“This one I strongly advise you to make,” the caller said. “All the best players in town will be there.”
Larsen hesitated as long as he could. Even he didn’t know just how he would answer. Finally he drew in a short breath and asked under his breath, “Where?”
“Usual place. How does eight o’clock sound?”
“Eight o’clock,” Larsen muttered, pretending to scribble it down.
“So can we count on you, Chief Larsen? Seats are filling quickly.”
Larsen gave an eye to the captain and turned a page in his report. “I’ll do my best to be there.”
“Your best, Chief Engineer…?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.” He hung up.
“What was that, Herr Larsen?” Stauber, a short, pasty-faced policeman from Dresden, so chubby he looked out of place in his black Gestapo uniform, looked up from his workstation. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“Just bridge, Herr Major.” The engineer clared his throat, wiping the film of sweat off his forehead.
“Bridge…?” the German questioned.
“Yes, Herr Captain, bridge. Do you play?”
“No, Chief Engineer. I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It is quite a welcome distraction from all the work. You should learn sometime.”
*
That evening, Larsen remained at his desk until a quarter of eight, a few minutes after his Gestapo watchdog finally grew so bored or hungry he called it a night. Larsen, checking the time that seemed to move at a snail’s pace at least a dozen times, was not sure, until the very moment he cleaned his desk and packed up his briefcase, what he would do.
He could easily not attend. They had no leverage to make him. Surely that would be the far safer course.
In the end he filed his reports away and slipped a paper from a folder marked PRIVATE BUSINESS into his jacket pocket. He said good-bye to the night manager as he always did, and drove to the Kjellssons’, home of a chemical engineer on his staff, a short distance from the plant, where they held a regular game each Saturday night.
He pulled his Opel up to the stone house, checking that no one had followed, and cut the ignition. He had a throbbing in his chest that said he was crossing a line, his heart readily stepping over, but his body unwilling to move.
That was when the passenger door opened and the man he had met with two weeks before slipped into the seat across from him.
“Sorry to disappoint, Chief Engineer, but I’m afraid tonight’s game has been canceled.”
“You’re playing with fire to contact me that way. You know I’m being watched?”
Nordstrum said, “We’re all being watched these days, Chief Larsen. And yet you are here.”
“I came merely to tell you to back off from contacting me at the office. Security is far too tight.”
“Did you now? I believe you came because you know precisely what it is we need to know from you. The stocks of deuterium oxide are being transferred back to Germany. And I believe you know how? And when?”
Larsen blew out air from his nose and rested his head back on the seat.
“Time is short, Chief Larsen, and there’s no point in misplaced loyalties to people who may well shoot you after it’s gone for as much as you know.”
“Yes.” He finally blew out a breath. “It is leaving. On Saturday, I think.”
“You cannot think, Chief Engineer. We must be sure.”
“On Saturday,” he said again, firmer.
Four days.
“Is there enough of it for them to do the job?” Nordstrum pressed.
“You mean build a weapon?” Larsen looked at him and shrugged. “I’m a chemical engineer,” he said, “not an atomic scientist. You’ll have to ask that question to your friend Tronstad in England. But they have a hundred and fifty-seven canisters of the juice. Some, the highest level of concentration, others in more diluted form, which needs to be further refined. They’ll be moving them from the factory by train in large chemical drums marked POTASH LYE, so as not to attract attention. Then put on the ferry to Tinnoset.”
By train. Heavily guarded no doubt. It would be tough for a small team to destroy it. “Can we get to them beforehand?”
“You mean at the plant?” Larsen shook his head. “Not a chance. That time has passed. Security is way too high. They’ve brought in crack SS units to oversee things, not those misfits like before. Everyone has someone watching them, even me. You can’t even get near the high-concentration room these days without a permit. You’d need an army to get explosives in.”
“Then we need to know the route. You say it will leave by train. Train to where?”
“I told you the last time.…” The chief engineer brushed the hair off his forehead, sweat running down his neck. “I’m not the hero you’re looking for.”
“No one’s looking for a hero, Chief Larsen. Only for someone who is not afraid to stand up and do what needs to be done. The train to where, I asked?”
Larsen took off his glasses and let a long breath escape from his cheeks. He snorted almost wistfully. “You know, all I ever wanted to do was sit behind a desk with my numbers. I like numbers. How things fit together. They’re fixed and patently without an outside agenda. My whole life, only they’ve been my real friends. I never even wanted this job.”
“I’m sorry for how fate puts us where we least intend to be.” Nordstrum waited impatiently.
Larsen remained silent for a while, his eyes focused straight ahead. Then he finally reached into his jacket with a kind of philosophical smile. “I’ll probably be shot for this.…” He handed Nordstrum a paper.
Nordstrum scanned it quickly. It had a swastika on the top, and was marked FOR THE EYES OF RESTRICTED PERSONNEL ONLY. STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. He only read the first few lines, folded it back up, and handed it back to Larsen.
“Keep it. I made a copy.”
Nordstrum smiled. “You may not yet be a hero,” he put his hand on the chief engineer’s shoulder, “but you’re getting commendably close.”
“Now let me go. Shame, I could use a night of bridge. But we can’t just sit out here all night.”
“Before you do, I’m letting you know, we may still need more.”
“I’ve given you what you need. There is no more.” He looked at Nordstrum testily. “Now it’s up to you to do what you have to.”
“You more than anyone know the importance of this, should this cargo find its way back to Germany.”
Larsen looked at him, blood exiting his face. He nodded. “I honestly don’t know if I’m capable of doing more.”
“In the end, you may surprise yourself, Chief Larsen. We go as far as we think we can—and when the situation demands it, we go just a bit farther. That’s all it is.”
“Sounds so easy.” The plant engineer sniffed. “Living up to it is another matter. Now please get out. I won’t be any help to anyone if the Nazis find you here.”
Nordstrum cracked open the door. “We’ll be in touch again. You know that, right?”