Knudsen shook his head. “It was her idea.”
Mortensen’s gaze skittered across the blackboard, at first angry, certainly recognizing the idea he’d dismissed. Then shock and understanding.
His jaw edged forward. “You made a fundamental error at the start.” He reached past Else and grabbed the eraser.
“No.” She moved to block him.
“Don’t worry, Jensen.” Knudsen held up a notebook. “I wrote it down. But I don’t see an error. It works.”
“It does work.” Else sought Mortensen’s gaze and held it hard. “Let’s test it. What do we have to lose? Or we can puzzle over it for another few months.”
“It’s brilliant.” Gebhardt darted to the board. “Look—this part here—reminds me—”
“Yes.” Knudsen joined his friend, grabbed some chalk, and scribbled down an offshoot.
“Now we can move forward at last. Look what your lab has accomplished, Mortensen.” Else smiled, offering a bandage for the pride bleeding all over the floor.
Midsummer Eve was meant for fireworks at Tivoli, bonfires, feasting, and singing—but the Germans banned such celebrations.
As Else pedaled down an unfamiliar street that evening, her brain wanted to celebrate her victory in the lab, but she had to keep watch.
Be vigilant without looking vigilant. Be suspicious without looking suspicious.
The briefcase loaded with six hundred copies of an interior page ofFrit Danmarkcould get her arrested—and her contact too. This wasn’t her first delivery, but it was her first to this cut-out.
With a still head and a shifting gaze, she scanned the street. She turned a corner, taking advantage of the natural turning of the head to gain a different view.
What exactly was she looking for? German soldiers, but their uniforms gave them away. Same for the Danish police, who had to enforce the laws against the illegal press.
But Gestapo agents and Danish informers wore civilian clothes.
When she reached the address, she glanced around as if disoriented, then put on a pleased expression when she spotted the sign for the dentist’s office.
Else pulled her bike through the door, parked it in the hall, and climbed one flight of stairs with her briefcase over her shoulder.
Every word had to be perfect. What if she forgot? What if she looked like an informer?
With a shaky breath, she opened the office door. One lady sat in the waiting room, and Else approached the receptionist. “Good afternoon. The filling fell out of my upper left eyetooth.” Else tapped her tooth as instructed.
The young woman studied her. “I’ve never heard of a filling in an eyetooth.”
That followed the script, and Else fought the impulse to break out in a relieved grin. “I ate too much marzipan as a child.”
“Very well. Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Else took a chair and tried not to fidget. She pulled a notebook from her briefcase and re-created the stream of formulae, in case Mortensen destroyed Knudsen’s copy.
In a few minutes, the receptionist showed the lady in. Soon after, she motioned to Else, led her to an examination room, and shut the door.
Alone in the room, Else unbuckled her briefcase, pulled out the papers, and set them on the exam chair. She had been instructed not to leave until someone opened the door, then immediately closed it.
While waiting, Else wrote down formulae. Footsteps passed. Muffled voices spoke. A drill whined. Fifteen minutes. Twenty-five. Thirty. Thirty-five.
The door clicked open. “She’s in room three,” the receptionist said out in the hallway. “No, room four. I apologize.”
The door clicked shut.
Else stuffed her notebook in her briefcase and left the room.
