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

by Terri Wangard

  “Think of this as a probing mission. If anything’s there, we’ll bring in the experienced guns, but for this, we believe you’re our man.”

  By the time Rafe left the office, one thing was clear. He’d let Jennie make him over with one of her disguises. What Ed hadn’t said but Rafe understood was that he was expendable if anything went wrong. He’d take his own precautions.

  #

  Jennie drummed her fingernails on the desk. Had they left anything to chance? She’d parted Rafe’s hair down the middle and done a slapdash job of rubbing in a dark rinse with a rag. As long as he didn’t get rained on, he didn’t look blond. Round glasses gave him a bookish air. The jacket with its pleats and half belt shouted Swede.

  “That was a stroke of genius, Phyllis, suggesting he meet Bertil there. Two friends having a quiet meal together are much less apt to attract attention than a lone man.”

  Phyllis toyed with a stack of reports on her desk. About to shuffle them, she caught herself and set them aside. “I just hope Rafe made contact with him. Good thing he remembered to phone from somewhere else. I actually forgot the Swedes tap our calls.”

  Jennie groaned and jumped up to pace. “It’s a long shot that he would catch Bertil at the airport. Or that Bertil could drop everything and join him.” She wrung her hands. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  The Germans weren’t likely to cause problems, unless they kidnapped Rafe and smuggled him to Germany. She shook her head. Highly unlikely scenario. But they could jump him on a dark street and beat him up, toss him in one of Stockholm’s many waterways. No one would know what happened until a bloated body was discovered.

  The Swedes wouldn’t have cause to arrest him. They couldn’t prove he was eavesdropping, and Rafe wouldn’t write anything down until he was safely back in his apartment or at the legation. They could search him to their hearts content and not find incriminating evidence.

  Jennie snapped her fingers. “Why didn’t I think of this before?” She swiveled to face Phyllis. “What’s stopping us from going to dinner?”

  Her friend’s eyes brightened, and her smile bloomed. “You mean at Den Gyldene Freden?”

  “Yes, the Golden Peace place.”

  “Lovely idea.” Phyllis yanked open a bottom drawer and pulled out a rich brown shawl. “Here, throw this over your shoulders. That’s a lovely dress, but bright colors attract attention. We want to blend into the woodwork. How about this hat?”

  With a sigh, Jennie draped the shawl around her neck. Her dress was a solid jewel blue except for the bodice. A floral inset featured tiny red and yellow blooms with a thin blue bowtie at the neckline. Hiding the flowers made sense, but she drew the line at Phyllis’ beret. Her pompadoured hair nicely framed her own hat with its sloping brim and blue ribbon around the crown. Looking ridiculous in a mish-mash of styles would attract attention as surely as eye-catching colors.

  They decided to walk. A taxi appealed to Phyllis, but Jennie insisted they didn’t want a taxi driver knowing their destination. Who he might report them to or why he would report on where two ladies dined, she couldn’t say. They had time, however. Maybe the exercise would use up her nervous energy.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Phyllis spoiled her goal of blending in when she flirted with the maitre d’. Who knew they needed reservations? Jennie’s bowtie tightened around her neck as she listened to Phyllis’ blatant fuss over the elderly, balding man wearing a too-tight collar of his own.

  “I’ve been telling my friend what a great place this is. And we walked all the way here. Surely you can find one little out-of-the-way table for two.”

  Out-of-the-way. Great. They wouldn’t know if Rafe needed help or not.

  A table alongside the old man’s podium was set up for dining. Jennie suspected the maître d’ sat there whenever he had a chance to get off his feet. Now he could keep an eye on them. At least they could see everyone who came in or out. She maneuvered Phyllis into the chair with her back to the door.

  “Keep your hat on. That wide brim will hide us from curious eyes.”

  The menu selections swam on the page. Nothing appealed to her. Her appetite had evaporated. When Phyllis placed her order for får i kål, Jennie smiled weakly. “I’ll have the same.”

  Not until their meals were served did she ask what they were having.

  “Lamb and cabbage. Delicious, don’t you think?”

