Else raised one hand and blocked the light, preventing it from shattering on the prism’s sharp edge.
And the rainbow vanished.
25
COPENHAGEN
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST4, 1943
At the end of his shift, Henrik stood by the water. Across the narrow harbor, the German heavy cruiserAdmiral Scheerstretched along Langelinie Pier with giant naval guns that could lay Copenhagen to waste as British guns had done in 1807 during the Napoleonic Wars.
With the increasing unrest, the Germans had sent the warship that day as a warning to the Danes, as a show of force.
“Tonight,” Henrik murmured, “you’ll see a Danish show of force.”
He headed to the carpenter shop. He’d given his timecard to Ove Nyholm, who would clock out the sabotage crew as if they’d all gone home at the end of the day.
Making sure no guards were in sight, Henrik stepped inside. Koppel, Skov, Frandsen, and Beck sat on the floor of the crew’s storeroom, and Henrik joined them.
The sun wouldn’t set until 9:11. At 9:45, when it was sufficiently dark, they’d go into action, aiming to finish before the moon set at 10:29. For now they had to stay hidden and silent so as not to alert the guards.
Rasmussen entered and set down a satchel. He pulled out eightpaper-wrapped packages of smørrebrød and handed them around. The men ate in silence and passed canteens of lukewarm water.
More than anything, Henrik wanted to review the plan with the crew. If anyone made a mistake, they could all be shot or arrested. Even without mistakes, that could happen.
But Koppel had briefed the men well, and only Koppel could know Henrik had devised the plan.
Outside, the shipyard fell silent. Henrik stretched out on his back to rest and wait. He’d told Else and Laila he was eating dinner at a coworker’s house so they wouldn’t worry.
He struggled to get comfortable on the concrete floor, struggled to settle his mind.
Ever since he’d seen the ink on Else’s hand, he’d debated revealing his secret to her. Her face had glowed when she’d said she used the mimeograph machine “for a very good cause”—and then she’d looked stunned, as if she’d spilled a secret.
She must be printing illegal papers or leaflets or books. He’d suspected Laila’s involvement with the resistance, but Else? Innocent Else, who had frolicked in the water in a fetching sea green swimsuit?
He shouldn’t have gone up to the second floor of Lyd-af-Lys to watch—a floor he hadn’t walked since the occupation—but he had. Only for a few minutes, but he had.
Henrik shifted his hands under his head. Darling Else had gotten involved, and he loved her even more for it. For the first time, he dared to hope.
But if he told her his identity, she’d be in more danger. So would he. And telling someone in the boardinghouse would be foolish. Just wanting to be known and loved didn’t warrant such risks.
Besides, she might be fond of him, might even have a crush on him, if her blushes and nervous gestures meant anything. But could she love a man who had caused a great deal of family trouble?
Maybe she could love him if he met his potential.
Old grief swamped him. Far’s goals for Henrik had always lain two inches out of reach. As a boy, he’d stretched and always fallen short. As a young man, his only goals involved Olympicgold and personal pleasure. He’d failed to get gold, and pleasure never pleased for long.
Now what did he want? If he survived?
Far had wanted Henrik to succeed in business, politics, sports, and society, no matter the cost in friendships or character.
Henrik wanted something better. He wanted to use his leadership skills for good, with kindness at the forefront. He wanted to fill his circle of influence with people like the Thorups and Laila and Else.
He wanted his character and dreams and standards to rise to a different level. The potential laid out by his heavenly Father, not his earthly one.
Someone shook Henrik’s shoulder. Lars Koppel looked down at him in the dim light and pointed to his wristwatch.
Henrik pushed up to sitting. All around, men roused themselves and got ready.
