by Rob Currie
Dirk’s eyes grew wide. It’s really Papa!
“That’s fine,” the tall man said with a sneer. “I’m not interested in your son. But he’s welcome to watch me destroy you.”
“Who are you?” Papa asked.
Dirk looked from one man to the other, his excitement at finding Papa colliding with fear of the armed stranger.
“I am Johann Adler.”
Papa pursed his lips. “Captain Johann Adler of the Gestapo, from Oosterbeek?”
The large man nodded. His big, muscular frame filled the better part of the doorway. He looked to be about thirty years old, over ninety kilograms, and his eyes gleamed with hatred. Dirk’s mouth hung open. How did this man find Papa?
“You’re the man they call the Iron Fist,” Papa continued. “None of your prisoners withhold secrets because your interrogation methods are so brutal.”
Adler smiled.
“Why did you hunt me down?”
“You lead the Resistance into making pathetic attempts to undermine the German authorities. You print false food ration cards to give food to Jews.” He spat on the floor. Then he bared his teeth at Papa and cocked his gun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DIRK’S BREATHS CAME short and fast. His palms were sweaty, and his mind raced. No! No! You can’t!
Papa held up his hand. “I would like to say something.”
“Keep it short,” Adler said.
“A man with your size and strength would be unbeatable in hand-to-hand combat.”
“I don’t want your flattery, Ingelse!” Adler said as he took a step forward. He tapped the top of the gun barrel with his left hand.
This was way worse than when Fleischer had pulled out his gun at the ten Hakens’ farm. This was Papa!
“A man like you would find more satisfaction in attacking me with his bare hands rather than using a gun.”
Dirk winced and turned his head away for a moment.
“Consider the secrets you could pry out of me during torture,” Papa said as he raised his hands slowly toward the ceiling.
“I don’t want your secrets, Ingelse. I want your life. And I’m going to enjoy this even more than I enjoyed tormenting your daughter, Els.”
“What are you talking about?” Papa asked.
“Ohhh. So your clever Resistance friends didn’t tell you we captured and tortured her,” he said with a smile as thin as a knife blade.
“I don’t believe you,” Papa said.
“If you saw the bruises on her face and arms you’d believe me.” He waved the gun back and forth. “But you’ll never see her again, because— ” Papa’s foot flew up and knocked the gun from Adler’s hand. When the weapon thudded on the floor, Adler lunged for it, but Papa kicked it under a bookshelf.
Dirk looked back and forth between the two men. He had to help Papa, but how?
Papa darted forward. When he reached Adler, Papa turned his back toward the larger man, bent at the waist, and flipped his opponent onto the floor, landing on top of him.
“Get him, Papa!” Dirk shouted.
Still on the floor, the Gestapo captain swung a left-handed punch at Papa, who leaned back out of the way, and scrambled to his feet. Adler stood and surged forward. Just before the combatants collided, Papa ducked, drove his right shoulder against his antagonist’s stomach, reached down, and grasped the back of his enemy’s legs below the knees. Using his low center of gravity, Papa pushed forward, briefly lifted Adler, and planted him on his back, on the floor, again landing on top of his opponent, who leaned forward and bit Papa on the arm.
“Agh!” Papa cried. He pushed away from his assailant and stood up.
“That was dirty!” Dirk roared.
Adler clambered to his feet, turned his back toward Dirk, and reached for something on the shelf in front of him. He suddenly whirled around and flung a large book at Dirk’s head. Dirk raised his hands just in time to deflect the book.
“You all right?” Papa asked.
“Yes.”
Adler seized the distraction to rush forward and launch a left-handed punch at Papa.
“Look out!” Dirk hollered.
Papa threw up his right hand in defense, but the blow still connected with his face. His knees buckled.
Sometimes you have to take a chance because it’s the only chance you have. Dirk clenched his fists, bent at the knees and the waist, and rushed forward. Leverage! Like Papa taught me.
