How? They were handcuffed.
“I’ll kill you all.” Stomper had dropped his gun, groped for it, close to Henrik’s side.
With a grunt, Henrik rolled on top of the gun, rolled over it, blocking the guard. He stretched his fingers toward the weapon.
The man next to him worked a finger through the trigger. “I got it.”
One of the men stood and kicked Stomper in the stomach, over and over. “How do you like it, huh?”
“Stand back from the door!” a voice called from outside. “We’re breaking you out. Stand back.”
Henrik shoved up onto his knees and crawled back. His mindreeled. Could it be? No matter what, he’d enjoyed one last flash of hope. Of purpose.
A shot rang out. The door warped. Another shot.
The door swung open. Bright, fresh air flowed in.
“Out. Everyone out.” Arms reached in, beckoning, aiding.
Men tumbled out onto the pavement.
“No!” Stomper cried.
Men kicked him as they passed, and Henrik, the last one out, shoved by the guard’s feet but resisted the urge to stomp on one.
A man in a black balaclava grabbed Henrik’s elbow. “Andersen? Thank God.”
Henrik stared into the man’s familiar light eyes. Lars Koppel? Koppel had broken the prisoners out? This was planned? For him?
“Hurry! Over here.” A man in a balaclava worked a key into a set of handcuffs, and a prisoner shook his arms—free!
“I’ll get you!” Stomper crawled out, blood trickling from his twisted mouth. “You’re all dead.”
Koppel pointed a gun at him.
Kill him!Henrik gasped from the rage of the thought. For three weeks, he’d resisted hatred. He couldn’t succumb now. He threw up his cuffed hands. “Don’t!”
The gun fired. The guard collapsed.
“He could identify us,” Koppel said. “He could sound the alarm.”
Henrik’s gaze flew to the front of the toppled van. “The drivers!”
“Already dead. That’s where we got the key. Hurry, Andersen.”
Henrik hobbled to the man with the key—Jens Frandsen. The handcuffs fell away, and Henrik stared at unfettered wrists.
“That’s the last man,” Koppel said. “Everyone, go!”
Dozens of passersby cheered. Prisoners and men in balaclavas scattered and merged into the crowd.
“This way, Andersen. Hurry.” Koppel ducked into the café on the corner.
Henrik followed as fast as he could, but his foot screamed with each step.
They burst out the back door into the courtyard. Koppel yankedoff his balaclava and dashed along, hugging the wall. Henrik mimicked him. They turned the inside corner and slipped in the back door of the adjacent building.
Koppel trotted up a staircase.