  Jennie didn’t care for lamb. She should have asked for meatballs. Their meal progressed uneventfully until she managed her last bite.

  Newcomers arrived. Two men approached the maitre d’.

  “We’re looking for a spy who’s supposed to be here.” The speaker’s eyes roved the dining room instead of looking at the maitre d’. He held up a photograph. Jenny glimpsed it, and stars danced before her eyes.

  Rafe!

  The maitre d’ didn’t recognize the photo. The men moved off, slowly canvassing the dining room.

  “I have to warn him.” Jennie gripped the table and fought a wave of dizziness. How had the Swedish police learned Rafe would be here? Were the Germans extracting revenge for his pointing out Lars?

  “Breathe. Take slow, deep breaths before you faint.” Phyllis patted her hand. “You don’t know where he is. Besides, he’s in disguise.”

  Jennie shook her head. Phyllis was too used to toying with the enemy to take a threat seriously. “I know he’s in the cellar. I saw the seating chart on the podium. The stairs are over there. I have to warn him.”

  She stood up before Phyllis could delay her. For the maitre d’s benefit, she said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room before we leave. Be right back.”

  She headed for the water closet, waiting until the last moment to glance back. The maitre d’ was occupied with new arrivals. The policemen were working their way around. Ducking her head, she dashed to the cellar stairs.

  “Remember the time Ludwig ran out of the darkroom and ruined Herr Baesler’s film? That tiny room had been too crowded for him. But Christoph said Ludwig was on a submarine. I can’t comprehend that.”

  The men Ed wanted Rafe to watch sat on the other side of the room. Ed clearly had never been here. The cellar was long, narrow, and dimly lit. One long table ran down the center, with seating on both sides. Side tables snuggled up against the walls. Diners sat on one side only, facing the wall, their backs to the room. Eavesdropping was impossible.

  With the unlikelihood of learning anything, Rafe settled down to enjoy the time with Bertil. “Submarines are cramped, foul. Even if they’re on the surface, you can’t step out for a breath of air unless you have business on the deck. They’re no place for a claustrophobe.”

  “I heard he requested a capital ship but was too far down the list to get his choice. He told his skipper he couldn’t stand confined spaces, but the guy scorned him. Said he’d make a man of him.” Bertil sipped his coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste. “The U-boat disappeared on his first tour of duty. I hope he didn’t cause its demise, opening the hatch to get out while submerged, or screaming in panic and alerting an enemy ship to their presence.”

  Rafe shook his head. “I want to deny that prospect, but such a scenario is all too possible.”

  He tuned in to surrounding conversations. The lady seated to his left urged her boyfriend to marry her before joining his military unit. Rafe dismissed them.

  Behind him, four men discussed the difficulties facing their export business. Rafe had to set down his glass before it shattered in his clenched hand. If the Swedes hadn’t continued to sell their iron ore to Germany, thereby prolonging the war, maybe it’d be over now and they could have been back to business as usual.

  He pushed back his plate. Ed’s ambiguity with this assignment had sabotaged his appetite. And if he didn’t get out of here soon, he just might start throwing things. Playing cat-and-mouse games while men were fighting and dying was ridiculous.

  Here he was with Bertil, and he was tied up inside tighter than a knot.
The war tainted everything. “Christoph said Johan got on the Bismarck.”

  “The Bismarck? Or the Tirpitz? Doesn’t matter, I guess. Neither one proved healthy. Ja, he would have gotten his first choice of assignments, smart as he was. Johan might have scorned the S-boats, but at least Christoph got to be the boss officer.”

  Sadness tinged their laughter. So many friends had lost their lives.

  A hand gripped Rafe’s shoulder. Before he could turn, Jennie’s urgent whisper filled his ear. “Two policemen are upstairs searching for you. They’ll be down in a moment.”

  And she was gone, disappearing back up the stairs on silent feet.

  Bertil’s brow furrowed.

  “Did she say police are looking for you?” His voice was barely audible.

  Rafe set his hands against the table to rise. Finally, an excuse to leave. But why was Jennie here? “We need to go.”

