No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2)

by Terri Wangard

  Bertil rocked back on his heels. “You bombed your cousin.” A slow grin crossed his face. “And I always thought you two were such good friends.”

  “I didn’t know Christoph was on that S-boat, not that I could have changed anything. They were going to pick up one of our crews that had ditched. We knew Air-Sea Rescue was on the way. We had to stop them from grabbing our men. Only later, when I saw pictures, did I realize…” The thought of how close they’d come to harming Christoph still sent shivers up his spine.

  Bertil’s smile kept growing. “Does he know you were involved in his demise?”

  “No.” The word exploded out of him. “I’ll tell him. Eventually. Maybe in fifty years, when he’ll be ready to laugh.”

  Bertil was already laughing. A snicker worked its way passed Rafe’s lips.

  “I’d do it again, just for the chance to see him. He filled me in on what he knew. There was a lot he didn’t know, like what happened to you.”

  Suddenly serious, Bertil glanced around. “I’m lucky to be here. If Germany wins the war, life won’t be worth living. I won’t pick up a gun.”

  Jennie sauntered past. Looking around rather than at them, she paused beside Rafe. “Your mechanics’ jaws are scraping the tarmac.”

  “Forgot all about them.” He peered around the truck. Yep. Standing there scratching their heads.

  “I came over to ask if you have a spare cylinder we could borrow.”

  Bertil’s eyes bulged and he inclined his head. “You want to borrow a cylinder from the Germans?”

  “Sure, why not?” Rafe nodded at the Lufthansa plane. “That DC-3 has the same equipment.”

  “Never mind that we’re on opposing sides.” Bertil laughed. “As a matter of fact, we did receive a cylinder from Berlin just yesterday. It came off a B-24 that crashed in Germany.” After turning in a complete circle, satisfied no one watched, he opened a bin, grabbed the cylinder, and reached out as though to shake Rafe’s hand, passing on the cylinder.

  Rafe stared at the part. A plane had gone down for them to get this. What happened to the crew? Shaking his head, he handed the cylinder to Jennie and switched to English.

  “Bertil, meet Jennie.” He turned to her. “Bertil and I go all the way back. We know each other’s worst secrets. Would you give this to those guys and ask them to close their mouths?”

  She took the cylinder gingerly even though it wasn’t greasy.

  “Bertil, I’m glad to meet you. I hope we have a chance to talk and you can share some of his secrets.” With a nod and a smile, she turned away.

  Bertil stared after her.

  Rafe cleared his throat.

  His friend snapped his head around, but then his eyes widened and he turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, “See that Swedish mechanic in the green shirt coming around the water tank? He’s a German stooge. We don’t want to be seen together. Where can we meet?”

  Rafe moved over to the terminal and casually leaned against it while Bertil rummaged in the bin. “I’ve got freedom of movement in Stockholm.” Talking like a ventriloquist wasn’t among his skills. “Where can you go?”

  “Do you know Tyska Kyrkan, the church?” At Rafe’s nod, Bertil continued. “Come tomorrow.” Without acknowledging Rafe’s presence, Bertil carried some equipment back to his plane, nodding to the passing Swede on his way.

  Stockholm

  Sunday, June 18, 1944

  Rafe surveyed the church. There, on the far right, toward the front. Bertil was alone. Good. He hadn’t thought to ask if Bertil had married and brought a wife along. No one else in the congregation looked familiar, but that didn’t mean he could let down his guard. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his shoulders. Attracting attention wouldn’t do. He strode forward and entered the pew behind his friend.

  He accidentally on purpose bumped his hand against Bertil’s shoulder, dropping a note onto the pew before sitting down. Bertil reached for a songbook. His arm moved back against the pew and it was a sure bet Rafe’s note would disappear into the pages.

  His message was short. Can we meet after services in the garden in back of the church?

  In a moment Bertil’s head raised and gave a barely discernible nod. Rafe blew out his breath. That policeman who followed him and Jennie on Friday night did them a favor. The garden they’d escaped through was the only safe place he could think of suggesting where they might meet.

  The minister’s sermon probably was interesting, but Rafe heard none of it. God surely understood. Like his meeting with Christoph, Rafe’s reunion with Bertil was an epical moment in restoring some of the best aspects of the life he’d been forced to give up.

