The Gypsy Moon

by Gilbert, Morris

The canal was not large, no more than thirty meters across, but it made a pleasant sound as the water gurgled past. The guards stayed far back and began smoking, and Gabby could hear them shooting the breeze. She looked up at Erik and said, “This is nice.”

  “It is. It’s very peaceful here.”

  “How are your parents?”

  “Very well.”

  Gabby was grateful to him for not sharing any details of their lives with her. No doubt they were happy that she and Erik had broken up. They were quiet as they watched the sunset and listened to the faraway sounds of the children laughing.

  “That’s a nice sound,” Erik said quietly. “You love children, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Not everyone does.”

  Somehow the subject turned to poetry, and Gabby shared snippets of some of her favorite poems with him. As she quoted “I Held a Jewel” by Emily Dickinson, he reached over and took her hands.

  “It’s the first time we’ve been really alone in a long time,” he said, “and I’ve wanted to see you so much.”

  Gabby knew he was going to kiss her and knew that she must permit it. When he put his arms around her, she lifted her head and took his kiss. His lips were firm but demanding, and for a moment she surrendered. It’s just an act, she told herself. That’s all it is. Like an actress in a movie kissing another actor.

  She was the first to pull her head away, and she forced herself to smile. “I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

  “I don’t think you could have stopped me, Gabby. Tell me, do you ever think about me?”

  Gabby could not lie. “Yes, I do, Erik. I have many times.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He dropped his hand down from her shoulder and held her hand in his warm, strong grip. “I would never have known what love was but for you.”

  “Surely you’ve been in love with other women.”

  “No, I haven’t. You’re wrong about that.”

  “Come, Erik, I know better.”

  “Oh, I’ve known other women, but they’ve really meant nothing. You’re the only woman I ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I hope you believe that, Gabby.”

  She did believe him, but she was spared having to answer, for suddenly Betje approached, saying, “We’ve got to get back, Gabby. The children are getting tired.”

  “Yes, we need to get them home.”

  Erik muttered, “What terrible timing!” But he followed them back to the trucks, which were already loaded.

  Gabby was afraid something could go wrong at this point, but Erik simply said, “I’ll leave you here, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “All right, Erik. Thanks for furnishing the pass.”

  Erik and the guards got into the staff car, and it roared off. As it disappeared, Betje said, “That was well done.”

  “Did the others get away?”

  “They’re halfway to the boat by now, I expect. They’ll be all right.” She grinned and said, “It doesn’t hurt to have the enemy in love with you. We’ll have to use that again, Gabby.”

  “I’d rather keep Erik out of it as much as possible after this.”

  “Gabby, this is war. People have to do things they don’t want to. But anyway, it worked fine this time.”

  They got into the trucks and rode back to the orphanage. After they ushered the kids back into the building, Gabby started for her car. As she opened the door, she saw a shadow—just a flicker—beside the building. Suspicion and fear assailed her, and she hastily reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out the pistol. It was dark, with only a sliver of a moon overhead, a mere thin crescent, but she advanced silently toward the figure, which now was frozen in place. She held the pistol in both hands straight in front of her and commanded, “Stay right where you are.” She came closer and shock ran through her as she saw who it was. “Petric, what are you doing here?”

  When he didn’t answer, Gabby insisted, “Who are you? What’s your real name?” She saw intelligence flicker in his eyes, and she knew that this man who called himself Petric was not who he pretended to be.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Prisoner

  Even in the darkness, Gabby could see something was different about the man she had known as Petric. He was standing straighter than he had at the hospital, and there was no hint in his features of a man of slow wit. His dark eyes were sharp and penetrating, and she knew she was in danger, even though she was the one holding the gun.

  Still holding the pistol straight out, she commanded, “Put your hands up or I’ll shoot you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said as he raised his arms. “I’m no danger to you.”

  Even the voice was different! There was no slurred or faltering speech, no reaching for words. As she wondered whether she should call for help, she felt her finger tighten on the trigger. She had no desire to shoot anyone, so she loosened her finger and took a step back. “Who are you? You’re not who you say you are. You’re a spy.”

  “I’m a spy all right, but not a very good one.” A hint of a smile lifted the corners of the man’s lips. He kept his hands in the air and made no attempt to move toward her. “If I were a good spy, I wouldn’t have let you catch me.”

  “You’re working for the Germans. I know that.”

  “That’s not true. I’m with foreign intelligence for England.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.” He started to take his hands down, and she yelled, “Don’t you do that, or I’ll shoot you!” in a voice that was higher pitched than she had hoped.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I’ve come all the way to this country to meet with you, Dr. Winslow. I’m actually sympathetic to your cause.”

  “That’s not very likely.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “All right. Prove it. Let’s see some identification.”

  The smile broadened on the man’s face, and he shook his head. “I may be a very bad spy, but not bad enough to carry information around with me. But if you’ll give me a chance, I can prove my identity.”

  “All right. Turn around and lock your hands behind your neck.” She waited until he did so and then said, “All right. Turn left and walk that way.”

