Touch the Sky (Young Underground #8)

by Robert Elmer

“Describe this man,” insisted Matthias, leaning forward.

  “We saw him again coming off the ship, following you back to your room,” Peter explained. “He was kind of dark looking. Mustache, I think, dark curly hair...”

  Matthias nodded. “That probably describes at least half a dozen crewmen on the Acropolis.”

  “And his nose was really crooked, like it had been broken once.”

  Mr. Andersen ducked under the plane’s wing where they were standing. “Maybe you should explain all this for us, Matthias. What did the boys see?”

  Matthias sighed and scratched his head. “Arne, don’t be angry at the boys for a little detective work. I don’t blame them for being suspicious. The other day, Peter found my gun on the plane, and he...”

  “You knew about that?” Peter asked.

  Matthias smiled and nodded. “I carry it for extra protection. With some of the characters I have to deal with in my business—well, it requires this sort of thing.”

  Peter still wasn’t sure what Matthias was telling them, but he kept still and listened.

  “I’m sorry. You all deserve an explanation. This ship that the boys are talking about is going to be carrying a special cargo of Jews back to Palestine from Bremen, Germany.”

  “That’s what all the sneaking around is about?” Henrik asked.

  “But what is your job, really?” Peter wanted to know.

  Matthias smiled and put up his hands. “One at a time. I’m a shipping agent of sorts. But lately I’ve been arranging passage for Jewish immigrants from all over Europe who want to return to the Promised Land. And yes, Henrik, that’s what all the sneaking around is for. So I must ask you all not to pass along this information. Do I have your word, all of you? Right now I have a somewhat dangerous job.”

  “Dangerous?” Mrs. Andersen looked nervous.

  Matthias shrugged. “Well, there’s dangerous, and there’s dangerous. There are a lot of people who don’t want us to succeed.”

  “Like who?” Peter asked.

  Matthias stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You’ve read the papers. The British don’t want any trouble, and if they catch us they’ll either send us back or put us in detention camps. And the Arabs, well, they don’t want Jews to return to Palestine at all. That’s probably why someone was spying on me last night. And that’s why I need Peter’s help now to find out who this person is. He may be posing as a member of the ship’s crew.”

  “Did you get a good look at him, Peter?” his father asked. “Could you identify him?”

  Peter gulped and nodded. “I saw his face for a second.”

  “Then you must come with me out to the ship to identify this fellow,” Matthias said. “You’re the only one who can show me who he is. The ship isn’t too far away. It only just left at daybreak.”

  “Peter?” Mrs. Andersen held her son protectively by the shoulders. Matthias jumped over to his plane and turned back for a moment.

  “We have to clear things up,” he said, “before something happens. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Peter looked from Henrik to Elise, but they all shook their heads.

  “Good,” continued the pilot, sliding into his seat. “Now, I apologize for involving Peter, but... no one on the ship will even know what he’s up to. I’ll fly him right back after an hour or two. Completely safe. You have my word.”

  “Peter?” His father looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Peter closed his eyes and nodded, silently hoping his father would have just said no. But if Matthias was telling the truth, then he really had no choice.

  “I’ll go.”

  Matthias smiled at the answer, then checked his controls by pulling the steering stick back and forth. The wing flaps that helped his little red plane turn up or down responded.

  “We’re off, then,” Matthias said, peering through the windshield to make sure the propeller was clear. He helped Peter slide in next to him.

  Peter turned back to his parents and tried to smile. “I’ll be fine,” he told them, but his voice cracked, and he had to turn back quickly so they wouldn’t see his face.

  “Contact! Stand away!” Matthias shouted, and the roar of the engine coming to life turned the rest of their conversation into sign language.

  Elise knew what to do when Matthias pointed at the two ropes that held the airplane in place. Peter studied the blur of the spinning propeller and waved without turning to the side, afraid his parents would see his worried expression and stop the plane.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” boomed Matthias, and Peter leaned over next to him to hear. “And I promise you, we’re not going to be doing any acrobatics. You don’t need to worry about anything happening to me this time.”

