“Urgent. Need information on current IMI status.” IMI was the code name SOE used for heavy water.
Gradually, information leaked from the plant. One of Einar’s sources secretly met with him at the market in Vigne. He told him the stocks of heavy water in the high-concentration room had suffered no damage at all. The processors and the canisters of finished inventory were untouched. However, he told him, the hydroelectric power station had been struck, incapacitating the massive turbines that produced the power for the D2O electrolysis process to take place. Given the vast amount of power needed to run the processors and the Allies’ ongoing effort to destroy them, the engineers ultimately decided that further repairs and construction to continue the operations would be pointless.
“By all accounts, heavy water production put on hold,” Nordstrum radioed back to England. Further distillation was now stopped. Still, there was adequate finished inventory already stored there that continued to pose a real problem. And by draining the cells, Einar’s source told him, the Germans were able to almost double the amount of “juice” in their possession, even though not all of it was fully concentrated, giving them close to eleven thousand pounds.
*
Nordstrum traveled to the town of Porgrum at the end of January and met with a representative from Milorg, the Norwegian underground, which his own small network of agents was now a part of.
“It’s possible they will try to move what they have,” he told the Milorg man, whose name was Rolf and who was from Oslo. “Once it leaves the area, it will have to be put on trains and ships. Perhaps you have contacts on the docks?”
“Contacts, yes, but trained agents…? That’s a whole other thing. Plus, the docks and train station are closely watched by the Germans. How large a shipment are we talking?”
“Twenty to thirty drums. Maybe more. Several truckloads. They’ll have everyone they have protecting it. And they won’t exactly be telegraphing the time and place when they move it. Or how.”
“Maybe the Brits can bomb it from the air?” Rolf suggested. “Or attack the ship.”
“We’ve already seen the wisdom of that. We can likely let you know when it’s on the move.” Nordstrum got up. “The rest…?” He shrugged, helpless. “It would be wise to get your men on the docks alerted.”
“So what the hell is this stuff anyway?” Rolf asked as he put out his cigarette. “Heavy water?”
“All I know is, we lost thirty-six lives trying to eliminate it. Ask London if you want to know, but they won’t tell you any more.”
59
On his way back to Rjukan, Nordstrum took the ferry up the Heddasvat to Nottogen. He was dressed in a calfskin jacket and thick wool sweater. His hair had grown out a bit and these days he sported a light beard and fake wire-rim glasses.
The day was clear and the trip calm, the mountains reflecting off the water’s ice-blue surface. Nordstrum leaned on the railing in the stern deck with a smoke. He had seen a few Hirden on board, but it was worth the risk, he decided, for a few moments simply to enjoy the view. It had been a year since the Norsk Hydro sabotage, and his face was no longer on most people’s minds.
A woman came out to stand near him to take in the view from the deck. She was pretty, in her early twenties, he thought, in a stylish purple wool shawl. A woman of some means, he assumed, and taste. Her brown hair was blown by the breeze, and she grabbed at her brimmed hat to keep it from being swept into the lake. Taste perhaps, but not wisdom, he chuckled to himself. A Norwegian woman would have known better.
She let out a cry as without warning her hat fell out of her grasp and blew toward the railing. Nordstrum took a quick step to his left and blocked it with his foot at the railing.
“Madame,” he said in Norwegian, as he picked it up, brushed it off, and presented it back to her.
“Tussen tak,” the woman said with an appreciative smile, in what Nordstrum perceived as a Germanic accent. She went to pin it back on and Nordstrum gave her a slight shake of his head, to suggest, given the breezy conditions, perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea. “Bist du Deutscher?” he inquired.
“Nein. Oustereichsch,” she replied. Austrian. “Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
“Nein, I’m afraid.” Nordstrum shook his head again.
“Fran?ais?”
“Juste un peu.” He shook his head again. “English, perhaps?”
“Yes, English, a little,” she said, nodding. “I guess it was clear I am not Norwegian,” she admitted, a glimmer of embarrassment in her pretty brown eyes.
“Well, yes, a Norwegian woman would never step out on deck without a firm grasp on her hat, that’s true. A clear giveaway,” Nordstrum said.
“Ah…” She smiled. “Next time I shall be in the know.”
“And if you are trying to appear Norwegian,” Nordstrum looked down, “I’m sorry, but such shoes, though stylish, will not do you much good in the snow, which can come up at the snap of your fingers,” he said with a smile of his own.
“Yes.” She looked down too. Her short black leather boots might be comfortable for a long journey, but … “Even in Austria, you are right on that. But I took a chance on the day.”
“You are a long way from home,” Nordstrum shrugged, “so it’s forgivable. Where are you heading?”
“Nottogen,” she said, pronouncing it with a hard g, in the German manner.
“Nottogen,” he corrected her gently.
“Nottogen…” she said again.
“Spoken like a true Norwegian. And what’s in Nottogen, if I may ask? There’s not much there but a whaling museum and lots and lots of lutefisk.”
“I am accompanying my grandfather, who’s inside. He’s a cellist. His name is August Ritter. Perhaps you know of him? We’re here for a series of concerts in Norway. Do you know music?”
“I played the clarinet as a boy. Terribly, I should say. Finally they simply barred me from continuing.”
“You clearly moved on to football goalie then, I see. You showed great skill in saving my poor hat.”
“I merely put out my foot and it stuck.” Nordstrum shrugged modestly. “A lucky grab.”
“Well, it impressed me. Actually my grandfather is quite well known. He’s played with the Vienna Philharmonic. Nottogen,” she pronounced it correctly now, “is our third stop of the tour. We’ve already been to Oslo and Sognefjord.”
“And how long will you be in Nottogen?” Nordstrum asked. “I don’t think of it as a center of music in Norway.”
“Actually, the German Army sponsors his tour. We’ll be there three days only. And from there we go on to Rjukan.”
“Rjukan…” Nordstrum replied with curiosity.
“Do you know it? I hear it is very chilly there.”
“It’s chilly everywhere in Norway. But Rjukan has a climate of its own, you’re right. I’m afraid you’ll have to retire those pretty shoes for good, if you’ll be there for any time.”
“I have boots with me as well. And we’ll stay a week. He performs two concerts there. One for the army. The other for the townspeople. He insisted on that.”
“At the King Edvard Hall?”