Cilla struggled to regain composure. She had to break free, had to escape, had to protect Hilde, even when Hilde didn’t want protection. Especially when she didn’t.
When the tram reached her destination, she rushed to Gerrit’s flat, where a dozen of his friends had gathered. Delighted calls of “Cilla!” greeted her.
But Liese Pender stood, and her brow warped. “What’s wrong?”
“They—the WA—they killed Dirk.”
“Oh no.” Liese wrapped Cilla in a fierce hug. “Oh no.”
Cilla had no time for sympathy. She pulled away and found Gerrit’s devastated face. “I need to talk to you alone. Now.”
Gerrit ran a hand back into his blond hair and led her to his room. He sat on his bed, planted his elbows on his knees, and buried his head in his hands.
Cilla sat in a straight-backed chair, and her legs jiggled. Gerrit and Dirk had been close friends. He needed time to grieve. But Cilla couldn’t wait. She needed his help.
“How did it happen?” Gerrit’s voice came out ragged.
“Dirk drew off the WA to save his friends. The WA beat him to death.” Her chin wobbled.
“You saw?” Gerrit’s green-blue van der Zee eyes peeked at her from between his fingers.
Cilla could only nod.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I need to get out.”
“Out?”
“Of the NSB.”
Gerrit lowered his hands and sat up, revealing his reddened face. “You can’t. We need your reports for the paper. We need to know the NSB’s plans.”
Cilla squirmed in her seat, against the confines. “I can’t do it anymore.”
Gerrit wiped a hand over his mouth. “Last month your report helped us move our headquarters before a raid.”
“And today my report got Dirk killed.” Her voice broke. “I can’t do this anymore. They want me to do things I can’t do. Things I won’t do. It’s only a matter of time. Someday I’ll speak my mind and get arrested. I might lead them to you.”
Gerrit stared at her, as maddeningly calm and steady as always. But hadn’t she come for that very calmness and steadiness?
“Cilla,” he said in a soft voice. “If you suddenly leave the NSB, they’ll get suspicious. If they realize you’re a resistance informer, they’ll arrest you.”
Her chest caved in. “And I’ll lead them to you.”
He nodded once.
Cilla’s breath accelerated, raced. “I’m trapped. I need to escape. I’ll go to England, to Tante Margriet.” Their beloved aunt was married to an Englishman.
“How?” Still calm, still steady. “How would you get all the false papers you’d need to travel to Belgium, to occupied France, to Vichy France, to Spain, to Portugal? Hundreds of miles. Very few have done it.”
“I’ll take a boat then.” Cilla waved toward the sea. “I have money. I’ll pay a fisherman. People have escaped by sea.”
“In the early days, yes. But the Germans watch the coast. They’re banning civilians and outsiders from much of the coastline. You know this.”
She did. She groaned and cast her gaze to the ceiling. “Then I’ll become anonderduiker.”
“An under-diver? You?” A thin note of humor lifted Gerrit’s voice. “Cilla van der Zee, always surrounded by a crowd of admiring friends, will go into hiding in a basement in the country? You’d never survive.”
