While Helberg was away, Nordstrum’s old friend Einar Skinnarland skied up from Vigne and met them at the hut where they were located.
He, Nordstrum, and Jens all exchanged hugs and warmly patted each other on the back, as they hadn’t seen each other since their first days in Britain after commandeering the coastal steamer.
After explaining how the past months had been for him back here and providing some recon himself about the inside of the factory, Einar said to Nordstrum, “Kurt, I’ve something to talk to you about. Can we step outside?”
“Of course.”
The two went out and stood on the snowy ridge on the edge of the iced-in lake. “Look.” He pointed to a stubborn rodent digging out of the snow. “Even in this frozen wilderness, there’s life.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t show his face until we got here with food,” Nordstrum laughed, “or I’m certain the Grouse team would have made him dinner.”
“A little salt and margarine,” Einar shrugged, “yes, not so bad.… Look, Kurt, I’ve got some things to tell you about. On your father…”
A stab of worry shot through Nordstrum. “Is he dead?”
“No. He’s not well, of course, but he’s still around. But he’s been brought in by the police. Luckily, he wasn’t arrested. I’m afraid many in town have been by now.”
“The police? For what? He’s never been political in his life.” Nordstrum chuffed out a disgusted breath. At the same time, he felt a weight in his chest, because in his heart he knew the answer. “Because of me, naturally.”
“Look, no one needs a reason anymore. The NS and the Gestapo have their grips on the whole area. Because you’re his son, that’s all the reason they need. The local militia chief here, Lund … you may remember him from school?”
“Dieter Lund…? That eel. His father was tax collector in Vigne, if I recall?”
“He is an eel, but he’s the eel of the local Gestapo chief, Muggenthaler, now. You remember how he always sat in the back of the class, never saying a word. A real ass-sniffer, who always thought he was smarter than everyone else. Well, a uniform has only made him more so, only far more dangerous. And from what I hear, he seems to have a real wart on his ass for you.”
“Me?”
“About that mess on the ferry last year when you came back to Rjukan. Someone must have talked.”
“The Hird…” Nordstrum recalled. An impulsive act, he always knew. One that one day might come back to haunt him. And now it had.
His father wouldn’t survive a week in jail.
“Look, even rats come to the defense of their own,” Einar said, “and this one is one of the worst. Anyway, the good news is your father’s still on the farm, not in the basement of the police station in town. Or shipped out to Grini yet, where he would stand no chance. But who knows how long he has? We looked in on him from time to time, brought him some food. But he was under constant watch. After a while it simply became too dangerous.”
Nordstrum put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I appreciate that, Einar. You’ve been a good friend. And you’ve nothing to apologize for.”
“My wife.” Einar pushed back his wavy, dark hair. “She brings out all my best qualities. You should find one yourself one day. When all this subsides. I mean—” He stopped, looked at Nordstrum with a sniff of apology. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I didn’t mean to bring all that up.”
“No apologies necessary. And be certain I’ll look into it,” Nordstrum said with a half smile, “if after this is over I’m still around.”
“If we’re all still around.” Einar nodded in agreement. “Our transmissions are becoming harder to conceal. The Germans have their W/T trucks sniffing everywhere. Especially in town. And this raid will be no sail on the lake, you know that? Anyway, I’m sorry to have to tell you this news.”
“Thanks.” Nordstrum patted his friend on the shoulder. “I wonder if there’s a way to get him out?”
“He’s under constant watch and in poor health. Where would you take him? And it’s not as if you don’t have enough going on here.”
“Of course.” Nordstrum kicked the snow off his boot. “I meant after.”
“After…?” Einar stared, probing for his meaning. Afterward, he’d be on the run. To Sweden. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something I need to tell you too. Something Tronstad asked of me. When this is all finished. But look, there’s Claus returning from town.” With a wave, Helberg had pulled himself up the last ridge to the cabin. “Let’s hear if he’s found a way to get us near the plant, or if tomorrow, we’ll all be dead on that bridge.”
33
Before they left that night, they went over the plans one last time.
Ronneberg said to Nordstrum, “Once we get into the high-concentration room with the explosives, Kurt, you’re in charge. We’ve estimated it should take what to do the job…?”
“Seven minutes,” Nordstrum confirmed. They had done the drill at least a hundred times in England on exact replicas of the factory and compressors. “Depending, of course, on what else we encounter in there.”
“Of course. The only sure sign that the charges have gone off will be the sound of the explosion. By then, if all goes well, we should all be out of the building. The password for withdrawal, as you all know, is…”
“Piccadilly,” Hans Storhaug said.
“And the reply?”
“The reply is Leicester Square.”
“Good. Should anything happen to me or upset the plan, everyone must act on his own, with the one goal in mind to complete the mission. If we’re detected, or if the alarm is sounded in any way, the covering party will attack the German guards immediately.”
Poulsson, Gutterson, and Storhaug nodded.
“The demolition party will concentrate on getting inside the plant no matter what it encounters, but if they’re killed or disabled before the plant is reached, the covering party will take over the placing of the explosives. All that matters is someone must arrive at the objective to do the job.”
It was basically an admission that they would all die trying to complete the operation.
Poulsson nodded again. “We’ll be there.”
“And finally, just to repeat what we were all told in Britain, Hitler has ordered every commando or saboteur, whether in uniform or not, to be interrogated and shot. So if any man is wounded or about to be taken prisoner, you have your pills. I know it’s a bitter thought, but in the end, it’s pretty much the same outcome.”
It was one thing to talk about suicide in the highlands of Avainaire when it was just a concept that might never come to fact, another thing entirely when you knew that many in the room might not make it through the night. But the truth remained: If you were injured, there was virtually no chance of making it back up to the vidda, much less all the way to Sweden.
“Count me in,” said Poulsson, with a drag from his pipe, standing up and turning toward the window.
“Me as well,” said Nordstrum. In effect, it was the same result. Might as well spare yourself the pain.