The lobby was jammed, both with those in German uniforms and civilians, some seeking licenses that had to be approved by the German authorities, others petitioning about family members who were being detained there. On a bulletin board Nordstrum saw a poster with photos of those on the run. Of himself and Jens—both from far younger days and clean shaven, bold letters underneath. WANTED. FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE STATE. 5,000 KRONEN REWARD. But here it was clear that everyone was far too concerned about their own business to even be thinking of looking for a familiar face.
At the reception desk, a German clerk was doing his best, in broken Norwegian, to calm a woman who could not find a family member, a Hirden officer translating her rant as fast as he could. There was a broad, carpeted staircase that led to the higher floors—the building was only three stories, but still one of the most prominent in Rjukan. A red swastika banner hung boldly from the rafters. Up that staircase, Nordstrum knew, was where the real architects of all the reprisals and crimes against the state were: this Dieter Lund, whom Einar had spoken of, and whom Nordstrum recalled from his youth. And Muggenthaler, the chief of the local Gestapo.
Under the staircase, Nordstrum noticed a door that clearly led to a basement. As he watched, a burly sergeant stepped out from it, rolled down his sleeves as if he had been doing some grimy work, and headed upstairs.
He realized the man had come from the cells that contained his father.
He cased the room and quickly calculated that it wouldn’t take that much to pull it off. Most things didn’t take much more than the will and the daring to do it. At night, there would likely be only a few guards. He only needed a partner to help him take out whoever was in the lobby, silently if they could, and make their way downstairs. How many guards could there be? He’d need one more man in the car outside, waiting. He knew Ox would be happy to volunteer. He noticed a rear entrance down a hall, a single guard manning it, that led onto Kveg Street.
Still, he was building his network for the good of the Allied cause, not for personal vendettas.
And, as Einar said, his father was infirm. Even if he could get him out of the cell and away, where could he take him? On the vidda? His father would never be able to make the climb. Out of the region? After such a brazen act, the two roads in and out of town would be shut down within five minutes. Put him up in a friendly basement somewhere? For the duration of the war? That would be the same as jail to him. Cooping him up. Besides, they wouldn’t get halfway to Vigne.
And then there would be reprisals, of course. Even if they did get away, many innocent people would surely pay. How many other Anna-Lisettes would there be on his conscience? Because of his will to free his father. And his hatred for those who had taken him.
Like Einar said, Don’t do something stupid, Kurt. There was still work to do. And you are needed. His father was always his own man. He probably wouldn’t even come along, knowing he would be a burden. Nordstrum could see him stubbornly remaining in his cell, refusing to leave. An ox to the end.
Best to just get out of here. You’d be mad to risk it.
As he turned to leave, Nordstrum’s attention was grabbed by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.
*
Dieter Lund headed from his office down to the lobby, set to inspect the new security procedures for the dam at Mosvatn, which, after the raid at Norsk Hydro, he and Gestapo chief Muggenthaler had mapped out personally. With him was his aide, Lieutenant Norberg of the NS, and, a step behind, the chief security engineer, Oren Karsten, an asthmatic sycophant pushed on him by Muggenthaler, who was always pratting around with his papers and charts. Lund’s staff car was waiting outside.
While over the past weeks they had been unable to apprehend a single one of the saboteurs directly involved in the Norsk Hydro bombing, they had rounded up dozens of potential troublemakers in town. Their jail was overflowing with them. Also, there was word from the Gestapo of recent observed activity on the vidda. New signs of radio signals transmitted. Single tracks spotted, to and from certain huts. If someone was up there, sooner or later he’d make a mistake. They’d catch him. There were troop increases all over. It was only a matter of time before they ran into him.
Even if it was Kurt Nordstrum, who everyone claimed was so crafty, as Lund was certain it was.
“Captain, this diagram shows the new mine pattern at the dam…” Karsten, the engineer, said, following Lund as they went down the stairs. “Perhaps we can review it on the way?”
“Yes, yes.” Lund waved the engineer off, coming down the last flight into the crowded lobby. The man had the breath of someone who had downed a tin of cat food for lunch, and was always so overbearingly obsequious with his pages of charts and diagrams.
The lobby was unusually crowded this morning. It would be pleasing to take a drive in the country to inspect the dam just to get away from this nest of influence seekers, even for just a few hours.
“Please, make way, coming through.” Lieutenant Norberg pushed through the crowd to create some space. Lund’s eyes fell over those waiting in long lines to have their grievances heard, or who had been called here to act as a witness or make a deposition. Or those clamoring uselessly on and on about the disappearance of a loved one.
“Captain, please, I beg you…,” someone said, spotting someone in command.
“Sorry. No time. Please put in your request.” Lund brushed by them. The woman in an eiderdown coat. The tall man in a gray wool cap. Just cattle. He went past them toward the entrance where his car was waiting for him and—
He stopped.
He’d nearly gotten to the front door when the face he had just passed suddenly came clear in his mind. An image, like a frame spinning into focus in a film, a film from years ago. Spinning, then coming perfectly clear.
Lund spun around.
The man was gone.
“Norberg, that man in the hat,” he said. “Did you see him?”
“What man, Captain?”
Lund looked back across the lobby. “In a navy seaman’s jacket. Gray wool cap.” He headed back through the crowd. “He was just there. A moment ago.”
It had been many years, of course. Six, seven? But there was something. Something in the eyes he just saw. Something that transported Lund back through those years. He was here? Impossible, Lund thought. It would be an act of complete audacity. Only a fool would dare.
A fool, or someone plotting something.
He must have learned that his father was in the cells below.
“Lieutenant, there was a man with a navy coat and gray hat standing there just a moment ago. He must have gone out the back. Find him!”
“Yes, Captain.” Norberg took out his gun and blew his whistle. Three sharp shrills.
The crowd in the lobby quickly parted. Lund and Norberg pushed their way through, elbowing by a woman in a long coat who was in the way. “Let us through.”
Down a narrow hall there was a short set of stairs leading to the back entrance, which he had to have gone down.
They ran out into the street and scanned both directions. Norberg had his gun out and the whistle in his mouth, prepared to call the alarm.
The street was empty.
A German guard stood at the door. “Hauptman, a man in a navy coat just left through here a moment ago. Did you see him?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the guard said. “I saw no such man.”