Sweeny fought back his anger. Were the Germans trying to convince the Norwegians that there was nothing serious about the thousands of iron-muscled troops pouring into the capital? Were they trying to convince them that the armoured vehicles and machine guns which daily poured from the transport craft in Oslo docks to enforce the enslavement of their country had no meaning?
It took some while before Sweeny reached the avenue in which Paal Berg’s house was situated. It was a large house in its own grounds with a high surrounding wall. Sweeny walked by it as if disinterested, although his eyes swiftly scanned the property and recorded as much detail as possible. He was surprised to note that there were no German sentries outside. He had supposed that the German garrison would supply guards to all prominent citizens who collaborated with them. Yet the house did not appear to be guarded.
Sweeny did not wish to draw attention to himself by walking past the front of the house again. After all, the house was in a quiet residential area and the streets were deserted. He turned and found a smaller boulevard which passed along the back of the house. There were no guards here either, but the gates at the rear of the house were open and a uniformed chauffeur was adjusting them. In the short driveway stood a rather impressive saloon car. Sweeny thought it was an English Rolls-Royce. He caught sight of an elderly man in the rear seat. The chauffeur, having adjusted the gates, climbed back into the vehicle and started it up. Sweeny, his heart thumping as he realized the opportunity, moved his hand to the Webley in his pocket. Even while his mind was turning over the possibility of shooting the judge and making his escape, the sound of motorcycles came to his ears. Two machines turned into the boulevard with Feld Polizei astride them, Schmeissers slung on straps from their shoulders. They roared to a halt before the saloon, saluted its occupant and took up outrider positions. The cavalcade moved off down the street without taking any notice of Sweeny.
Sweeny watched them turn the corner and disappear. He hesitated a moment and then stepped through the open gates, his eyes noticing the details of the rear of the house … The drive ended in a little courtyard. A small balcony with french windows opening onto it ran along the back of the house. The wall which enclosed the back of the house was not high, about six feet. It could easily be scaled. Then one could get onto the small balcony and force one of the french windows.
‘Hey! What are you doing here?’
An elderly, stern-faced woman in a maid’s uniform stood at an open door with hands on her hips, regarding him suspiciously.
‘I’m looking for work, my good Fru,’ Sweeny answered immediately. ‘Does your boss need a handyman?’
The woman scowled.
‘There’s no work here. Be off with you!’
‘These are hard times,’ Sweeny sighed. ‘Can you spare something … it doesn’t have to be money, perhaps some food?’
The housekeeper hesitated and then darted behind the door, returning in a moment with a large slice of hvetebrød topped with pølse. Sweeny took a mouthful as if he were starving. The bread and sausage tasted good and reminded him that it was long past midday.
‘Now be off with you.’
‘Bless you, good Fru,’ grunted Sweeny and turned away, munching thoughtfully. He was thinking that it was going to be easier than he had imagined to eliminate Judge Paal Berg.
*
Bracegirdle’s voice came over the intercom: ‘Commander Espeland of the Royal Norwegian Navy is here to see you, sir.’
Commander Wallace had been waiting with some degree of interest ever since Espeland had telephoned for the appointment.
‘Send him through, Bracegirdle,’ Wallace grunted. He rose from his desk as a wiry, weather-beaten Norwegian naval officer entered and threw him a salute.
‘Make yourself at home,’ Wallace said, indicating a chair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
The Norwegian officer shook his head with a smile.
‘It’s too early for me. But perhaps some coffee …?’ Wallace passed on the request to Bracegirdle and then sat back and regarded Espeland with interest.
‘What can we do for you?’
Espeland removed his cap and dropped it on the desk with a grimace.
‘I’ll come right to the point. As you know, or may suspect, I represent our Naval Intelligence here in London.’
Wallace inclined his head in acknowledgement of the fact. ‘We know that your department have sent a small team into Norway to bring out Professor Stenersen,’ Espeland stated matter-of-factly.
Wallace had to fight for control of his features. Luckily, Bracegirdle chose that moment to enter with the tray of coffee and Wallace was able to disguise his facial slip in turning to thank her. When she had gone he turned back with a bland expression, but Espeland was smiling.
‘It is no good denying it, Commander Wallace. Lars Sweeny was recruited into our intelligence service before you enrolled him in your little operation.’
Wallace sighed in resignation.
‘Very well, Espeland. What do you want of us?’
‘I have come here to ask whether there is any way in which you are in contact with Lars Sweeny?’
Wallace raised an eyebrow and smiled cynically.
‘You mean that you are not in contact with your own agent?’
‘Please, Commander Wallace.’
There was something behind the Norwegian’s bluff mask that indicated a state of anxiety which intrigued Wallace.
‘I think you should tell me more about your relationship with Sweeny,’ Wallace said.
Espeland bit his lip, hesitated and then shrugged.
‘Sweeny was enrolled by us for a special mission in Oslo. He was to carry out this mission concurrently with the one he was carrying out for you. It is now imperative that he be contacted so that we can give him alternative orders.’
