Bernardus gave Gerrit the signal to resume rowing. “Those are Allied soldiers. We don’t need them.”
And German pistols would only cause trouble. Gerrit yanked the bandage off his head, tugged on the oar, and gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulders.
“What if they’re German soldiers?” Jack’s voice rose. “If that’s Jersey?”
Gerrit’s oars left a glittering trail of droplets on the sea. “Then two pistols won’t do us any good.”
Ivy’s gaze bounced between Gerrit and Bernardus, and she dropped the pistols over the stern. Then she crawled back to kneel in front of Gerrit, and her brow furrowed. “We’ll have to say goodbye soon.”
“We will.” Gerrit had his OT paybook for identification, and Bernardus had his false Jersey papers. Both suspicious. “Bernardus and I will be in custody awhile.”
“We’ll tell the truth.” Bernardus huffed out a laugh. “But the truth is rather unbelievable.”
“They’ll see.” Although Ivy smiled, her brow remained furrowed. “I know they will.”
“Since we’re telling the truth, we have consistency in our favor.” Gerrit leaned back, and the sea fought his oar. “I have one last map as proof.”
Ivy set her hand on his knee. “Ferric chloride, a 10 percent solution in water. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” Would the map help if no other maps had arrived in England for comparison? If none of the French resistance contacts had survived to corroborate their story?
Gerrit blew out a breath as he drew the oar through the water. Regardless, he’d done what was right and he didn’t regret it.
Ivy spun away to her medical bag, and she pulled out her sketch pad and pen. “I’ll give you my grandparents’ address in England. Memorize it in case they take it from you during interrogation.” She ripped off a corner of paper and held it out to him.
Bernardus paused rowing so Gerrit could too. After he memorized the address, he tucked it in his breast pocket. “If I can come to you, I will. If I can’t, I’ll write.”
Ivy pushed up on her knees, took Gerrit’s cheeks between her hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips, so sweet, so passionate, he almost dropped the oar.
“Row,” Bernardus said in a stern voice, but then chuckled. “You’ll have time for that later.”
“Iwillcome to you.” Gerrit sent her a firm look and scooped his oar into the ocean.
“Who goes there?” a man shouted from shore.
An American accent, and Gerrit grinned at Bernardus and glanced over his shoulder. Half a dozen men in olive drab pointed rifles at them.
“We’re from Jersey!” Jack yelled. “We’re escaping.”
“New Jersey?” another man said in a deep bass. “You rowed all the way—”
“Not New Jersey, you numbskull,” the first American said. “Old Jersey. Over there in the Channel Islands. The Jerries are still there. Haven’t you heard?”
“Old Jersey?” Ivy said in a low voice. “The original Jersey.”
“How many of you?” a soldier shouted.
“Four men and a girl,” Jack said.
That girl—a grown woman—rose to standing, and she waved.“I’m a physician. My brother has an infected gunshot wound. He needs to go to hospital straightaway. Please fetch an ambulance.”
One of the soldiers jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and two men ran off.
The boat’s hull scraped on the sand.
“You in the bow,” an American shouted. “Get out, hands where I can see them. Pull the boat in.”
Jack splashed down into the water, and Gerrit shoved with his oar.
