“Kurt, what are you doing? You can’t go back there now.” Gutterson read Nordstrum’s plans on his face. “You’ll have no chance. The place is swarming with Germans. The boat is going to sink, Kurt. There’s nothing you can do for her now, no matter how badly you want to. We have to go. Otherwise we’ll all be trapped here.”
“You’re a good soldier, Eric.” Nordstrum cast him a sage smile, the same slightly prophetic smile he had seen on Ox’s face only hours ago. That said they both knew what was truly in store ahead, but still were helpless to change the outcome. “Get Larsen out. With any luck, I’ll see you on the vidda.”
“You won’t be there, you know,” Gutterson said, almost with anger in his voice. “You’ll be shot. Or worse, caught. And then interrogated. This was an order, Kurt. From Tronstad. I beg you to think hard on this. The war’s not over. You’re a soldier and they still need you.”
You won’t be there. Words he’d heard before. From Anna-Lisette.
But this time he would.
“The order was to blow up the shipment, Eric,” Nordstrum said, “and nothing’s changed on that. It will go down as planned.” He dug his poles into the snow and pushed off a few yards. “And you should show some faith. I just might surprise you, Yank. And if not…” He tapped the pocket on his parka. “I still have my pill. Do you have yours?
“Sorry, Alf.” Nordstrum gave the chief engineer a contrite nod. “But you’re in capable hands, I promise. At least, for a non-Northman, isn’t that right?”
With a wave, he took off. His thighs pushing through the snow that whooshed beneath him. His heart racing ahead of him. Down the ridge.
Not toward Skrykken. And Sweden. Where safety lay.
But toward Mael.
Toward the one duty his heart would not let him abandon.
74
On the deck of the Hydro, Dieter Lund watched the flatcars of heavy water being loaded onto the ferry. It was a striking day, he observed—blue sky, Nazi flags waving, dozens of crack SS troops standing motionlessly at attention. He had ridden the train from Rjukan himself, looking out at every turn. But nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The track had been cleared ahead of time. Reconnaissance planes swept the air. At the ferry dock, a crowd had assembled. But he had his own men filtered among it, on the watch for anything suspicious. Groups of men traveling together. The lone man on the edge signaling another. There was word that some kind of sabotage was in the works. But it would not be here. On his watch. It would take an army to penetrate the web of security. The precious cargo was now onboard. In minutes, the ferry was scheduled to leave. Muggenthaler and Terboven would be pleased. Everything had gone precisely to his plan.
A Gestapo officer oversaw the IDs at the ferry’s gangway. No one was let aboard who hadn’t bought a ticket and who didn’t have proper ID. Just to be safe he and his men would accompany the cargo to Tinnoset, and watch it loaded on the train to Skien. He was taking no chances. The Germans might know how to run a war, he thought, but in Norway, he knew every face, every sign that something wasn’t right. He had staked his future on it.
A few minutes earlier, August Ritter and his granddaughter had boarded the ferry as well, the start of their journey home. It was a shame their visit had been cut short—he had looked forward to seeing her again—but, in truth, Fraulein Ritter had not been kind to him about his inquiries after the concert. Nor had she taken him up on his invitation to show her the sights. She was a bit of a bratty tart, if truth be told. Her nose stuck in the air. Hardly worthy of the attention he had devoted to her.
“Guten morgen, Herr und Fraulein Ritter,” Lund had greeted them as they came onboard. Their luggage was taken to the first-class hold. The old musician clutched his instrument case.
“Guten morgen, as well, Captain,” his granddaughter replied politely. “I see you are making the trip as well?”
“Yes, we have a distinguished cargo on board, as you can see.” He pointed to the tethered rail cars with thirty German troops standing guard. “In addition to yourselves, of course. It would be my privilege to escort you to your lounge.”
“Actually, Captain, it is such a pleasant day, I think we will sit in the stern,” Fraulein Ritter said coolly.
“The stern … but Fraulein, I believe your ticket is for first class.”
“Yes, but it is all arranged. I am told it is best for the views there, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all, Fraulein Ritter. I was merely thinking of your comfort.” Lund nodded formally and let them pass. No, he was no longer so fond of this impertinent girl. She had made him feel the way his own townspeople always had—small, insignificant, to be shooed away and swatted at like a fly. Still, it made him happy and he felt his chest expand that she could see him so clearly in charge.
“May I take your case, sir?” he said to the old man.
“No, no, thank you,” he replied. “It’s been with me for forty years. It never leaves my side.”
“Then have a nice journey.” Lund bowed. The matter was out of his hands.
Five minutes of ten. The cargo ramp was raised and the shipment now secure. Only a few last-minute arrivals were running toward the gangway. The ship’s horn sounded. Three blaring blasts. People came out on deck to wave to those on the shore. The tie ropes to the dock were disengaged. Yes, everything seemed in perfect order. The crossing would be routine.
“Keep an eye on any late arrivals,” Lund instructed his lieutenant, whose eye was peeled on the crowd.
In Tinnoset, his job would finally be done.
His job perhaps, but not his future.
Yes, Trudi would indeed be pleased.
75
Nordstrum skied down to the outskirts of Mael, leaving his skis aloft in the snow, and ran the rest of the way. As he reached the tiny lakeside town, he headed to the main square adjacent to the wharf and onto the pier.
9:55 A.M. Five minutes to departure. He heard the horn sound. He had to hurry. But not so much that he would stand out, for there were surely security agents watching everywhere. His antennae for such things were on full alert, just being around them. The ferry would be off in just minutes.
The switch engine that loaded the rail cars was still in front of the ferry, but the vessel’s cargo ramp was raised and the rail cars of heavy water safely on board, German soldiers stationed on it. On the dock, a Gestapo officer was with a ticket clerk at the gangway, checking IDs.
Nordstrum hurried to the ticket counter. He heard a blast from a horn. It was literally three minutes of. “Tinnoset. One way,” he said to the ticket master. “Quick, please. I know I’m late.” He pushed across some coins.
“Yes, of course, everyone’s always in a rush,” the old ticket master grumbled. “Next time, leave a little more time. One way, you said?”
“Yes. Please, hurry.”
“Here you go. Two kroner. I hope they hold it for you.”
Nordstrum took the ticket and rushed off.