  Bertil. His best friend. Here. Unbelievable.

  Time passed quickly after they rendezvoused in the garden. Bertil’s family’s misfortunes were worse than Christoph’s. “My father’s a prisoner of the Russians. Mother doesn’t believe he’ll ever come home. She lives outside of Cologne now, with three other women whose husbands are dead or missing. My brother’s dead. And all for what?”

  Rafe jumped up from the bench where they sat in the shade. He paced four steps and back. Bertil would make a good contact. Too bad Jennie wasn’t here. She’d have a better grasp of how to recruit operatives. He didn’t want to involve Ed or deliver Bertil into his clutches. The best way to keep his friend safe was to keep him off the OSS radar. He stopped in front of Bertil. “Would you consider informing me of German intentions here in Sweden?”

  “You want me to spy on my own countrymen?” He looked intrigued.

  “You’d be helping to liberate Germany. The Nazis have to go.” At least, the bad ones had to be eradicated. Those bent on destroying the country and as much of the world as they could get their hands on. Not all party members were bad though. Not those who, like his father, had to join the party to keep their jobs.

  The pastor came out to invite them to lunch. Rafe nearly swallowed his tongue when Bertil asked the man’s opinion on being an informer. The pastor didn’t need to think about it. “It’s a worthy proposition, Bertil. Think of the Germans actively involved in the underground to thwart the evil that has our countrymen in its grip.”

  Bertil shifted uneasily. “That’s true, and they’re risking their lives, losing their lives. What’s the worst that could happen to me? I’d lose my job.”

  “How is it you haven’t been transferred back to a fighting unit, or at least maintaining the warplanes?” Why hadn’t Rafe thought to ask before?

  “My boss protects me.” Bertil adjusted his glasses. “And these help keep me from active duty. What would I have to do?”

  Rafe leaned forward. “You told me about the Swedish mechanic who’s on the German payroll. Anything like that, no matter how insignificant you think it is. Jennie says all these little bits of information are put together like a puzzle to get a big picture.”

  “The mechanic isn’t the only one. A freight manager monitors shipment of materials arriving here or going to England. He provides daily copies of the lading bills. They also report passengers who arrive or depart. Somehow they find out the passenger lists of every plane. They’re paid seventy-five hundred kroner each.”

  Rafe scribbled notes on his pew sheet.

  “The local representative of Lufthansa is actually an Abwehr agent.”

  Rafe frowned. “Do the Swedes know that? They arrest people for unlawfully gathering information.”

  He began formulating the incriminating phone call he’d make in the morning. The Swedish listeners would be sure to investigate.

  Stockholm

  Sunday, June 18, 1944

  A knock came at the Lindquists’s door late in the evening. After hiking on the islands of the archipelago that afternoon with Phyllis, Emma, and others from the British legation, Jennie concentrated on painting the scenery she’d enjoyed. Artistic license allowed her to move the deer from the trail they’d hiked to a rocky shore. She smudged the foliage at the animal’s feet with a rag. Perfect.

 
“Very nice,” a voice agreed with her.

  She looked up into Rafe’s dancing eyes. He looked at her, not at the painting, his gaze drifting down and back up. Sudden heat caused her face to flame. “Rafe!” she squeaked. She thrust her brush and palette into his grasp. “Dad, how could you let him in?”

  Fleeing to her room, she shut the door and collapsed on her bed, her chest heaving. Quiet laughter came from the living room. Rafe? Dad? Mom? All three? She rose, twisting her ratty blue robe in her hands.

  Her reflection stared at her from the mirror. Wisps of hair escaped in all directions from the ugly pink rollers circling her head. Her robe hid her pajamas well enough, but it should have been retired years ago. She jerked it off, throwing it on the bed along with the pajamas, and donned the red Swiss dot dress she planned to wear when she met him at the legation in the morning. Digging in a bureau drawer, she found her hooded cape. A bizarre outfit to wear indoors, but what did it matter? Rafe should have known better than to show up without calling first. She hurried back to the living room.