  Peter nodded to show he understood, and he repeated the same words to himself.

  You don’t need to worry. You don’t need to worry.

  Their runway was a patch of the inner harbor, smooth as glass and a free channel away from ships. Without looking back, Matthias steered straight for the harbor opening and yanked out the throttle. Peter gripped the sides of his seat as he was pushed backward, and once again his stomach seemed as if it stayed behind in Helsingør. The feeling of water below them dropped away, and Matthias banked lightly to the right.

  “Wave!” shouted Matthias. Below them, on the pier, the send‑off party of Peter’s parents, Elise, Henrik, and Mrs. Melchior was waving bravely. Peter put his hand to the window, spread out his fingers, and felt the vibrations of the engine. Matthias circled the plane, like a rising spiral of smoke, and headed straight out to sea.

  “I’m not sure I like the thought of you two boys spying on me last night,” said Matthias. “But I have to tell you, I appreciate your help.”

  Peter nodded, not sure what to say. He checked the buckle on his seat belt for the fourth time.

  “Listen, it’s not going to take long to catch up with this old ship. When we get there, I don’t want you to say anything to anyone. Just do as I say, all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “And when you see this man, don’t say anything. Don’t stare at him or give it away. Just tell me as soon as you can. In private.”

  “I understand.”

  Peter finally peeked through the window on his side of the plane. The bright blue ocean glittered as it had the day before, only they weren’t flying as high this time.

  “The Aliya is going to be just ahead,” Matthias continued. “We’ll be able to see its smoke in a minute.”

  “I thought the ship was called the Acropolis?” Peter questioned him.

  Matthias smiled. “You’re pretty sharp, Peter. We’re changing the name to Aliya, the Hebrew word for ‘going up,’—as in ‘going up’ to the land. Good name for a freighter, don’t you think?”

  “Sure, I guess.” Peter remembered the slimy feel of the ship from the night before when he and Henrik had been on board. “As long as you know how to spell it.”

  Matthias laughed, and somehow it made Peter feel better. He studied the horizon, looking for the smoke trail that would give away the old ship they were following.

  “You keep saying ‘we,’ ” Peter said a couple of minutes later. “Do you mean the people you work with? Who do you really work for?”

  “You still don’t trust me.” Matthias sighed and shook his head. “I suppose I don’t blame you.”

  They both stared straight ahead. The blurry green coast of Sweden lay off to the left, decorated by the occasional white towers of churches and small cities. And off to the right, near the more familiar coastline of Denmark, a tugboat was snuggled up next to a long black barge. Finally Matthias cleared his throat.

  “It seems I’m telling quite a few of my secrets today,” he said. He undid the top button of his plaid shirt and stretched his neck from one side to the other. “Have you ever heard of the Haganah?”

  He pronounced the strange word slowly, like ha‑gah‑NAH. Still, Peter shook his head
.

  “I know,” Matthias said. “Haganah is about as strange a word to your ears as Aliya. It’s all Hebrew.”

  Another pause.

  “The Haganah is the Jewish Defense Agency,” he continued. “We’re not exactly legal—in the eyes of some, that is. But then, neither am I.”

  Peter put up his hand. “Wait a minute. I’m not sure I’m following this. There’s the Al‑lee, what was it?”

  “Aliya.”

  “Right. There’s the Aliya and the Haganah, but I’m still not sure what you’re doing.”

  Matthias checked his controls and brought the plane down a little lower. In the distance, Peter thought he could see a plume of black smoke from a ship straight ahead. Probably the Acropolis/Aliya.

  “That’s okay,” Matthias went on. “It’s better that you don’t understand. I’m on a list of illegal persons. Sometimes a person doesn’t get a lot of credit for doing the right thing.”

  By that time, Peter was sure they were approaching their target. Matthias switched on a small radio and unclipped a microphone.

