“Yes.” Gaffel brushed the sleeve of his suit jacket as if Henrik had dirtied it by his presence. “First we’d like you to make contacts at various shipyards.”
“My contact at Ahlefeldt’s is recruiting men into groups, separate and unconnected. He’ll introduce me to men at other shipyards.”
“That is—very good. Very fast.” A smile played around his thin lips.
“The men need training. Some are overly eager and need restraint. Training will help.”
“We’re working on that and trying to get supplies. England has been slow. We’ve had other problems.”
Henrik stifled a groan. He could only begin to imagine the problems faced by the SOE.
Gaffel rubbed one polished shoe against the back of his trouser leg. “In the meantime, we’re urging work slowdowns and actions that look like carelessness or accidents. Not to sabotage ships, but to slow completion. Management mustn’t become suspicious.”
“I’ll tell my contact. Anything else for today?”
“Our next meeting. I’d like to meet weekly. I’ll need to find a new place.” He frowned.
“Saturday afternoons at two at the Bøllemosen in the Deer Park.”
“That’ll do. I’ll also find a location to exchange routine messages.”
Routine? What was routine about code names, clandestine meetings, and planning sabotage?
Gaffel rose. “I’ll leave first. Wait a few minutes before you leave.”
After Henrik counted to three hundred, he went upstairs to the bookstore. Again, no German uniforms in sight.
A display of children’s books caught his eye. The volume of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales reminded him of the one from his nursery. He stroked the cover as if it could release the sound of Mor’s voice reading to him and his little sisters.
Had either Margrethe or Kristiane brought the book into their own nurseries? He missed his sisters, as sweet as Mor. His nieces and nephews, bright and lively. Even his brothers-in-law, who thought little of him, with good reason.
He traced the name “Andersen” on the cover. “Three years,” he murmured.
“Hemming?”
Margrethe? Kristiane? No, Else. His eyes followed her lovely voice, found her lovely face.
She grinned and approached, wearing a tan raincoat and carrying a briefcase and an umbrella. “What are you doing here?”
Henrik’s breath stalled. Why on earth was Hemming Andersen in a bookstore?
His fingers tightened around the book. “For my aunt. She lost hers.”
Else peeked at the title. “Ah yes. All good Danes need a copy. Any relation to the author? Andersen?”
Not by blood. Only by inspiration. “No.”
The twinkle in her eyes said she already knew. Then she gasped in delight. “This is perfect timing. I can tell you about my meeting with Mortensen without the students at the boardinghouse listening. Come with me? I have books to buy.”
“Ja.” The word fell out before he could stop it. Since he did want to hear her story, he followed her quick steps until she stopped in the philosophy section. He shifted his speech from Anker back to Hemming. “You talked to Mortensen?”
“I did.” She pulled books off the shelf. “I stayed calm but forceful. And I didn’t let him intimidate me.”
“What did he say?”
“He agreed to my plan.” She tipped her head at one book and slid it back onto the shelf. “He didn’t have a choice. Dr. Wolff, one of the senior physicists, was there. He said my plan was good. If Mortensen had refused, he would have looked mean.”
“Heismean.”