  Obediently, the man turned and walked slowly through the darkness. She directed him until they came to a sturdy shed built of stone with a heavy oak door.

  “Get in there!” Gabby directed.

  “What is this place?”

  “It used to be a storage room. There’s nothing in there now.” A malicious thought touched her. “Except a rat or two. They won’t bother you if you let them alone.”

  He turned, keeping his hands behind his head. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get some of my friends. Now get inside.”

  Gabby waited until the man had stepped inside and then quickly shut the door. She closed the hasp and stuck the large spike through the opening. Quickly, she ran back to the front door of the orphanage through the darkness. She was breathing faster than usual, and she was relieved when Karel opened the door just as she got there.

  “Come quickly!”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly detecting the alarm in her voice.

  “I’ve caught a man who I think is a spy.”

  “A spy!” The pastor stared at her. “Who is he? How did you come upon him?”

  “He came to work at the hospital. He called himself Petric. I didn’t like him from the beginning,” she said between breaths. She saw him glance toward the gun. “This was my father’s. I brought it in case we ran into trouble tonight.”

  “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

  “He’s locked in the old storage shed around the east side of the building,” she said as she pointed. “He can’t get out, but we’ve got to do something.”

  “I think we’d better have a meeting of everyone in our cell.” The term he used, cell, referred to the small group of un
derground agents. There were many such cells all over the Netherlands, particularly around Amsterdam and Rotterdam. “Come along. We’ll call the others.”

  As they went into the building to use the phone, Gabby had a grisly thought. “If he is a spy, we’ll have to shoot him, won’t we?”

  Without breaking his stride, Karel said softly, “I expect we will.”

  ****

  Groot Dekker was the last member of the cell to arrive. The rest had gathered outside the orphanage, and finally he drove up in a rickety pickup he used to haul his produce to town. They all watched as he got out, the truck sagging with his weight.

  “What is it?” he asked as he approached. “Did the Jews get caught?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Betje said. “We’ve caught a spy.”

  “We’re not sure of that,” Karel corrected.

  “A spy! Is he a German?” Dekker demanded. He made a huge shape in the darkness, outlined by the single light outside of the orphanage. He doubled his hands up into huge fists. “I know how to handle him.”

  Jan ten Boom was almost jumping up and down with excitement. “Dr. Winslow, she caught him,” he said. “The man came to work at the hospital, but the doctor was suspicious even when he was first hired.” Jan quickly told the rest of the story.

  “We’ll have to get rid of him,” Dekker declared.

  “I’m not sure that he is a spy,” Gabby said. “He claims he works in foreign intelligence for the British.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Betje said. “Whoever he is, he’ll have a chance to prove it.” She had taken an automatic pistol she had hidden in her car and now held it loosely. “Come along.” She turned on her flashlight and led the way around the side of the orphanage. Almost all the lights were out inside the large building, and the beam of the flashlight made a white cone as the group moved through the night.

  Betje stopped in front of the shed and pulled the spike out. She flipped the hasp and stepped back, pulling the door open. “Come out of there!” she commanded harshly, her pistol poised.

  Gabby also had her pistol aimed at the man but had taken her finger off the trigger. She watched nervously as the prisoner stepped outside. He blinked when the strong light hit his face and turned his head to the side.

  “That’s pretty bright,” he said. “Would you mind not blinding me?”

  “Never mind giving orders,” Betje said stridently. “You’re in trouble.”

  “If you’ll give me a chance, I believe I can convince you that I’m not a German spy.”

  “You’ll have to prove it,” Gottfried Vogel said. He stood tall and ominous in the darkness, his iron gray hair giving him a patriarchal look. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “Captain Dailon Bando.”

  “Bando! What kind of a name is that?” Vogel snorted. “It’s German, I suppose.”

  “Not at all. It’s Welsh.”

  “Your life is on the line unless you can prove you’re not a German spy,” Betje said authoritatively.

  She kept the gun on him, but the man called Bando simply smiled. “I’ll tell you one thing that ought to convince you. If I were working for the Germans, you’d all be dead.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Betje demanded.

  “I’ve watched you smuggle two groups of Jews out, and that’s only in the short time I’ve been here. If I were a German, you would all be in an interrogation room right now, probably being beaten with something harder than a rubber hose.”

  “Why are you spying on us?” Gabby asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working for the British?”

  “Because when I came, I didn’t know who was safe to talk to. You can’t just walk up to someone and say, ‘Hello there. I’m a British spy.’ You wouldn’t have believed me.” He smiled at Betje. “You probably would have shot me with that pistol.”

  A silence fell over the group, and Gabby looked at the others, sensing their doubt. At first she had been afraid they would shoot the man without any kind of trial whatsoever, and that would have been painful to her, as she hated violence. “You’ll have to give us more than your word, I’m afraid, Captain.”

  “Yes, you will,” Betje added. “And if you can’t prove it, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  “I can prove who I am easily enough. Can any of you work a shortwave radio?”