He came in low and raised his right arm to ward off blows. He quickly snaked his left arm around the back of Adler’s knee, and positioned his shoulder firmly against his adversary’s abdomen. He surged forward, lifted Adler’s left foot a few centimeters off the ground, and pushed his enemy back toward the wall. Adler leaned forward, but that maneuver was no match for Dirk’s positioning and forward momentum, which enabled him to push ahead and slam the villain into the wall.
“Ugh,” Adler grunted as his back smacked the wall. Off balance, he fell and landed hard on the floor, briefly stunned by the impact.
Dirk stepped back.
“Run!” Papa shouted. They dashed out of the office and scurried down the hall into the sanctuary. Papa slammed the hallway door shut behind them and locked it. They sprinted to the back of the sanctuary, but the heavy doors that connected to the lobby were tied shut. The stout rope tying the door handles together allowed the doors to open a few centimeters, but no more.
“Can you untie it?” Dirk asked, his eyes darting back and forth between the rope and Papa.
“There isn’t time,” Papa said and nodded in the direction where Adler would soon emerge.
Dirk looked around wildly. “Is there a different door?”
“No. These are the only doors to the outside.” Papa looked around. “Hide.” He pointed toward the choir loft. “And pray.”
Dirk nodded.
From far behind them, the door to the sanctuary rattled under a barrage of blows. “You can’t get away, Ingelse!” their enemy yelled.
Papa dove to the floor and hid among the pews. Dirk raced to the front of the church, took the platform steps two at a time, vaulted the low wall in the front of the choir loft, and crouched out of sight. His heart raced, and it was hard to slow his breathing and listen. How could all this be happening? A few minutes ago, he had handed a sandwich to the man he thought was an elderly pastor. Since then he had found his father and used a wrestling move to take down a big, nasty Gestapo officer, and now he and Papa were in a life-and-death battle of wits with that angry and armed assassin.
The sound of something slamming into the other side of the door to the sanctuary interrupted Dirk’s thoughts. Was Adler trying to kick the door open? The door rattled hard. Dirk cringed, thinking how strong Adler must be to strike the door with so much force. The third time, the door cracked, and after a few more blows, it swung open.
“Dear God, get us out of here alive,” Dirk whispered.
“I know you’re here, Ingelse,” their pursuer growled, “and I’ll find you.”
Dirk chanced a quick peek over the top of the wood barrier, like an alligator whose eyes barely show above the waterline. With his back to Dirk, Adler systematically worked his way up the center aisle toward the back of the church. Holding his gun in front of him, the man looked under the pews, first left and then right. Then he advanced to the next row of pews as he worked his way back.
Dirk risked another quick glance over the wood wall. Adler was on the eighth row out of roughly fifty. At this rate, Adler would soon find Papa. Dirk swallowed hard. He had to do something, but what? His heart pounded as he glanced around the choir loft for something, anything to help Papa, but it only held chairs and songbooks. When he looked down, he caught sight of his right hand. It was calm, and he stared at it for a moment of disbelief. As he watched, his fingers grazed the outside of his pants pocket and traced the outline of the stone. Dirk clenched his jaw and then peeked again to check Adler’s position. The would-be-killer was about fifteen rows from the ba
ck. Sometimes you have to take a chance.
Dirk gritted his teeth and pulled the stone from his pocket. He stared at it for a moment as if with a look he could communicate to the rock the urgency of its mission. Time seemed to slow down for the next few moments. Peeking out from behind the low wood wall, he gauged the distance to the back of the sanctuary. Then in one fluid motion, he rose up slightly and threw the stone high and hard toward the back-right corner of the church. He immediately lowered himself so his eyes were just above the wall. The stone clunked against a wood panel in the back of the church. Adler turned his head and rushed toward the spot. Ha! Oldest trick in the book, and he fell for it!
As Adler moved toward the corner, Papa made a desperate dash from the cover of the pews on the opposite side of the church, toward the hallway where he had been minutes before.
Go, Papa! Hearing footsteps, Adler whirled and fired his gun twice, but in his haste, he missed. “You can’t get away!” he shouted as he rushed in hot pursuit.