  “Aliya, this is Victor‑Bravo‑Seven‑Five‑One,” he said into the microphone. “Are you there, Captain Papanikolas?”

  The radio crackled for a moment, and Matthias repeated his message. Then a gruff voice responded, the same one Peter and Henrik had heard the night before.

  “This is Acropolis, Karlsson,” answered the voice. “What do you need?”

  “I want to do a drill.” As he spoke into the microphone, Matthias looked at Peter and winked. “Let’s see how fast you can get the crane working and this plane on deck.”

  There was another pause, and Matthias frowned. The old ship was almost right below them.

  “Did you hear me?” Matthias asked his radio.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the captain finally replied. “You’re the boss.”

  Matthias grinned and returned the microphone to its place. “Watch this,” he told Peter. “They promised me they could load my plane onto the deck of the ship in less than five minutes. Now we’re going to see if they can deliver.”

  He brought the plane in low over the top of the Aliya, right through the column of black smoke from its smokestack. On deck, a couple of men stood watching. One waved as the plane buzzed not twenty feet over the ship. Matthias made a wide arc of a loop far in front of them, coming down in a shower of spray on the ocean.

  “Good thing it’s calm,” said Matthias. “It gets a little tricky when there are any waves.”

  As they rocked around, he turned the airplane to face the same direction as the ship while the freighter slowly glided up to them. On the deck above, a large crane had been swung into motion, one of the dinosaurs Peter remembered from the night before. Its long arm swung out to greet them while Matthias got back on the radio.

  “Hey, Papanikolas, tell them to be careful with that thing, all right? I don’t want a hook through my wing.”

  Peter looked out the back window, up at the cable and hook that was being lowered for them.

  “These boys, they know what they’re doing, Karlsson,” the captain replied. “Don’t worry, eh?”

  Matthias kept the engine of the airplane idling, so they were just barely moving forward, like the ship that was now beside them. Men shouted from above, and Matthias turned to Peter.

  “Two things. Remember what I told you about what will happen up on the ship. Don’t say anything and just follow me. And the second thing, I want you to slip over here into my seat once I get up top. Don’t steer it—just keep us from zigzagging. And when I give you the signal, I want you to turn the engine off, like this.”

  Peter nodded nervously as Matthias showed him the ignition key, just like in a car. Then the man slipped out his door and disappeared up on top of the plane.

  Left by himself, Peter gripped the steering stick, trying his best to keep it steady. It was as if they were in a pond, the water was so still around them. After a few more shouts, Peter felt something gently bumping the roof of the plane. Matthias tapped on the window with his heel.

  “Kill the engine!” he shouted, and Peter obeyed.

  From then on, Peter could hear everything. Matthias shouting instructions, the grunting of the men above, the complaining squeaks of the airplane as they were lifted into the air like a carnival ride. With Matthias still on top, they slowly twirled higher and higher. There was only a slight jolt as they were gently set down, dripping, in the middle of the ship’s rusty deck. Matthias followed with a flying leap, landing on his feet with a grin.

  “What did I tell you?” boomed Captain Papanikolas from somewhere above. “No problem?”

  “You’re a regular aircraft carrier,” returned Matthias, looking up at the captain and giving him a salute. “Good job, Captain. We might have to do this again.”

  “Just so the seas stay as calm as today,” said the portly Greek man, coming down a narrow stairway from his steering house in the middle of the ship. The red‑faced captain was chewing something from behind a week‑old beard and tried to straighten his crooked black tie with his free hand. He stopped halfway down the stair‑ladder when he noticed Peter climbing out of the plane.

  “Who’s this?” he asked suspiciously. “I thought we don’t take cargo before Bremen.”

  “Nothing to worry about, Captain P,” boomed Matthias. He stepped between the captain and Peter like a shield. “Just a friend of the family from Helsingør. He came with me for the ride.”

  Captain Papanikolas wasn’t convinced. He stood his ground, crossed his arms, and looked around Matthias. Peter noticed that the man’s rumpled blue jacket looked as if it had been used as a rag in the ship’s engine room.

