His heart thumped against the earth, hard and fast. The searchlight panned the bay north to south, blinding Gerrit as it passed, then sweeping back north. The beam paused at the rowboat.
“No,” Gerrit whispered. “Please don’t let them see.”
The beam swept to the end of the breakwater and switched off.
Sparkles filled Gerrit’s eyesight—how long until he could see in the dark again?
Had the searchlight turned off because the guards hadn’t seen anything? Or because they had? No, if they had, they would have fixed the light on it while they called in troops.
Gerrit nudged Charlie. “I’ll see if he’s alive.”
“I’ll go too. If he’s hurt, you may need my help to move him.”
Objections filled his mouth, but he swallowed them. He might indeed need help. “Stay low. Stay in my footsteps. Stay close to the breakwater—the mines are about a meter out.”
Muffled groans rose in the distance. Bernardus was alive!
Gerrit resisted the urge to call to his friend, and he made his way out as fast as he could along the narrow band of sand between breakwater and sea. His feet dipped into damp sand, slipped on wet rocks, and he grasped the lichen-covered stone of the breakwater for support.
Not only did he need to rescue Bernardus, but he needed to remove evidence of his sabotage—or his friend could still face execution. And if caught now, all three of them would be shot.
A figure lay on the sand between the rowboat and the wall.
Gerrit crouched beside Bernardus. “Where are you hurt?”
Bernardus moaned and held his leg, the trousers shredded and shiny in the faint starlight. “Rock. Fell. Mine.”
He must have dislodged a rock from the breakwater, which fell and hit a mine. “We’ll get you out of here.”
Charlie dropped his jacket and ripped off his shirt. “He’ll bleed out. I’ll apply a tourniquet.”
Meanwhile, Gerrit would destroy the evidence. “How many charges did you plant?”
Bernardus shook his head and groaned.
Gerrit leaned over his friend and glared at him. “You’re injured. If they find the explosives, you’re dead.”
“Don’t. Care.”
“Charlie and I will be dead too.” Gerrit spat out the words. “Care about that? How many charges? Where?”
A long moan, and Bernardus waved to the right. “Three.”
Gerrit found the first charge in a crevice in the breakwater, pulled it out, followed the detonating cord to the other charges, removed them.
In the rowboat, a canvas tarp covered the remaining explosives. Staying low, Gerrit flung out the canvas—they could use it as a stretcher. Then he placed the charges and detonating cord in the rowboat. They splashed.
Holes pocked the boat, some below the waterline—from the mine explosion, no doubt. Gerrit pried some rocks from the seabed and added them to the rowboat, anything to help it sink.
With a mighty heave, he shoved the boat away from the breakwater. “Please, Lord,” he muttered. Might it drift to sea, past the low tide mark, and sink, carrying the evidence with it.
“Ready.” Charlie slipped on his jacket.
“Quiet.” Gerrit grabbed Bernardus’s shoulders and transferred him onto the canvas, while Charlie shifted his hips and legs.
The canvas made a poor stretcher, with Bernardus’s body sagging in the middle, but Gerrit and Charlie made their way back.
Gerrit kept his eyes and ears peeled. No torchlight. No shouts. No clicking pistols.
