“No!” The boy wrenched free.
Mrs. Levin caught hold of his jacket collar and spun him back to Sorena. “Please. I want him safe.”
Sorena pulled the rigid boy to her, trapping him within the circle of her arms, then returned her attention to his mother. But before she could question her, the frantic woman pushed Sorena and the boy back into the room and slammed the door in their faces.
“Lock it,” came her muffled hiss from the other side.
Shoving the bolt home, Sorena retreated from the entrance, practically dragging the dark-haired boy to the small kitchen table and chairs abutting the space between the two windows. She took hold of his bony shoulders and shoved him into one of the chairs, then pulled the other chair over and sat so she could directly face his rebellious umber eyes. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“The Nazis. They’re coming for us tonight.”
“I don’t understand. Your father’s been bedridden since I moved in. What could they possibly want with him?”
“We’re Jews. They’re coming to take us away tonight. Every Jew in the city. Mama said they won’t check your room because you’re not a Jew.”
“They can’t do that. They agreed not to …” She didn’t finish what would have been an idiotic statement. All summer the Germans had been tightening their grip on the Danes, passing edict after edict, enforcing a curfew. No pretense remained when they disbanded the Danes’ small army, confiscating their weapons. And now the Nazis were going to do here what they’d done in every other country they’d occupied: ruthlessly strip all the Jews of their worldly goods and ship them off to some distant slave labor camp.
But Shimon’s father was dying of cancer. Surely even the heartless Nazis would see no profit in taking this small family. Yet when it came to the Gestapo, Sorena knew firsthand the evil they were capable of perpetrating.
She took the boy’s hands. “Who told you the Gestapo was coming?”
The contortion of fear and hatred made his thin face look years older. “Mr. Goldstein from downstairs warned us a little while ago, but Papa’s fever is up again, and he can’t be moved. Papa tried to get Mama to take me and go with them, but she wouldn’t leave him. She tried to send me.” His eyes narrowed. “But I ran down the street and hid until I saw the Goldsteins sneaking away down the alley with their suitcases.”
“No wonder your mother is so upset. You should have gone with them.”
“I’m not leaving Mama. She needs me to help take care of Papa. I’m the one who goes out to buy food and fetch the doctor when Papa gets bad and …”
The drone of an engine and truck tires rumbling across the cobblestones carried through the window. Then the terrifying sound of screeching brakes.
Gripping Shimon’s arm, Sorena moved with him to the window and inched the blackout curtain aside enough to peek.
Nazi soldiers poured off the back of a covered military truck, their rifle barrels reflecting the red of the vehicle’s taillights. They charged toward the apartment building’s entrance.
Sorena pulled Shimon tight against her.
The clatter and scrape of numerous boots filled the entry hall. The soldiers were inside! Pounding, banging on a door two flights below. Angry shouts echoed up the stairwell.
“They’re at the Goldsteins’ apartment!” Shimon’s voice pitched high with fear.
Sorena covered his mouth with her hand.
His body jerked as they heard wood splintering, the crash of glass, furniture smashed against walls.
More shouts. Boot steps stampeding up the stairs. They were coming.
“Get under the bed,” Sorena demanded, trying not to let her fear paralyze her. She pulled Shimon toward the single bed along the side wall.
He balked, struggling to free himself. “No. I have to go. Mama.”
“No. You’re to stay with me.” She pinned him against her.
“Ma—” His shout was stopped by Sorena’s hand.
She wrestled him down on her bed just as she heard the soldiers crash through the Levins’s door.
Shouted demands, some in Danish, some in different German dialects, spilled over each other in a wild jumble.
“When they see how sick your father is,” Sorena whispered fast into Shimon’s ear, “I’m sure they’ll leave them there.” Lord, let it be true, she added silently. Mr. Levin was much too ill to walk, much less be anyone’s slave.
The shrill shouting of Mrs. Levin ripped through the adjoining wall. “He’s sick! He’s sick! Don’t touch him!”