  “Wait.” Bertil caught his arm. “You do not look like yourself. We do not want to pass them on the stairs.” He caught the eye of their waitress and beckoned her.

  Even as his friend spoke, they heard descending footsteps. They rose and stood in the passageway between tables, blocking the path of the policemen. The officers moved to the other side of the room. Keeping his back to them, Rafe allowed Bertil to speak with the waitress.

  Bertil’s voice rose unnecessarily. “We enjoyed our meal. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Rafe climbed the stairs with the same sense of wondering whether the next piece of flak to pierce through the bomber had his name on it. Any second he might hear, “There he is.”

  They made it upstairs. No hand clamped down on his shoulder. No one in the main dining room turned to stare at him. Jennie stood by a table near the door. The woman seated there rose, tilting her head back far enough that he could see her face behind the wide brim. Phyllis. They’d come here to eat. And watch out for him. He would have hugged Jennie, and Phyllis too, but he and Bertil had been speaking German. To maintain their ruse, he had to walk on by.

  As they passed her, Jennie directed her words to Phyllis, but they were meant for him. “Shall we see if the church is open?”

  Rafe set a brisk pace for Tyska Kyrkan. Bertil jogged to keep up.

  “Who was under the big hat with your lady?”

  “Someone from the legation. A good friend. Phyllis is trustworthy.” His words came out in bursts before a stitch in his side slowed him down. They slipped into the church’s back yard. The setting sun cast long deceptive shadows. Rafe spun around at a sudden clatter.

  “Easy. A cat knocked over a watering can.” Bertil prodded him over to a bench. “What’s the worst that might happen?”

  Rafe exhaled hard, drumming his fingers on his knees. “I’ll have to go back to the internment camp in Rättvik. Bertil, I don’t want to leave Jennie now.” His hands stilled. “I love her.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “I didn’t know myself. Not really. I mean I did, but…” He jumped up. “She’s the one, Bertil. She’s the one for me.”

  Bertil chuckled. “I knew that the day I saw you two at Bromma. You should have seen the sappy look in your eyes when she joined us.”

  Rafe glared at his friend, but couldn’t stop a smile that quickly faded. “Where are they? They should be here by now.”

  Before Bertil could comment, they heard quick, light steps, and the girls entered the yard. Jennie nodded to Bertil, but went straight to Rafe. “You need to come see my father. Now.”

  “You can’t go back to your apartment,” Phyllis continued. “They may know your address, and try to find you there.”

  “Before they contact anyone at the legation, you need to report what happened.”

  “Grab the initiative.”

  Rafe’s gaze bounced back and forth between the two. “I’ll have to go back to Rättvik, won’t I?”

  Jennie’s mouth tightened and she blinked rapidly.

  “Maybe not, if you stick to reading the newspapers.” Phyllis sounded hopeful and dubious at the same time.

  Bertil laid a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “I’ll head out first. If I spot them, I’ll try to interfere.” He hesitated. “I hope to see you again soon.” He nodded to the ladies, saying, “City hall has a nice view of the water. I like to go there on Sunday afternoons.”

  Rafe watched him go. They’d spent little time together during the weeks he’d been in Stockholm. Such meetings were risky for Bertil. Saying good-bye turned his dinner into rocks in his stomach. Or maybe the uncertainty deserved the blame. He’d gotten too comfortable in his new life. Now it was over.

  #

  They burst into the Lindquists’ apartment, startling Jennie’s parents.

  “Goodness, now I’ve dropped a stitch.” Mom fussed with her knitting before arching a brow at them. “One would think you were being chased by a herd of wild elephants.”

  “Worse, Mom.” Jennie pressed a hand to her chest. Now that they ceased their hurried pace, all the heat she’d generated had no release. Snapping at Mom wouldn’t help though.

  Dad frowned. He stared at Rafe, who pulled off the glasses and attempted to finger comb his hair back to his usual style. “What happened?”

  Not did something happen. What happened.

  “The police went to the restaurant to arrest Rafe as a spy.”

  Dad’s gaze swung to Rafe, now fiddling with the glasses. “They didn’t recognize you?”

  “No, sir. Jennie warned me, so I was able to leave before they could take a close look at me.”

