He ran across the deck to Lund, who was grabbing his leg, still stunned, but who had freed himself from under the crates that had fallen on him. He was on the wet, tilting deck clawing after his gun as it kept sliding away from him, farther and farther out of his grasp.
As he lunged for it, Nordstrum put his boot on Lund’s grasping hand.
The Hird turned onto his back and looked up at him. Nordstrum noticed blood dripping onto the deck and for the first time felt a throbbing in his side. Lund’s eyes traveled to Nordstrum’s sweater.
The Hird smiled. “You’re hit,” he said, his eyes brightening at the sight.
Under Nordstrum’s jacket, visible against his sweater, a pool of blood matted his side.
Lund met Nordstrum’s gaze with an amused laugh. “It looks like you won’t be going any farther than me. I owed you. For the death of Lieutenant Oleg Rand. On this very journey, it occurs to me.”
“Yes, you did owe me.” Nordstrum knelt down over him. He removed his gun from his belt. “And I owe you, for the death of Alois Nordstrum. My father.” He pulled back the hammer and placed the muzzle against Lund’s heart. “And for a hundred other Norwegians who will never have the chance.”
In the chaos of the sinking ship, no one even heard the two quick shots that ended the Hird’s life.
The ship was going down. Quickly. Along the sides, lifeboats were being lowered into the water. The more able were jumping into the lake and swimming to them, while those already inside pulled them aboard.
Nordstrum ran back to Natalie and her grandfather. A crewman was loading up the lifeboat. “Here, help them in,” he said.
“In here, ma’am.” The crewman reached for Natalie. He helped her aboard. Then they both tried to assist her grandfather into the lifeboat.
“Wait,” he suddenly cried out, “my cello. It’s on the seat. I must go back for it.”
“Papa, no!” Natalie shouted, and reached after him. “You must get in the boat.”
“I won’t leave it!” Ritter pulled away from her grasp and headed like a man possessed to where he’d been sitting. But another sudden pitch of the boat, the stern elevating, hurled him to the deck and back toward them. From the boat, Natalie screamed. Nordstrum went over and lifted the old man up and carried him back to the lifeboat, which was ready to be lowered. He handed him across the gunwales to Natalie and another passenger and they helped him into the lifeboat.
“My cello…,” Ritter muttered brokenheartedly.
“Get in the boat,” Nordstrum said. “I’ll find it.”
As he handed him over, Natalie saw the blood on Nordstrum’s sweater for the first time. “Kurt.” Her eyes went wide. “You’re bleeding.”
The stern of the ferry was now lifted out of the water. Everything that wasn’t tied down—baggage, seats, loose equipment—slid as in a rockslide toward the bow. Something knocked Nordstrum into the rail. For the first time he felt weak. Legs rubbery, without power. He put his hand inside his sweater and removed it. It was covered in blood.
Lund’s shots had hit home.
“Kurt, come now!” Natalie implored him from the lifeboat. The Hydro was taking on water. It was going down fast.
He’d have to leap for it.
There were about twenty people crammed into the boat, among them two other Hirden from Lund’s brigade. Ritter too. How could he trust him? That the old Austrian wouldn’t give him away. There’s the man who is responsible! He already had said so once. Nordstrum would be at the mercy of the two Hirden in the boat. Even still, it was a broad distance to jump now. No, better odds to find something to grab on to, he decided, and swim to shore. He looked again at his side. Blood continued to seep out. He put a hand on it to stop the bleeding. He knew wounds, and this was bad. He looked at Natalie from the deck.
“I can’t.” He shook his head.
“Sir, you can jump. We have you,” the crewman in charge of the lifeboat said. “But we’ve got to go. She’s going under.”
“Kurt, please!” Natalie begged. “Jump.” Nordstrum could only look at her as the boat lowered away. “Please!”
He didn’t move. Though he felt he had to sit down. His legs were without strength. The lifeboat fell away. He didn’t want her to remember him this way—weak, unable to move. He only wanted her to remember him strong. Strong … if a bit undependable; he smiled inside. He shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, damn it,” she said. “You can. Kurt, jump.”
The ferry creaked and lifted forward. Nearing the water, the lifeboat swayed.
Natalie pushed her way to the front. All she could do now was hold on to his eyes. “I know it, Kurt. You only came back for me, didn’t you? To save me.”
He watched her from the deck as the lifeboat hit the water and slowly nodded. “Yes.”
From the shore, witnessing what had happened, fishing boats and sail crafts, anything that could float, were on their way.
Nordstrum leaned back against the railing. Just for a second, he told himself. To collect his strength. His legs gave out. Then he was on the deck. He had to find something. Something that would keep him afloat. He had no strength left and it hurt too badly to swim. He’d float to shore; it wasn’t that far. Then collect his skis in Mael and climb to the vidda. Tonight he could meet the Yank and Larsen. At Skrykken. He could do it. He could. A true man goes as far as he can, and then …
I know it, Nordstrum said, straining to lift himself.
No.
He coughed. Blood came out into his hand.
There was nothing more to give. Not this time.
The bow of the ferry was now completely underwater. The lake lapped toward him, encroaching up the deck. The drums of heavy water were on the bottom. London would like that, he thought. Tronstad, especially. That a Northman had done it. We strongly advise you to destroy the heavy water. And he’d done so.
All good luck, they’d written.
He smiled and spit up more blood. Not this time.
Something heavy went by him. A large case of some kind, and he grabbed on as the stern rose even higher. The damn thing would float, he reckoned. So he held on. Time to get going, he urged himself. No, just a minute more … His eyes fixed on a beautiful sight, the morning sun gleaming off the whitecapped mountains, and he put his head back. The vidda had always been the friendliest of places to him. Somewhere up there, the Yank and Larsen would be wondering how he was.
He wrapped his arms around the case. His legs would no longer move.
Yes, it was beautiful.
He’d better get going, he thought. The water was at his feet.
They’d be waiting for him. Waiting. For him.
“Anna-Lisette,” Nordstrum said, as the water swallowed him.
79
High on the vidda, Gutterson and Larsen stopped on a ridge to catch their breath. The Yank looked at his watch. 10:49.
“It’s blown,” he said to Larsen. The charges would have gone off. “The heavy water drums should be at the bottom of the lake by now.”
They exchanged a brief, congratulatory smile.
“You think he made it, don’t you?” Larsen asked.