Sorena pulled Shimon to her chest and covered both the boy’s ears, wishing she could shield her own against the strident jumble of male shouts, the barrage of smashing furniture, and the shattering of glass.
Then, as quickly as the soldiers stormed in, they left, accompanied by more shouts and loud clomping. Gradually the noise faded away.
Although the boy struggled to free himself, Sorena continued to hold him until she heard the grinding of gears from the street below, then the receding rumble of the truck.
Once she loosed her grip, however, Shimon sprinted for the entrance, wrenching the bolt aside and flinging wide the door. “Mama! Papa!” Before Sorena could reach him, he ran to his apartment.
She followed close on his heels, then almost bumped into him as he stopped, frozen just inside the room.
The apartment resembled a newsreel she’d once seen of the destruction left by an American tornado. Everything was overturned and smashed. Broken glass crunched beneath their feet.
“Mama!” Shimon again shot into action. Frantically he raced around the room, flinging blankets and clothes aside, lifting mattresses in search of his parents. Then with one quick look at the front window, he dashed out of the apartment. “Mama!”
Sorena charged after him.
People living in the rooms across the hall had ventured out as far as their threshold, their expressions mirroring Sorena’s own distress.
“Stop him!” she cried out. “Stop that boy!”
But before the neighbors could react, Shimon sped down the first flight.
Sorena went after him, taking two steps at a time. She had to catch him before he reached the bottom.
She didn’t. He slammed out the ground-floor entry several yards ahead of her.
Reaching the sidewalk, she knew he’d be following the truck. She stretched out her legs, gaining speed as she’d done in school competitions. But this was a far more important race. The child’s very life depended on her winning.
Axel Christiansen rode the brake and clutch pedals of his sedan, slowing to a crawl as he searched for Britta Garbor’s home. In the darkness, the crowded town houses all looked alike. It was vital he and his accomplice get to the party at General von Hanneken’s mansion early. Axel turned the steering wheel until his tires hugged the curb, hoping the auto’s hooded headlamps would illuminate Britta’s green door. Tonight of all nights it was imperative to mingle with the Nazi High Command from the moment the first guests arrived, gleaning every possible scrap of information. Better yet, they needed to keep the Third Reich so amused that the high-ranking officers would neglect to check on the progress of their odious orders.
From behind, Axel heard the sound of running footsteps. He swiveled around and saw a young boy running hard, as if for his very life. The boy had curly black hair, so typical of a Jewish child. The roundup of the Jews must have already begun.
Fully aware of the danger, Axel reached across and opened the passenger door, shoving it wide. “Boy! Get in!”
Too late. The youngster had already shot past.
More rapid footsteps. A woman, her overcoat flapping out behind her, ran with equal fervor several yards behind the boy.
“Quick! Get in!” Axel shouted. He couldn’t let the Gestapo seize them. “We’ll catch him up ahead.”
Her breathing labored, she glanced his way. An instant later, she was beside him. “Go! Fast!” Fiercely she motioned him forward.
Axel tromped
on the gas pedal, and within seconds they were gaining on the boy … Axel, dressed in his tailored tuxedo, and this frantic redhead with much of her hair tumbled from its pins.
The boy rounded a corner.
They followed, and a second later the sedan nosed ahead of the fleeing child.
“Get him now.” Axel smashed down on the brake and clutch.
The woman leaped out and blocked the boy’s path.
He dodged past her.
She was just as quick. Catching him around the waist, she swung him into the auto.
Axel grabbed the youngster’s arm and pulled him to the middle as the woman slid onto the seat.
“No!” the boy rasped as he gasped for air. “Mama … the truck. See?”
Axel’s gaze followed where the boy pointed. A short half block ahead the red taillights of a German military truck punctured the darkness. In his preoccupation, Axel hadn’t noticed the truck.