Dirk ducked his head behind the wall but listened breathlessly. Adler’s footsteps thundered up the aisle and toward the hallway where they had been a few minutes earlier. But that hallway didn’t have another way out. What chance did Papa have now that he was trapped by Adler?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DE NESSE STREET
ROTTERDAM
SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER that day, a wagon carried a load of manure through Rotterdam. But it stopped on De Nesse Street. Across the street, sitting back from the window, an observer watched the driver pull the reins to halt the horses, jump down, and inspect the back left wheel. The driver was a man of average height, with a green wool hat pulled down over his ears and a black coat with the collar turned up.
With the windows of the house shut to keep out the cold, early-December air, the observer watched the driver, who complained in animated fashion, shook a gloved fist at the offending wheel, and paced back and forth for thirty seconds. He finally approached the nearest dwelling, which was a white house with bright blue shutters.
He knocked on the door, and after a long wait, a middle-aged woman answered. The watcher across the street picked up binoculars and studied the scene. The driver gestured toward the wagon and made motions with both arms in a circle about the size of a wagon wheel. The woman motioned for him to step into the house. The vigil across the street continued, with the binoculars trained on the front door.
One minute later, the door opened again, and the driver emerged with a toolbox. Across the street, the watcher set the binoculars down as the driver returned to the wagon. For several minutes, the driver pounded on the back left wheel, in what looked like an effort to reinsert a spoke into the rim. Then the driver grabbed the rim, shook it, nodded at the wheel, grabbed the tools, and headed back to the house.
The observer reached for the binoculars and watched as the driver returned the toolbox to the woman in the white house and shook her hand. The driver returned to the wagon and drove away.
Across the street, the watcher picked up the telephone. In a gravelly voice she reported, “The hen is still in her coop. Will the foxes still come to claim her in one hour?”
ST. STEPHEN’S CHURCH
NIJMEGEN
Hans Ingelse had dashed down the hallway, entered the fourth office down, and locked the door behind him. He scanned the room. The window was barred, so he’d have to make a stand. His adrenaline surging, he slid a heavy desk against the door with such force the telephone almost fell off the desk. Then he slid another desk behind the first one to strengthen his blockade of the door. A moment later, feet pounded down the hall in his direction. Blocking the door would delay and tire Adler. But if that monster found Dirk and turned on him, Hans would not be able to get there in time.
Adler passed the first office because the door was wide open. He stopped in front of the next office, whose door was closed. He tested the doorknob and then barged in. His eyes swept the room, but it only had a few pieces of furniture. He returned to the hall and stormed into the third office, with the same result.
“Where are you, Ingelse?” he bellowed.
He hurried to the next door. Finding it locked, he kicked hard at the door. It barely budged.
“Found you!” He glared at the door, then turned and strode into the last office he had entered, where he grabbed a meter-long metal candlestick.
Inside the office, Hans looked around. He walked to a corner of the room, grabbed a broom, and studied it. What’s Adler doing? The office door shuddered under the force of a blow. Won’t take him long to batter down the door. Then he’ll use his gun. The door shook with another hit. Hans looked at the broom and ran his hand over the wood. But what good would a broom be against a gun? He bit his lower lip. He looked at the broom again, nodded slightly, set it down, and darted to the other side of the office. The door rattled hard. Hans grasped the edge of an oak table, and with a grunt, turned it on its side. Then he rushed back toward the desk which blocked the door. Calming himself, he did the one thing that might save his life.
When he finished, he waited while the door splintered. He held the broom handle firmly and positioned his feet shoulder width apart. He took several deep, slow breaths and prepared himself for battle. Several hard strokes later, a fist-sized hole appeared in the office door. Something clanged on the floor in the hallway. Adler’s eye appeared at the hole.
Hans rammed the broom handle through the opening and it connected solidly. “Agh!” Adler roared as he pulled back from the door. “I’ll break every bone in your body!”