  Rafe gestured to her easel. “Your mother tells me you went into the archipelago where you were inspired to paint your new masterpiece.” His praise diminished her pique with him. He pulled his tiny camera out of his pocket. “This little toy is proving to be a lot of fun. I took lots of pictures, mostly for practice, but maybe someone will match a rogues’ board photo. Hopefully they’ll turn out well, although no one’s likely to be centered. I hold the camera like this.”

  He palmed the camera and brushed his hair from his forehead, clicking a shot of the major as he did so. Then he repositioned it and, adjusting his coat, photographed Mrs. Lindquist.

  “Oh, goodness, Rafe. Why did you do that?” Mrs. Lindquist blustered. “You turn that in for the rogues’ board and they’ll pin me up with their suspicious persons.”

  “Now, Agatha, don’t you worry.” Major Lindquist patted her shoulder. “If it turns out well, I’ll remove it and put it up in my office.”

  “And if it’s a poor likeness?” Her brows arched over glowering eyes.

  “Then I’ll leave it on the board.”

  They all laughed, but a melancholy air seemed to settle on Rafe as he watched their interplay. Did his father used to tease his mother like that? Jennie’s heart ached for him. He shook his head, as though to dismiss the thought, and turned to her.

  “Ready for a day of telephone calls tomorrow?”

  “Should be fun.” She rubbed her hands together. These cloak-and-dagger shenanigans would be so much more enjoyable with a partner.

  “I ran into Ed at a diner and he says your scheme has a good possibility of causing friction among the Germans. If something goes wrong and we get in trouble, however, he’ll deny any knowledge of our plans.” He pulled out his copy of the Stockholm Illustrated Guide. “Let’s meet here, just west of the legation, and go up to the Stureplan. Enough people should be around that we’ll blend into the crowd, and have no trouble finding a phone box.”

  Stockholm

  Monday, June 19, 1944

  Several streets converged in a wide open space that formed the Stureplan. Buildings formed acute angles, topped with turrets, to match the street corners. The Hotel Excelsior looked like a gingerbread house with its towers, balconies, and dormers. Overhead, tram cables stretched out like a giant spider web. A shower of sparks scattered at their feet as they waited at a corner. Jennie covered her nose as a car accelerated around the tram in a cloud of coal smoke.

  She studied the center of the intersection. “Let’s head to the newspaper stand under that sheltering roof. Just beyond it, I think I see phone boxes. We’ll make our first call there. As first on our agenda, do you want to call Lufthansa?”

  “I can do that.”

  She pulled a notebook from her reticule. “I’ll record time, place, phone number, and message. We need to keep track of our mischief. What’s your plan for the airline?”

  “Bertil said the Lufthansa representative is really an Abwehr agent. I want the Swedish eavesdroppers to know he’s part of German Intelligence. Ed suggested we drop the name Admiral Canaris, who’s in charge of Abwehr. Our message will be that Canaris wants more precise details on the quantities of machine parts from Bolinders and Atlas Diesel, and the steel drills manufactured by Sandviken, being shipped to Britain. That ought to make a listener sit up and take notice.”

  They arrived at the phone box. Rafe lifted the receiver. “Say, look at this. A rotary dial. We don’t have to go through the operator.”

  Jennie’s hands shook as she held the phone directory. True, the call couldn’t be traced to an American phone, but if anyone had tailed them, their time at the phone box could be matched to the call. This was it, her debut as an active OSS operative. Her stint as courier to Uppsala didn’t count.

  “What’s the Lufthansa number?” Rafe waited with a finger poised over the phone’s rotary.

  Jennie laughed at the devilish glint in his eyes. She traced her finger across the line. “Two six, zero six, zero four.”

  Rafe grinned at her and her face heated. No need to whisper. She copied the number and time on her pad.

  Rafe began talking loudly even as he dialed the last two numbers. “Ludwig, wie gehts? Can you join us for lunch at the Gondolen?...Noon?...Great. See you there.” He released the rotary on the final number and it spun back to its starting place. He took a deep breath and blew it out.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Just in case anyone’s listening.” He winked at her.