Two soldiers stood at the back, their rifles aimed toward the interior of the large army transport. Other soldiers disappeared inside a building.
“Climb over the seat,” Axel blurted. “Get down low.”
The woman didn’t have to be told twice. Surprisingly agile in the limited space, she tossed the boy over, then followed, pulling him down to the floorboard with her.
Axel knew that if he turned the sedan around, it would look suspicious, and the driver of the truck would likely give chase. He’d get the numbers off Axel’s license plate even if he couldn’t catch the much faster auto. Axel also knew that his stopping a half block short of the truck didn’t look much better, but he could easily conjure some plausible excuse. He’d spent the past three years smooth-talking his way around the Germans.
“Cover your heads with your coats,” he said over his shoulder to the two on the floorboard. He then pressed down on the gas pedal while easing off the clutch, moving the sedan slowly toward the truck, hoping against hope they would not order him to halt. “If they stop us, don’t breathe,” he whispered, keeping the movement of his mouth to a minimum.
The woman rose up just behind him. “What did you say?”
Suddenly Axel’s back door flew open.
“The kid! Don’t let go of—”
The boy dove out onto the street. “Mama!”
The soldiers wheeled around.
Chapter 2
The soldiers’ flashlights zeroed in on Axel’s face, blinding him.
“Go!” the woman shouted as the car’s back door slammed shut. “I’ve got the boy!”
Axel floor-boarded the sedan, swerving past the beams of light.
“Halt!” a soldier shouted. “Halt, or I will shoot!”
“Get down!” Axel raced through the intersection, then quickly shifted into second gear, striving to reach the next corner and turn before the Nazis fired.
A bullet exploded through the rear window, spraying the interior with glass.
His passengers screamed.
“Are you hurt?”
Another shot pierced the trunk.
The corner.
Axel slammed on the brake and skidded around it.
More screams came from the backseat as the vehicle tilted onto only two wheels … tipping … tipping …
A breathless moment later, the auto righted itself with a thud, and Axel shifted into high gear, resuming top speed. He glanced in the rearview mirror and beyond the shattered window to see if the military truck still pursued. He’d have to resort to shifting down whenever he needed to reduce speed. His taillights would be a dead giveaway.
Seeing no sign of headlamps, he relaxed slightly. “You never answered. Are either of you injured?”
“Shimon, are you hurt?” the woman asked.
No immediate answer came. Had the boy been killed?
Grabbing hold of Axel’s seat back, the boy popped up and screamed into his ear. “No. Let me out! My mama’s in that truck!”
The woman wrenched him away. “Your mama told me to keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do. If she’d wanted you to go with her, she would’ve taken you.”
Through the mirror, Axel made out the shadowy figures of the two as the woman forced the tense child onto her lap and held him tight, speaking in soothing tones.
“I know you’re afraid right now, Shimon. But the best thing you can do for your mother and father is to be safe, so they don’t have to worry about you. It’s very, very important to your parents. Please don’t take that away from them.”
A pair of headlights suddenly haloed their silhouettes. The truck?
“Hold on!” Axel veered to the left and rounded the next corner. He pushed in the headlamp button, sending the street into instant darkness, then turned right.
The next few minutes passed with no sign of another vehicle.
“Watch for a phone booth,” he called back to the pair. “It’s imperative I call my family. They have to be warned.”
“Why? I doubt the soldiers could identify a man inside a car on such a dark night.”
“They recognized me, all right. I own one of the few Cadillac sedans in Denmark.”
“I see.”
Axel detected the same disdain in her voice he’d heard from others who assumed he was a collaborator getting rich off the war.
“Stop!” she blurted. “We just passed a telephone booth.”
Axel slammed down on the pedal. “Which side of the street?”
“Left.”
He turned around, then threw the gear into neutral and set the emergency brake. “Stay put,” he ordered and hurried to the booth. Keeping watch on the unpredictable pair, he fumbled for coins, dropping one before he managed to insert another into the slot.
