precaution. The separation would be helpful to Harald, though he wished it were greater. The tanker had a hand pump, he had already observed, and there was no locking mechanism.
The truck was parked alongside the drive that led to the castle door, so that vehicles could approach it on a hard surface. The hose was on the drive side, for convenience. In consequence, the bulk of the truck shielded anyone using it from view by the encampment.
Everything was as expected, but Harald hesitated. It seemed madness to steal petrol from under the noses of the soldiers. But it was dangerous to think too much. Fear could paralyze. Action was the antidote. Without further reflection he broke cover, leaving Karen and the dog behind, and walked quickly across the damp grass to the tanker.
He took the nozzle from its hook and fed it into his can, then reached for the pump lever. As he pulled it down, there was a gurgling sound from inside the tank, and the noise of petrol sloshing into the can. It seemed very loud, but perhaps not loud enough to be heard by the sentry a hundred yards away.
He glanced anxiously back at Karen. As agreed, she was watching from the screen of vegetation, ready to alert Harald if anyone approached.