‘May I ask what this mission involved?’
Again Espeland hesitated before replying.
‘I want an assurance that what I am about to say will not go beyond these walls. I speak to you as a brother intelligence officer as well as a brother officer of the Allied forces.’
‘Understood.’
‘We told Sweeny that it would be in the interests of our country if the head of the Norwegian Administrative Council, running the civil government under the German occupation, was removed and that the removal would serve as an example to our people of what would happen to any collaborationist.’
Wallace struggled to understand the meaning behind the formula of words.
‘Speak plainly, commander,’ he said shortly. ‘Do you mean that Sweeny was ordered to assassinate Judge Paal Berg?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you now say that it is imperative that Sweeny be given other instructions?’
‘Yes. Our earlier decision was taken in the confusion caused by the situation. We have since been in touch with our King and his Government and discovered that Paal Berg is not a collaborationist.’
‘How so?’
‘The initiative for forming the Council of Administration came from the industrial leaders in Oslo, who realized that the occupied territories needed a more authoritative administration than the one provided by the traitor Quisling. If any semblance of order was to continue under German occupation, however long the occupation is to last, Quisling and his comedians would have to go. The only state authority remaining in Oslo was the Supreme Court of which Paal Berg is head. Apparently Gunnar Schejldrup of the Kristiania Spigeverk and Jens Bache Wiig of Standard Telefon og Kabelfabrik went to Paal Berg with a proposal. The Germans would be offered an authoritative civil administration run by prominent Norwegian citizens if they dismissed Quisling and his non-representative fanatics.’
Espeland paused and took a sip of his coffee.
‘Judge Berg immediately contacted King Haakon and his advisers. It was imperative that civil government should not break down. The King approved the scheme to prevent civil chaos. The Germans had been ignoring civil administration, transport,
food supplies and so forth. With His Majesty’s approval, Berg appointed Ingolf Christensen, the fylkesmann of Oslo and Akershus, who was known to be friendly with the Germans, to go to them and offer the council’s services. However, it was stipulated that the Administrative Council would not operate until Quisling and his sycophantic followers were removed. General von Falkenhorst, as you know, obviously realized that Quisling had little authority, dismissed him, and the council was established.’
‘So the council had the full approval of King Haakon and his Government?’ asked Wallace. This was news to him and he was sure that Churchill would want to know it as soon as possible.
Espeland nodded.
‘It seems that Judge Berg has acted honourably with the best intentions for the civil populace.’ Espeland hesitated and lowered his voice almost theatrically. There is more … Judge Berg is currently organizing the nucleus of a resistance army to fight behind the German lines.’
Wallace was startled. He sat back with a low whistle.
‘And this is the man you’ve ordered to be assassinated?’
A pained expression crossed Espeland’s face.
‘Please, commander …’ He spread his hands helplessly.
‘Well, that’s the gist of it,’ interrupted Wallace gruffly. ‘We have no time to wrap things up in diplomatic language. The situation is that you have sent Sweeny to kill a Norwegian patriot.’
‘That is why I have come to you. As soon as we had a full understanding from our Government, I came here. Can you get in touch with Sweeny so that this catastrophe can be prevented?’
Wallace shook his head.
‘It can’t be done.’
The Norwegian’s face was grim.
‘Can’t be done?’
‘There is absolutely no way that we are able to contact Sweeny or his companions.’
*
Inge Stenersen turned into the gate of her uncle’s house and rang the bell. It seemed only a few days since she had last done so, not two entire years. A few moments passed before an elderly woman with a matronly appearance and a worried face drew open the door.
‘Hello, Mathilde.’
The woman’s eyes widened in astonishment.
‘My God! Frøken Inge. Why, we thought you were safe in …’
‘Hush,’ smiled Inge as she pushed by the old woman into the hall. As the door closed behind her she turned with a grin and hugged the woman. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
There were tears in the old woman’s eyes.
‘Neither have you, Frøken Inge. I cannot believe my eyes. He will be pleased to see you … and yet …’
‘Yet what?’
‘He had fondly thought you were safe in England. These are bad times for Norway.’
Inge nodded. ‘Listen, Mathilde, you are to forget you saw me.’ The woman looked puzzled.
‘As far as you know, Mathilde, I am still in England.’ Inge turned and glanced across the hall. ‘Is he in his study?’ ‘Yes. Frøken Inge … may I touch you again? I just want to make sure you are no vision.’
Inge smiled as the old woman rubbed a hand on her apron and reached forward, stretching to touch the girl’s hand, holding her fingers for a moment before releasing her grasp. ‘Yes, you are really here, Frøken Inge. It is no dream.’
The girl grinned.
‘I am really here, but not for long. I must see my uncle. Tell me, is there anyone else in the house?’
Mathilde shook her head vigorously.
‘Only the Herr Professor and myself, Frøken Inge.’
Inge turned across the hall to the study doors. It seemed only yesterday that she was in this house; only yesterday that she was knocking at those doors. Her uncle was bent over a desk. His white hair was tousled as he examined a piece of paper before him.
