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.”
“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.