“I’m with Eriksen,” Blom said. “It’s dangerous. I—I’m Jewish. The Germans are looking for any excuse to crack down on us.”
Eriksen shifted his mouth to one side. “Don’t forget, the trade unions ordered us not to commit sabotage.”
Henrik studied the crew. About half looked worried—all family men. They had reason for concern.
“I only want to see who might be interested.” Koppel held up one hand, his voice threaded with gentle grimness. “If you don’t want to participate, you can leave now.”
“Thanks.” Eriksen’s face relaxed. “My wife ... my children.”
“I understand,” Koppel said.
Blom headed for the door with the others, then turned back. “We’ll sharpen the saws and cover for you fellows.”
Henrik needed to leave for the same reason he’d refused to meet the SOE agent. But his feet stayed firm. If nothing else, he should monitor the situation, maybe report it to Svend.
Koppel met his gaze. “You interested, Andersen?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’d be good to have. You’re quiet, strong, levelheaded.”
Henrik shrugged and ducked his chin.
Something about sabotage appealed to him, appealed with a burning twist of vengeance. Not only would it hurt the Germans but it would hurt Far.
The worst possible motive.
“I know what to do.” Skov formed two fists, like a boxer in the ring. “We soak rags in oil, light them, and throw them in the ships’ fuel tanks.”
“Nej.” Koppel grimaced.
So did Henrik. The saboteur would die in the explosion, and the Germans would arrest dozens in the shipyard.
Henrik shook his head. “You must be careful.”
Skov’s face warped with disgust. “I’m willing to risk my life for my country. Aren’t you?”
He was already doing so, but Skov could never know. His answer came in a complex sentence, and he edited it. On Mondays, after talking freely with Svend and the Thorups over the weekend, he had to be vigilant.
Henrik gestured over his shoulder toward the shipways. “Do that, and you die.”
“I’m fast. I won’t—”
“Nej.” Henrik slashed his hand before his chest. “You do one act of sabotage, and you and others die. But if you’re careful, you can do many acts.”
Rasmussen murmured his approval. “He’s right.”
“Do it carefully.” Henrik pounded his fist into his palm. “Do it well. Do it right.”
The red in Skov’s face flowed away.
“Ja.” Koppel nodded to Henrik and got to his feet. “We need a plan. We need to destroy ships or slow down production—and live to do it again.”
“I’m in favor of living.” Rasmussen raised a wry smile.
Koppel crossed labor-thickened arms. “We need equipment and explosives, so we need to contact a resistance group.”
The men frowned and looked at each other. Apparently no one had connections.