‘Mathilde!’ His voice was sharp as he heard the opening door. ‘I said that I wasn’t to be disturbed.’
He raised his head fully and saw Inge. The look on his lined face was one of total astonishment. Professor Didrik Stenersen was in his late fifties. He was a man of medium build with white hair, a small spade beard and piercing blue eyes. There was something about his manner, an inward vitality and presence, which marked him out from the ordinary.
‘Inge!’
The girl went swiftly to him as he rose from his desk. They hugged each other long and hard before he held her at arm’s length, shaking his head in bewilderment.
‘You were supposed to be safe in London.’
The girl kissed him gently on the cheek and dropped into a nearby chair. She looked very cool and composed, sitting calmly as if she were merely a patient come to consult him.
‘I’ve come to take you to London, Uncle Didrik.’ Stenersen’s mouth went slack.
‘What?’
‘I was sent by London to get you out of Oslo. You and your surgical team.’
Stenersen sat down abruptly in his chair and stared at her.
‘It’s quite simple, Uncle,’ Inge went on cheerfully. ‘The British Government want you in London. You are urgently needed there to perform an operation on someone very important. Don’t ask me who because I just don’t know. All I know is that the British consider it important to save this man’s life.’
Her uncle shook his head in bewilderment.
‘How can I go? My surgical team as well …?’
The door opened and Mathilde came in with a tray of coffee and a plate of little cakes.
‘This is to celebrate Frøken Inge’s homecoming, Herr Professor.’
Inge rose and took the tray from her uncle’s housekeeper. ‘Thank you, Mathilde. You must be sure to tell no one that you have seen me.’
The old woman nodded. ‘I will not tell anyone.’
When she had left Inge poured out coffee and handed a cup to her bemused uncle.
‘The situation for Norway is pretty desperate, Uncle. You know that it may well be that the King and his Government will have to leave Norway? Then the Germans will be in total control. It is possible that they will go into exile in England.’
‘Are you telling me that the British have sent you here to ask me to go to London?’
The girl nodded emphatically.
‘Are you willing to go?’
‘Of course,’ replied Stenersen. ‘If it is in the service of our King and his Allies, of course I’ll go.’
‘What about the members of your surgical team?’
A troubled look crossed Stenersen’s face.
‘Most of them would adopt the same attitude as I have,’ he said.
‘But?’ prompted Inge.
‘These are hard times for Norway. There are many traitors among us. There is at least one member of my team who, I believe, is a member of the Nasjonal Samling.’
‘Who is that?’
‘My anaesthetist, Hersleb. He has several times defended the attitudes of Quisling and the Nasjonal Samling.’
‘What about the others?’
‘There are two assistant surgeons, Arendt and Birkenes, my chief nurse, Trina, and two other theatre nurses, Kristine and Hilde. I think they are all loyal Norwegians.’
‘Tell me what you know of them, Uncle, and also give me details of your work schedule for this week.’
‘This week? Do you intend to move so soon?’
‘The sooner the better.’
‘And are you to accomplish this task on your own?’
‘No. I have friends.’
‘Who?’
‘I can’t tell you yet. Don’t worry. You’ll be told all you need to know when the time is right.’
‘You realize that if the Germans discovered this …?’
‘I know,’ the girl cut him short.
Stenersen sighed. ‘So far the Germans have been trying to woo us. They initially thought that Quisling could deliver the country to them without a fight. They are becoming increasingly aggressive as our resistance continues. Hitler has appointed a Reichskommissar to take charge of the country who is arr
iving in Oslo today … one of his old SS cronies. I think things will be getting very tough from now on.’
‘All the more reason to get you and the others out as quickly as we can.’
Stenersen smiled at the girl.
‘You are very brave, Inge, but very foolish to risk your life for an old man. Your father would have been very proud of you. I only wish that you had not come.’
Inge bent over the desk and laid her hand on his.
‘Don’t worry about anything, Uncle Didrik. You just answer my questions. Let’s start with this anaesthetist. Do you know for a fact that he is a member of the Nasjonal Samling?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sweeny returned to the city centre and stood on the corner of a street waiting to cross it. His plan was very simple. He would return to the house of Judge Berg later that night, gain entry through one of the French windows and shoot him. Simple plans had the best chance of success. But there was something else which occupied his thoughts as he strolled through the streets. His hand kept toying with the little buttonhole badge which he had carried in his pocket since he had taken it from Freya’s hand. He should have obeyed Wallace’s instructions to leave all his possessions behind but he would not have parted with the badge come hell or high water. He had to find out who owned it.
Standing on the corner he became aware of the newspaper kiosk which was displaying copies of Dagbladet. It was the newspaper that Freya had worked for. The thought struck him immediately. He knew what he should do. The newspaper would have an interest in discovering who had murdered one of its own reporters, especially if there was a political motive involved. He bought a copy and looked for the address of the newspaper. It took him only a short time to reach the offices. There were two Germans patrolling the entrance but he ignored them and marched in. A nervous-looking woman greeted him at the reception desk.
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