  They explained their evening, interrupting each other as they sought to include every little detail. Dad’s frown deepened. When they fell silent, he studied them a moment longer before turning his attention to Jennie’s easel and her latest painting, the ten flag-draped caskets in Malmö. His forefinger tapped his lips.

  Dad turned back. “Someone has you under surveillance, Rafe. I think now would be a good time to visit Gothenburg. Isn’t that where you have relatives?”

  Rafe stiffened beside Jennie. “Koster, actually. Maybe eighty miles north of Gothenburg. Although some distant cousins may be in Gothenburg.”

  Dad nodded. “Now would also be a good time to reclaim your German name.” He nodded again. “As for any explanation which the Swedes may demand, what happened tonight is quite straightforward. You, an American citizen who fled Nazi Germany, met up with a German friend while interned here, and enjoyed an evening with him, catching up on old times. Naturally, we knew nothing about the meeting, so as not to endanger your friend’s status.”

  “How…” Jennie had to clear her throat. “How long does he have to stay in Gothenburg?”

  For the first time, Dad smiled. “No longer than a couple weeks, I should think. Time enough for the Swedes to forget about this little clash.”

  A couple weeks. That wasn’t so long. These days most families were separated for months, years. The time would pass quickly. Just think of all the paintings she could work on. She’d outlined in exquisite detail her idea for her exhibit. With no distractions, she’d have plenty of time to plan the layout, write placards, find and fill in any blanks.

  Her hand sought Rafe’s. She’d rather have the distraction.

  “You’ll stay here tonight, Rafe,” Dad was saying, “out of sight until we get you on that train. We’ll contact our office in Gothenburg and have someone meet you at the station.

  #

  Jennie had no chance for a private moment with Rafe before she and Dad left for the legation early the next morning. She’d twisted up her hair and stuffed it into a snood. Mom insisted on fussing with the big bow tying it up. Almost like she knew Jennie wanted a good-bye kiss from Rafe. She had images of him being spirited away as soon as she departed.

  Phyllis joined her at the legation and they immediately began typing their official report. Phyllis’ fingers hovered over the typewriter keys. “What time did they come into the restaurant?”

  “I don’t know. About seven? Sunset
’s at nine fifty-three, when we got to the apartment. Put down seven.” The finished report in hand, Jennie went in search of her dad. He was briefing Mr. Johnson.

  “We’ve received Swedish permission for him to travel to the west coast. His cover story is true. He’s a naturalized American with Swedish roots who fled Germany and is now visiting relatives.”

  Jennie’s hand went slack, and she dropped the report. A short visit with his relatives and he’d be back. Maybe. She decided not to ask if he’d return to Stockholm or Rättvik. And while he was away, she’d limit her OSS activities to encrypting messages and other behind the scenes work.

  Thursday, July 13, 1944

  Jennie had no chance for a private moment with Rafe before she and Dad left for the legation early the next morning. She’d twisted up her hair and stuffed it into a snood. Mom insisted on fussing with the big bow tying it up. Almost like she knew Jennie wanted a good-bye kiss from Rafe. She had images of him being spirited away as soon as she departed.

  Phyllis joined her at the legation and they immediately began typing their official report. Phyllis’ fingers hovered over the typewriter keys. “What time did they come into the restaurant?”

  “I don’t know. About seven? Sunset’s at nine fifty-three, when we got to the apartment. Put down seven.” The finished report in hand, Jennie went in search of her dad. He was briefing Mr. Johnson.

  “We’ve received Swedish permission for him to travel to the west coast. His cover story is true. He’s a naturalized American with Swedish roots who fled Germany and is now visiting relatives.”

  Jennie’s hand went slack, and she dropped the report. A short visit with his relatives and he’d be back. Maybe. She decided not to ask if he’d return to Stockholm or Rättvik. And while he was away, she’d limit her OSS activities to encrypting messages and other behind the scenes work.

  #

  The train chugged through long stretches of forest, spotted here and there with small towns. It looked a lot like the route to Malmö. If nothing else, Rafe was acquiring a thorough acquaintance with Sweden.