Svend strode away. “No. They’ll look for me there. I need to leave the country.”
“The—country?” Henrik jogged to catch up.
“You read those articles I wrote.”
Henrik hadn’t, but the titles had screamed of the evils of Nazi Germany.
Svend turned onto Bredgade. “That bag I asked you to keep? I need it.”
“But—but Birgitte—the children.”
“I’ll call Birgitte from your house. We knew this day would come. And right now I need you to row me to Sweden.”
Henrik gaped at his friend. Svend always made sense—except now. “Row?”
“It’s about ten miles across the Sound. You can row that far.”
“Yes, but—”
Svend spun to him and gripped Henrik’s arm, his eyes sapphire daggers. “You rowed for Olympic gold. You row for your own pleasure. Now I’m asking you—begging you—to row to save my life.”
Something stirred in Henrik’s chest, something he hadn’t felt for ages. The desire to do a good and noble deed. A stirring not to be ignored.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL10, 1940
With each stroke of his oars on the way back from Sweden, Henrik mulled Svend’s proposal.
Under the stars, he dipped his oars into the water, shoved with his legs, and leaned into the layback. Svend was crazy. He thought too highly of Henrik.
He released the oars from the water and slid forward to the crouched position. What if Henrik did what Svend proposed?
His double scull, built wider and sturdier by Thorvald Thorup, allowed Henrik to row in the Øresund, the strait separating Denmark’s island of Zealand from the southern tip of Sweden.
His muscles felt warm and twitchy from the night’s row.
After seeing the German soldiers, Henrik and Svend had fetched Svend’s bag and driven north to Lyd-af-Lys, the Ahlefeldt seaside villa in Vedbæk.
All day, they’d flipped the radio dial between Denmark’s StateRadio and the BBC as they reported on the German invasion of both Norway and Denmark.
Denmark had fallen in under two hours.
At six in the morning, King Christian had accepted the surrender terms. Germany would occupy Danish military facilities and control the press. But they’d kept Denmark’s king and parliament in place and even allowed the Army and Navy to remain on duty.
That evening, the Danish government asked the citizens to behave, obey the law, and treat the Germans correctly.
“Correctly.” Henrik yanked the oars. When he’d heard that announcement, he’d packed his own bag, determined to go to Sweden with Svend. How could he live in an occupied shell of a nation?
A house full of priceless possessions, and Henrik had taken only cash, some clothing, a shaving kit, and photos of his mother and sisters, his American fraternity brothers, and the 1936 Danish Olympic rowing team. And his mother’s Bible.
As they’d crossed the Øresund, Svend had developed his idea and had persuaded Henrik to return to Copenhagen to think it over. If he accepted Svend’s plan, he would stay in Denmark. If he didn’t, he’d row to Sweden another night.
A lifetime of rowing infused his stroke, refined by coaching and diligence, and fueled by his love for the resistance of water, which allowed him to speed over the waves.
In neutral Sweden, Svend planned to visit the British legation and offer his services to the Allies. With his connections in Danish government, military, and commerce, he could provide a great deal of intelligence. But his plan relied on Henrik.
Henrik and his scull, skimming across the Sound, carrying information and documents.
It was crazy. Dangerous. It’d disrupt his life. And yet...
