Mads was on his feet in an instant. “Sir, Norway was invaded on the same day as Denmark, but the Norwegians fought for two months. Doesn’t that make us cowards?” His tone was scrupulously polite, but the question was challenging, and there was a rumble of agreement from the boys.
“A naive view,” Agger said. His dismissive tone angered Harald.
Heis intervened. “Norway is a land of mountains and fjords, difficult to conquer,” he said, bringing his military expertise to bear. “Denmark is a flat country with a good road system-impossible to defend against a large motorized army.”
Agger added, “To put up a fight would have caused unnecessary bloodshed, and the end result would have been no different.”
Mads said rudely, “Except that we would have been able to walk around with our heads held high, instead of hanging them in shame.” It sounded to Harald like something he might have heard at home from his military relations.
Agger colored. “The better part of valor is discretion, as Shakespeare wrote.”
Mads said, “In fact, sir, that was said by Falstaff, the most famous coward in world literature.” The boys laughed and clapped.
“Now, now, Kirke,” said Heis mildly. “I know you feel strongly about this, but there’s no need for discourtesy.” He looked around the room and pointed to one of the younger boys. “Yes, Borr.”
“Sir, don’t you think Herr Hitler’s philosophy of national pride and racial purity could be beneficial if adopted here in Denmark?” Woldemar Borr was the son of a prominent Danish Nazi.
“Elements of it, perhaps,” Agger said. “But Germany and Denmark are different countries.” That was plain prevarication, Harald thought angrily. Couldn’t the man find the guts to say that racial persecution was wrong?
Heis said plaintively, “Would any boy like to ask Mr. Agger about his everyday work as a member of the Rigsdag, perhaps?”
Tik stood up. Agger’s self-satisfied tone had irritated him, too. “Don’t you feel like a puppet?” he said. “After all, it’s the Germans who really rule us. You’re just pretending.”
“Our nation continues to be governed by our Danish parliament,” Agger replied.
Tik muttered, “Yes, so you get to keep your job.” The boys nearby heard him and laughed.
“The political parties remain-even the Communists,” Agger went on. “We have our own police, and our armed forces.”
“But the minute the Rigsdag does something the Germans disapprove of, it will be closed down, and the police and the military will be disarmed,” Tik argued. “So you’re acting in a farce.”
Heis began to look annoyed. “Remember your manners, please, Duchwitz,” he said peevishly.
“That’s all right, Heis,” said Agger. “I like a lively discussion. If Duchwitz thinks our parliament is useless, he should compare our circumstances with those prevailing in France. Because of our policy of cooperation with the Germans, life is a great deal better, for ordinary Danish people, than it might be.”
Harald had heard enough. He stood up and spoke without waiting for permission from Heis. “And what if the Nazis come for Duchwitz?” he said. “Will you advise friendly cooperation then?”
“And why should they come for Duchwitz?”
“The same reason they came for my uncle in Hamburg-because he’s a Jew.”
Some of the boys looked around with interest. They probably had not realized Tik was Jewish. The Duchwitz family were not religious, and Tik went along to services in the ancient redbrick church just like everyone else.
Agger showed irritation for the first time. “The occupying forces have demonstrated complete tolerance toward Danish Jews.”
“So far,” Harald argued. “But what if they change their minds? Suppose they decide that Tik is just as Jewish as my uncle Joachim? What is your advice to us then? Shall we stand aside while they march in and seize him? Or should we now be organizing a Resistance movement in preparation for that day?”
“Your best plan is to make sure you are never faced with such a decision, by supporting the policy of cooperation with the occupying power.”
The smooth evasiveness of the answer maddened Harald. “But what if that doesn’t work?” he persisted. “Why won’t you answer the question? What do we do when the Nazis come for our friends?”
Heis put in, “You’re asking what’s called a hypothetical question, Olufsen,” he said. “Men in public life prefer not to meet trouble halfway.”
“The question is how far his policy of cooperation will go,” Harald said hotly. “And there won’t be time for debate when they bang on your door in the middle of the night, Heis.”
For a moment, Heis looked ready to reprimand Harald for rudeness, but in the end he answered mildly. “You’ve made an interesting point, and Mr. Agger has answered it quite thoroughly,” he said. “Now, I think we’ve had a good discussion, and it’s time to go back to our lessons. But first, let’s thank our guest for taking the time out of his busy life to come and visit us.” He raised his hands to lead a round of applause.
Harald stopped him. “Make him answer the question!” he shouted. “Should we have a Resistance movement, or will we let the Nazis do anything they like? For God’s sake, what lessons could be more important than this?”
The room went quiet. Arguing with the staff was permitted, within reason, but Harald had crossed the line into defiance.
“I think you’d better leave us,” Heis said. “Off you go, and I’ll see you afterward.”
This made Harald furious. Boiling with frustration, he stood up. The room remained silent as all the boys watched him walk to the door. He knew he should leave quietly, but he could not bring himself to do it. He turned at the door and pointed an accusing finger at Heis. “You won’t be able to tell the Gestapo to leave the damn room!” he said.
Then he went out and slammed the door.
4
Peter Flemming’s alarm clock went off at half past five in the morning. He silenced it, turned on the light, and sat upright in bed. Inge was lying on her back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, as expressionless as a corpse. He looked at her for a moment, then got up.
He went into the little kitchen of their Copenhagen apartment and turned on the radio. A Danish reporter was reading a sentimental statement by the Germans about the death of Admiral Lutjens, who had gone down with the Bismarck ten days ago. Peter put a small pot of oatmeal on the stove, then laid a tray. He buttered a slice of rye bread and made ersatz coffee.
He felt optimistic, and after a moment he recalled why. Yesterday there had been a break in the case he was working on.
He was a detective-inspector in the security unit, a section of the Copenhagen criminal investigation department whose job was to keep tabs on union organizers, communists, foreigners, and other potential troublemakers. His boss, the head of the department, was superintendent Frederik Juel, clever but lazy. Educated at the famous Jansborg Skole, Juel was fond of the Latin proverb Quieta non movere, “Let sleeping dogs lie.” He was descended from a hero of Danish naval history, but the aggression had long been bred out of his line.
In the past fourteen months their work had expanded, as opponents of German rule had been added to the department’s watch list.
So far the only outward sign of resistance had been the appearance of underground newspapers such as Reality, the one the Olufsen boy had dropped. Juel believed the illegal newspapers were harmless, if not actually beneficial as a safety valve, and refused to pursue the publishers. This attitude infuriated Peter. Leaving criminals at large, to continue their offenses, seemed madness to him.
The Germans did not really like Juel’s laissez-faire attitude, but so far they had not pushed the matter to a confrontation. Juel’s liaison with the occupying power was General Walter Braun, a career soldier who had lost a lung in the battle of France. Braun’s aim was to keep Denmark tranquil at all costs. He would not overrule Juel unless forced to.