Bernardus rubbed his chin over and over. “Everyone thinks the Allies will invade next spring.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“The Germans are strong and entrenched and growing stronger. The Allies need all the information they can get. You and I can—”
“You.” Gerrit jabbed a finger at his friend. “You alone. I will not be a part of this.”
Bernardus glanced down to the side table, to Gerrit’s collection of tin and cast-iron gadgets. He picked up a scrap of paper, filled with Gerrit’s diagrams of those gadgets. “This is why we need you. I have the connections. I have skills the Germans need. But I don’t have your knowledge of engineering, your skill in precision drawing.”
Something strange stirred in Gerrit’s head. Yes, he could make precision drawings and maps—enjoyed doing so. But not for the Germans, and he shook the stirring out of his head.
“I need you for another reason too.” Bernardus picked up a cast-iron mechanical bank and fingered the lever. “The Germans trust the Dutch in general, which is why the firm is willing to consider us. But they said I don’t have the right political affiliations.”
Gerrit murmured in sympathy, even as an odd note of disappointment twanged in his chest. Neither of them belonged to Nazi organizations. Quest finished.
Iron clinked on iron as Bernardus played with the bank. “The firm needs civil engineers more than they need geologists. They agreed to hire me if I recruited an engineer with the proper affiliations.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” Pain rippled across Bernardus’s face. “I heard about Cilla.”
Gerrit slammed his eyes shut, his mind shut. The recent news of his cousin’s death had devastated his family. “I don’t believe it.”
“That she died?”
“That she died in the service of Germany. She couldn’t. She was on our side.” Gerrit had recruited Cilla to infiltrate theNationaal-Socialistische Beweging, the Dutch Nazi Party, since Cilla’s wayward sister, Hilde, was a member. Cilla had provided vital information for their underground paper at exceptional risk.
Gerrit pried his eyes open. “Cilla could never serve Germany. Something is wrong. It doesn’t ring true.”
Bernardus huffed out a sigh. “I don’t know what to think. She disappeared after Dirk’s death, ja? Time passes. People change. Hard times make people do things they ordinarily wouldn’t consider. Like joining Organisation Todt.” He let out a wry chuckle. “Can you imagine wearing a German uniform?”
“No.” Yet that strange stirring resumed, stirring enough to be named.
Purpose.
Gerrit shoved out of his chair. In the past sixteen months, his life had been safer, but it didn’t fulfill.
Bernardus set the bank down with a thump of iron on wood. “Regardless of what you think, the Germans think Cilla was on their side. They know Hilde is on their side. And you have no affiliations on any side. The Germans are free to color you Nazi black instead of Dutch orange. They are very interested in you.”
Air inflated Gerrit’s cheeks, and he strode to the phonograph playing the final intricate scales of the concerto. His left hand flexed and stretched, flexed and stretched. “Can you guarantee the diagrams would aid the Allies?”
“I guarantee.”
It was a wild idea. Beyond wild. So why was he considering it? “How much time do I have?”
“I leave for Paris tomorrow morning. I can give you tonight to think about it. Pray about it. You would need to apply for travel papers straightaway.”
Pray about it? Bernardus was a man of prayer. He rememberedGerrit as a man of prayer. But so much had happened. Or rather, so little had happened.
At the center of the phonograph, the arm bounced and bounced. Without a track to run in, the needle produced no sound, no music.
Gerrit lifted the arm and set it in the track on the outside rim, and music again flowed. “I’ll apply for papers in the morning.”
chapter
2
St. Peter’s Parish, Jersey
