“I’ll come get you. You might have enough time.” He grinned at Else.
She resisted the urge to kiss him. Poor Laila was already in shock.
After he left, Else had Laila change into her nightgown and lie down.
Else turned off the light, pulled up a chair, and told Laila everything. Then she took her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry I kept secrets from you.”
“Don’t be.” Laila squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry I pressured you to tell me. I’m in the resistance. I know better.”
“You thought it was about romance. You didn’t know it had to do with the resistance. If you had known, you would have understood my silence. But I couldn’t tell you even that much.”
Laila sighed. “You kept that secret well. But you didn’t conceal that you’re in love.”
“Very much so.”
Laila sniffed. “Well, he’s no Pierre Curie, but he’ll have to do.”
Else laughed and Laila joined in, and the joy of restoration and openness flooded the darkened room.
COPENHAGEN
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER30, 1943
Vigilance was needed as never before as Henrik strolled down Nørrebrogade. At least he didn’t stand out in the working-class district.
That morning, he’d told the shipyard his mother was still in the hospital, and he needed a few days off to help his family. That gave him time to prepare for guests—and to attend the Freedom Council meeting.
Henrik gave the street a casual scan. If the Gestapo raided the meeting, they could effectively destroy the resistance movement in Denmark.
At the corner stood Jam, his former SOE contact. When Jam spotted him, he pushed away from the wall and walked a few paces ahead of Henrik.
One block later, Jam took three steps down to the door of a printing shop, where a lamp shone in the window.
Henrik followed him inside. A man in a dark suit locked the door behind them, flipped the sign from “aaben” to “lukket,” and turned off the lamp. Then he led them to a back room.
Half a dozen men stood talking, all in their thirties or forties, and each gave Henrik an appraising look.
“Gentlemen,” Jam said. “Meet the Havmand.”
“Good day,” Henrik said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“We’ve already met.” Erling Foss extended his hand and a wry smile.
“So we have.” The Foss family owned a brick factory, and Henrik had met Erling at social events before the war. Henrik tensed.
Foss’s eyebrows ascended his high forehead. “Rumors are, you’re in Sweden.”
“I started those rumors.”
“Excellent. Welcome.”
The men took seats in a room full of printing equipment, and they opened discussion. No one introduced themselves, but most seemed to know each other.
As they talked, their various organizations came to light—Frit Danmark, De frie Danske, the Dansk Samling Party, the Ringen, and BOPA—illegal papers and opposition groups and open resistance organizations.
Jam didn’t belong to the council but represented the Free Danes living abroad. As the leader of the SOE agents in Denmark, he made important connections to the Allies.
For the next hour, the men drafted a resolution opposing the planned arrests of the Jews. They crafted an announcement of the council’s establishment to send to Christmas Møller, a former Danish politician who broadcast from London with the BBC’s Danish Section. And they spoke of the need for unity and cooperation in their acts of resistance.