  “I’ve been operating one for two years now,” Jan said. “I have my license.”

  “All right. I’ve got a radio hidden in the barn outside the hospital. I keep in touch with my team. If you can hold off shooting me long enough, I think you’ll have enough evidence to convince yourselves I’m not working for the Nazis.”

  “All right. You’ll have your chance,” Betje said. “Does anyone have anything we can use to tie him up?”

  Groot, the farmer, pulled a length of heavy twine from his pocket.

  “Gottfried, tie his hands behind his back,” Betje instructed. “All right,” she said as two of the men tied his wrists behind him. “We’ll all go with Bando. You’d better be telling the truth.”

  “I am,” he said. “It would be a bad night to die.”

  “Any night’s a bad night to die,” Betje said.

  “Some are worse than others. Come on. These cords are cutting off my circulation.”

  ****

  “It’s there up on those boards over the rafters,” Dailon Bando said, pointing with his nose.

  The group stood in the barn, which used to be used for horses. The floor was covered with hay, and a musty smell permeated the air.

  “I’ll get it.” Jan climbed the stairs built into the side of the barn and scooted over the boards laid over the rafters. “I got it!” he yelled.

  “Bring it down here,” Betje told him. She waited until Jan came down and set the square radio on an ancient table sitting by the wall. “Do you know how to work it?”

  “Of course I know how to work it. I’m an expert.” He looked at the prisoner, who had said nothing all the way from the orphanage. “What are the call letters?”

  “A-J-N-C-O.”

  “What’s your code name?”

  “Jonah.”

  Jan grinned. “That’s not a good sign. Jonah came to a bad end.”

  “He was all right at the end of the story,” Bando said.

  Gabby watched the face of the prisoner as Jan set up the radio and began calling, speaking into it and waiting for a reply. Bando, if that was his real name, looked at her, his eyes locking with her gaze. As she held it defiantly she realized she was more disturbed than the prisoner was. He was not a handsome man, she decided, but there was a virile strength in him. She felt somehow embarrassed or even frightened at the intensity of his gaze and was relieved when she heard the radio crackle in return.

  “Jonah, identify yourself” came a voice over the radio. “Jonah, what is your mother’s first name?”

  Everyone looked at Bando, and he said, “It’s Bronwen.”

  Jan spoke into the microphone. “Bronwen.”

  “Tell them to give the name of the agent in place,” Betje spoke. She held the pistol trained on Bando, even though he still had his wrists bound.

  They all waited until Jan made the demand, and there was a moment’s pause. Then the voice spoke clearly, “Daily attacks intent—bandits at new direct organization.”

  The transmission stopped abruptly, and Jan cried, “They’ve broken the transmission.”

  “That’s all you’ll get, but it’s all you need.”

  “What does it mean? It made no sense at all.”

  “It does if you take the first letter of each word.”

  Betje, who had a phenomenal memory, repeated the message. “Daily attacks intent—bandits at new direct organization.”

  “That’s me. Dai Bando. Everyone calls me Dai.”

  A silence fell over the group and then Betje lowered the pistol. “Cut him loose. I think he is who he says he is.”

  Groot Dekker pulled out a knife and cut t
he cords.

  “Welcome to Holland,” Betje said with a smile.

  “Thank you, Miss van Dych.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Oh yes, I know all of you.”

  “Why have you come here?” Betje asked. She put the weapon away but still watched Bando closely.

  “I’d like very much to tell all of you, but it goes against my orders. I can tell only one person, and then it will be up to that one person to do as they please with the information.”

  “Which person is that?” Betje asked.

  “Dr. Gabrielle Winslow.”

  Gabby felt the pressure of the group, and she blurted out, “Why me?”

  “I can only explain when we’re alone, Doctor.”

  “Is everybody satisfied that this man is who he says he is?” Betje demanded.

  The group murmured their agreement, and Karel said, “I’m glad we didn’t have to shoot you.”

  “That would probably go against your ministerial ethics, Pastor.”

  He grinned. “I’d like to know more about your mission, but I doubt if I can get it out of Gabby. She’s a very private person.”

  “A very good thing to be in these dangerous times, Pastor.”

  “All right. Let’s break up,” Betje said. She turned her eyes on Gabby. “Are you ready to hear what our newest member has to say?”

  “I think I’d better be.”

  “Don’t shoot yourself with that pistol,” Betje said with a grin. “You need to take lessons. All right, everyone, let’s get out of here. Thanks for your help tonight. We won’t meet again until I get word to you.”

  Gabby waited until they had all disappeared, and the silence fell between her and the tall man who watched her carefully. “You want to talk here?”

  “That’s fine with me. Do you want to sit on the hay?” he asked, pointing to some hay bales near the door.

  “Sure.” They got settled in the semidarkness. “Go ahead, Captain. I’m listening.”

  “I’d rather you called me Dai. Of course, it will have to be Petric when we’re at the hospital or around other people.”

  “Is that a common name in Wales? Dailon?”

  “Fairly common.”

  Gabby nodded, and he said nothing further.