“Operator.”
“Konig 5083, please.”
He drummed his fingers on the icy instrument, waiting what seemed ages for someone to answer. He glanced down the street for any vehicle lights.
“Hello,” his sister, Annelise, answered in her lilting voice.
“Hi, sis. I need to talk to Erik. Now.”
“What’s the matter? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” As always, she had read the urgency in his voice.
“Just get him, will you? Please.”
After a short pause, Annelise’s husband spoke. “What’s up, Doc?” he asked, carelessly slipping into English, their native tongue.
Axel answered in Danish, always Danish. The Nazis must never know he’d spent most of his life in the United States. “I think I’ve been exposed. The Gestapo are bound to come search the house. There’s no time to waste.”
Erik took in a swift breath. Axel knew that as an undercover agent for the U.S. Army, his brother-in-law understood full well the danger.
“There’s a stash of money,” Axel continued, “hidden in my leather jacket in the armoire. Take it and head down to the fisherman’s dock where the Jews are being taken across to Sweden tonight.”
“You’ll meet us at the pier?”
“No. I can’t chance leading the soldiers to you. I’ll lie low somewhere for the next day or so and meet up with you at Grams’s cousin’s in Lund. Now go. Don’t give Grams or Annelise time to think about it. Just tell them they have to put on their coats and walk out the back door. God be with you.”
“And with you. Be careful. Don’t get yourself killed.”
Somewhere in the distance Axel heard shouts and a gunshot. The Germans were having a busy night.
Fortunately, this street was still dark and quiet as a shroud. But there was no time to lose. He hurried back to the sedan.
The interior light came on when Sorena’s good Samaritan opened the driver’s door and leaned in, glancing at her and Shimon. Getting the first clear view of her rescuer, she saw he was exceptionally handsome—far more so than a man had a right to be—tall, tanned, blond, and impeccably attired in a rich man’s clothes. A white scarf was tossed carelessly around his neck and back over a shoulder, making him look like some silly film star. Sorena hoped he had more brains
than one of those vain peacocks.
“The Gestapo is rounding up every Jew in the city tonight,” he said, stating the obvious. “Is there anyone you’d like to call and warn? Your family?”
That, at least, was thoughtful. “No, I’m new in the city. Besides, I’m not a Jew. I was just helping a neighbor.”
“Oh. Well then, if they don’t know who you are, I’ll keep the boy with me and return you to whatever building you live in. They won’t expect me to show up so soon in that area.”
“I wish it were that easy,” she countered, “but no one ever misses this flaming red hair of mine. I’m as recognizable as you and your fancy clothes. Besides, I live right next door to Shimon’s apartment. Since they’ve just ransacked it, they’ll know exactly where to go back to look for him … and me, for helping.”
“I want them to catch me,” Shimon spewed, trying to squirm free of her hold. “I want them to take me to my mama. She needs me.”
“Even if you were able to catch up to them,” the gorgeous man said, turning his attention to the boy, “the soldiers wouldn’t let you stay with your mother, kid. They’d send you to a different work camp. Wouldn’t it be better to be on the outside so you can help us find a way to rescue your parents?”
Shimon’s chocolate eyes widened with hope. “You’re gonna rescue them?”
The man’s features softened. “We’ll do everything we can.”
But then, Sorena conceded wryly, he could afford to dispense hope lavishly—he’d had no problem seeing to his own people’s safety. “I just wish my family on Fyn was rich enough to have a telephone, like yours, so I could warn them.”
At the slight crinkling of his brow, she knew her barb had hit its mark. Not that she didn’t have good reason to strike out at him and his kind. Many was the night she and her family had gone to bed hungry, while he, no doubt, had been sporting around, going to elegant parties, gorging on extravagant spreads of food. Still, she would need to be more careful … at least until he drove them to safety. “From your conversation with your family—”
“You eavesdropped?”
A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection Page 40