  Oh, dear. He was a natural at this. Jennie lowered her head over the phone directory as though she had no cares, and peered around. No one seemed to be loitering near them. Next time, if there was a next time, she’d wear a hat with a veil to hide her eyes instead of the lacy crocheted head scarf she’d chosen this morning.

  Beside her, Rafe straightened. “Guten morgen. Ich bin Werner Kratz.“

  Jennie’s eyes widened. He was Werner? As in Lars the pest? Lars could be accused of meddling where he didn’t belong. Rafe’s memory was phenomenal.

  He repeated the message he’d given her.

  Jennie frantically scribbled the names she recognized. How had he learned all this? From reading newspapers? He could get the Abwehr agent into some seriously hot water.

  His message concluded, Rafe casually twisted around, leaned his right arm against the phone box, and disconnected the call. With the receiver still held to his ear, he said, “Right. See you there.” Hanging up the phone, he chuckled. “That was fun. Too bad we’ll never know if we succeed in causing mayhem among the Germans.”

  Jennie could only shake her head. She considered herself adventurous, but this activity could have serious ramifications of the international legal variety. Her ideas of adventure included white water rafting or horseback riding on the shore of Lake Michigan. Tame stuff, like creating posters for Morale Operations.

  Rafe looked around the Stureplan. “Hitler would have used this spot for one of his rallies. Swastika banners would have hung from all the buildings. All the people would have been jammed into the intersection. Cameras would have been rolling.” He sighed. “Lots of speeches that didn’t make much sense to me.”

  Jennie leaned forward to peer at his face. He talked like he’d actually been to a rally. “Did he visit Cologne while you were still there?”

  “Probably. I don’t know. I’m thinking of the rally while I was in Berlin.”

  “You were in Berlin? You saw Hitler?”

  He looked at her and laughed. “Sure, why not? Berlin’s only about three hundred fifty miles from Cologne. And my dad works for the railroad. That made travel easy for us. My folks liked to travel, and they considered it a valuable part of our education.”

  “But you actually saw Hitler?” Jennie couldn’t suppress a shiver. To be in the presence of such evil.

  Rafe shrugged. “Had we known a rally would take place then, I’m sure we would have been elsewhere that day. My mother would ha
ve seen to that. But it was interesting.”

  “Interesting? Hitler was interesting?”

  Rafe laughed again. “We didn’t know at the time what he would do to Germany. The rally was interesting, not Hitler. He was a lousy speaker. The rally, though. It was carefully staged. If you saw it in newsreels, you’d think it was a spontaneously outpouring of support. But they closed all the factories and shops and herded everyone into place along the motorcade route and especially the speakers’ platform.” He punched out his right arm. “We were told to salute and ‘Sieg Heil.’ The music was loud, the drums. You felt it vibrate in your gut. It was hypnotic.”

  “I’ve never seen President Roosevelt.”

  Rafe draped his arm around her shoulders. “Well, the United States is a little bit bigger than Germany. He’s not quite as accessible.”

  Rafe had been in the presence of Hitler. Jennie couldn’t fathom it. “How close to him were you?”

  He grinned. “Very close. We’d been in a shop right where he would stop and were herded along with everyone else to stand near the platform. We were in front. He walked around a bit, coming right to us. He touched Rita.”

  “He did?”

  “Don’t sound so scandalized.” Rafe’s grin stretched across his face as he briskly rubbed her arm. “He patted her on her head.” Rafe patted Jennie’s head. “Or maybe her shoulder. Rita was a trouper. She waited until he’d gone by before screwing up her face. She said he had bad breath.”

  Jennie’s breath escaped her as she laughed at Rita’s summation. To have stood so close to that madman. Incredible.

  Rafe directed her across the street. “I also told them at Lufthansa about the ball bearings from SKF, and that we’re concerned about all this essential war material going to the British war effort, if you want to write that down.”

  He consulted his city guide. “Let’s go a block down Lästmakargatan to Norrlandsgatan. That’ll take us south all the way to the bridge at the old town island, and we can watch for telephones along the way. Then we’ll follow the eastern side of the island, past Zum Franziskaner, and across to Södermalm. That’s where the Gondolen is.” He tapped the spot on the map. “It’s a bit of a hike, but we’ll work up an appetite by the time we get there for lunch.”