Hans dashed to the other side of the office, taking the broom with him. He stepped over the table on its side. He knelt behind it and flattened himself on the floor.
Bullets burst through the table. Hans tapped his cheek with his finger. “You shoot like a two-year-old!” he shouted from behind the table.
More rapid-fire shots rang out, but this time only one of the bullets hit the table. Then click, click, click. Something clattered on the floor in the hallway. Hans pressed his lips together. Now I just have to keep the meanest and strongest man I’ve ever met from finishing me with his bare hands.
Every few seconds, the door shuddered under another blow. Over the next minute, the hole became as large as a man’s head. After a brief pause, the blows resumed, and soon, the wide base of the candlestick poked through. Adler pummeled the door until the opening was big enough for his muscular torso to fit through.
Adler’s chest heaved as he stuck his head and shoulders through the enlarged opening. “They said I would never get you. Said you would talk your way out of it.” He crawled across the top of the two desks and stood on the floor. “My gun may be empty, but you’re trapped!” With his eyes fixed on the overturned table, he slowly approached it, the way a jungle cat stalks its prey. Still a meter away from the table, he tried to peer through the bullet holes to discern where Ingelse was. Then he suddenly lunged forward and looked over the edge of the table.
Ingelse’s fist shot up and caught Adler in the stomach. The younger man stepped back to steady himself. Ingelse popped up on his feet and stepped over the table. He held the broom in front of him and faced his adversary.
Adler recovered his balance and glared at his intended victim.
“I called the police,” Ingelse said.
Adler pulled a knife from his boot. “My knife says you lie.” He grabbed a sheet of paper from the top of the desk and easily sliced through the paper with his knife. “You’re next,” he said. He waved the twenty-centimeter blade back and forth.
Using both hands, Ingelse held the broom in front of him like a sword. He faked a quick stroke toward Adler’s head, then in a hard swing, smashed the broom handle down on his right hand, which held the knife. The weapon fell to the floor a meter away. Ingelse rushed behind Adler, snaked an arm around his adversary’s chest, thrust a leg behind him, and toppled him backward over the extended leg. Adler landed on his back with an “Oof.”
As the two squared up
again, Ingelse took several steps back. With the last step, he stumbled over a book that had fallen off one of the desks and landed on his back. Fueled by rage and adrenaline, Adler lunged forward and landed in a sitting position with his rear end on Ingelse’s abdomen and his knees atop the fallen man’s arms.
“What do you say now?” Adler gloated.
Ingelse struggled to wrench his arms free, but his younger and stronger adversary pinned them tight to the floor.
“I told you that you couldn’t get away,” Adler said. Ingelse tried to twist his hands free but couldn’t.
“Surrender or I’ll shoot!” a voice shouted in the hallway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ADLER TURNED his head. A grim-faced Dirk held the pistol that Adler had discarded in the hall. Dirk clenched the gun in his right hand.
“The gun’s empty, you stupid Dutch boy,” he scowled.
“You’re lying,” Dirk said. He aimed the gun at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger. Click. He threw it at Adler but missed.
“Stay out of this or you’ll be sorry!” Adler shouted at Dirk. While Adler turned his head to address Dirk, Papa wrenched one hand free momentarily.
But Adler grabbed Papa’s hands and pushed them to the floor. Using his advantage of position, Adler again pinned Papa’s arms beneath his knees. Adler took a few seconds to savor his triumph. As he did, Dirk clambered through the hole in the door and launched himself from the top of the desk closest to Adler and Papa. His shoulder thudded into Adler’s exposed rib cage.
“Uhh,” Adler grunted from the force of the impact as Dirk knocked him off Papa, who snatched the knife from the floor, rolled away from Adler, and rose to a standing position.
But Adler grabbed Dirk around the neck in a two-arm choke hold and hoisted him to his feet. He swung Dirk around and held him in front, like a shield.
Dirk’s face turned red, and his breathing became raspy. He pulled hard with both hands to release the iron grip on his windpipe, but without success.