  “Hi,” squeaked Peter in Danish, nodding his head. The captain only frowned.

  “I’m here for two reasons,” Matthias said. “First, I wanted to check if the crane for hoisting my plane aboard was in order.”

  “Everything in order, see?” huffed the captain, gesturing at the red airplane. A couple of the other sailors had wandered up on deck to take a look, and they were inspecting the plane. Peter didn’t see the man with the crooked nose, but at least the ship didn’t seem as scary in the light of day.

  “And the other thing,” continued Matthias, looking around cheerfully, “was that I just wanted to check out the ship once more.”

  “You do that back in port, no?” Captain Papanikolas made no move to let anyone pass by him.

  Matthias leaned forward, as if he were telling the man a secret, took off his glasses, and put his hand up to his mouth for effect. “No sense taking any chances,” he whispered. “No one’s watching us out here. Know what I mean?”

  Finally, a slow grin spread across the captain’s face.

  “Ah, I see. Secret agent man!” He began to laugh, until he had to hold on to his round belly. “This is secret agent ship!”

  Still laughing, Captain Papanikolas turned and climbed the stair‑ladder back up to his wheelhouse, pulling a sailor behind him. “Secret agent ship! Ha!” Peter heard him laughing all the way up the ladder until the men disappeared.

  Matthias turned to face Peter and polished his glasses with a handkerchief before replacing them carefully on his nose. “He’s a bit of a character, but his heart is in the right place. Now, do you want to tour the rest of the ship with me?”

  Peter swallowed hard, nodded, and looked down at his shoes, already red from the rust on the deck.

  This isn’t just going to be a tour, he reminded himself.

  5

  Rising Seas

  Matthias led Peter back along the main deck but stopped before a rusty door that had once been painted white.

  “Don’t look back,” Matthias whispered as he gripped the door handle, “but was it any of those fellows around the plane?”

  Peter shook his head. “He was darker, I think. And his mustache...”

  “Right. The mustache. Okay, well, watch your head as we go down.”

  Peter followed Matthias through the
door, then down a dark hall that smelled of stale motor oil. Below their feet, the slippery metal floor beat and rumbled with a deep throbbing.

  “The engine room is down this way,” Matthias explained, starting down a ladder. “You may have to plug...”

  The rest of what he said was lost as they lowered themselves into another world. A dark world of machines that hummed and roared. A world of almost living metal animals, glistening with the sweat of black oil. The engine room.

  “Five men usually work down here,” Matthias yelled into Peter’s ear, pointing at a couple of mechanics in black coveralls. They were watching some ancient‑looking glass dials, while two others were sweating over something that looked like an octopus with metal arms. One pointed, and the other tugged with a wrench. They were both covered with sweat, and their faces were black with oil smudges.

  One, Peter counted to himself, wiping his own sweat from his forehead. It was not a place he would want to stay long. Two, three...

  “I count three,” Peter yelled back at Matthias, who nodded and waved at one of the men who looked up at them. Peter gave another sigh of relief to see it was not the man they were looking for, but he was afraid to take a deep breath of the hot, oily steam that filled the engine cave they were in. They continued down a metal walkway until they ran into two more men dragging what looked like a pump into a corner of a small work area.

  “No?” Matthias asked quickly, and Peter shook his head once more. “I didn’t think so.”

  Peter followed Matthias up the ladder‑stairs and took a deep breath of fresh ocean air when they were back on deck.

  “Wow!” Peter slammed the door behind him. “What a pit.”

  “We’ll take a look at the crew areas next,” Matthias said, hurrying ahead. Peter almost had to trot to keep up, and he put his hand out a couple of times to catch his balance. The floor didn’t seem to stay still.

  Even though Peter had been on the ship once before, nothing seemed the same. Near the crew’s quarters, Peter could tell that the old ship had once been a lot nicer, a lot grander. The tables in the dining room were rich red mahogany, but they were chipped and scratched from years of hard use.