Chapter 38
chapter
St. Helier
Gerrit stepped out of the hotel garage, where he’d parked his bicycle and changed back into uniform.
Corralling his thoughts along the way had been difficult due to his concerns for Charlie, the maps in German hands, the investigation of the Picot family—and due to Ivy’s forgiveness.
But corralling those thoughts had been necessary to avoid violating any of the petty orders governing the island.
If he’d been stopped along the way and asked for his papers, and he had presented his OT paybook while in civilian clothes, he would have been in grave trouble.
With his satchel over his shoulder, he straightened his rumpled uniform jacket and entered the hotel lobby.
Ernst Schmeling rose from a chair by the window. “Where have you been, van der Zee? We’ve been looking for you.”
Two other men rose as well, one in a German Army officer’s uniform and the other in a black civilian suit.
Something tilted inside him, threw him off-balance, and he took a step to the left. “Pardon me, Herr Oberbauführer. I was told I had no work today, so I bicycled around the island.”
“Come with us, Haupttruppführer.” The officer—a captain—gestured to the front door, to a car waiting outside.
“May I ask what this is about?”
“You do not ask questions. We do.” One more gesture, firmer this time.
Gerrit glanced toward Schmeling but received only steely silence. Organisation Todt would not be rising to his defense, not when the Nazi Reich was threatened.
“Ja, Herr Hauptmann.” Gerrit pulled himself tall, marched outside, and slid into the backseat, joined by the man in the civilian suit.
The car drove north into town, and Gerrit forced himself to keep calm, to think, to pray. Was he under arrest? Would he be tortured? Would he crack? He was a horrible liar, and the Nazis were experts at exposing lies.
The town flashed by outside, and Gerrit measured his breaths and prayed for wisdom to know when to speak and when to stay silent. Prayed for protection of those who could be hurt by what he knew.
If he were innocent, what would he know? He wouldn’t know Charlie had tried to escape or had been injured. He wouldn’t know about the raid on the Picot home. He certainly wouldn’t know anything about scraps of silk.
Hemmed in by granite walls, the road climbed a hill under a cloud-streaked sky.
Gerrit gripped the satchel in his lap. If only he’d left it in the garage.
What if they searched his bag? How could he explain the civilian suit inside?
OT regulations required wearing a uniform at all times, even on leave.
And the map. Oh no. When he changed, he’d transferred the silk map from his boot to his civilian shoe.
The map would match the ones in Charlie’s bag.
Infractions of uniform codes paled in comparison to espionage.
The car parked outside an elegant white building, probably a hotel before the occupation.
The army officer opened Gerrit’s door. “Come with us.”
Surrounded by the three men, Gerrit proceeded inside. He’d heard of resistance fighters throwing themselves from windows to avoid revealing information or incriminating their friends, but the officer ushered him into a ground-floor room.
Just as well. Gerrit doubted he could do such a thing.
“Sit down, van der Zee.” The army officer pointed to a chair in front of a steel table, and he removed his cap, revealing his balding head.
“Yes, Herr Hauptmann.” He obeyed.
“I am Hauptmann Klein, and this is Hauptwachtmeister Wolfle of the Geheime Feldpolizei.”
The military police and the secret field police, but Gerrit saw no torture implements. Klein and Wolfle sat across from Gerrit, and Schmeling sat behind Gerrit in the corner.
They had told him not to ask questions, so he stuffed his satchel under his chair and waited.
Wolfle raised a sardonic smile. “Are you nervous, van der Zee?”
Gerrit tried to mirror that smile. “Wouldn’t you be in my place? No one has told me why I’m here.”
Klein leaned bony elbows on the table. “Do you know a man named Charles Picot?”
“Charlie? Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
Gerrit rested his hands on his thighs, out of sight of the interrogators. “He worked on a cargo ship which transported supplies for OT. He showed us around the island—my friend Bernardus and me. We’ve become friends. Why do you want to know about Charlie?” Honest worry lifted his voice.
Wolfle tugged at the sleeves of his well-cut suit. “He tried to desert to our enemies last night. A patrol shot and injured him, but he’s evaded capture so far.”
Gerrit’s breath rushed out. “He tried to—he’s hurt? Oh no. Poor Charlie.”
Klein grunted. “You feel sorry for a man who defied Germany?”
“I feel sorry for a boy I know as a friend.” He kept his voice firm but calm.
“Do you know where he is?” Wolfle asked.
“No. How could I?”
“Where might he have gone?”
They’d already searched the Picot home. Gerrit tucked in his lips as if deep in thought. “His sister is a doctor. He’d—”
“Where else?”
“He has aunts and uncles here.” They were already expecting raids.
“Why would he desert?”
Gerrit puffed up his cheeks with air and blew it out.
“He never said anything to me about desertion. He did lose his job after his ship was damaged in an air raid, and the food situation is rather bleak. I don’t understand.
I thought he was on our side. Remember, Herr Oberbauführer?
Charlie is the one who warned me when Bernardus tried to commit sabotage. ” He glanced back at Schmeling.
Schmeling’s jaw shot forward.
“Ah, you see, van der Zee.” Klein smoothed his ring of graying blond hair. “That makes us rather curious. Kroon was a traitor, now Picot. Both known associates of yours.”
“You don’t think I . . .” Indignation cramped his voice, and he sent Schmeling a frantic glance. “Haven’t I always done good work for Organisation Todt?”
One silver eyebrow rose in affirmation, but his jaw remained set.
Wolfle fetched a brown leather satchel from under his chair and set it on the table. “Have you ever seen this?”
It had to be Charlie’s bag, filled with Gerrit’s maps. A sudden flash in his mind—instead of answering their questions with lies, he could anticipate the questions. “No, I haven’t.”
“Picot dropped it.” Wolfle opened the bag, pulled out the silk maps, and laid them on the table.
“Is that silk?” Gerrit fingered the cloth. If only he could rub away the secret ink. “Where would Charlie get silk?”
Klein sniffed. “We believe it came from an English parachute.”
“From a crash site?” Gerrit frowned at the army officer. “It’s against the law not to report downed airmen. By penalty of death.”
Tiny eyes grew even tinier in Klein’s round face. “Why would he take it to France?”
Gerrit shrugged. “Silk would have great value on the black market, ja? Do you think he planned to sell it to ladies in France?”
“You can imagine our curiosity,” Klein said with an acidic smile. “Why would he risk the death penalty to make a few francs?”
Gerrit huffed. “He’s seventeen. What boy of seventeen expects to be captured?”
Klein brushed his hand across the top map. “Very curious.”
If these men even suspected the presence of secret ink, they’d search for a developing agent. Although they couldn’t send the maps to Germany for analysis, they still had radio contact with Berlin.
If they developed the ink, Schmeling would recognize the maps and recognize Gerrit’s hand.
Gerrit cleared his throat. “Very curious indeed.”
St. Helier
Behind his locked hotel room door that evening, Gerrit finished his sketch of the St. Helier Parish Church in black ink.
Tomorrow morning in church, he’d drop the folded sketch beside Ivy’s pew and ask her if she’d dropped it.
Since his secret ink had been burned at the farm, he had to write plainly. But he could try to conceal his words from casual scrutiny.
After he shaded the edges lightly in pencil, he wrote in the smallest possible letters within the shading.
Mijn geliefde,
Today I was interrogated. Don’t worry—I wasn’t hurt, nor was I arrested. However, with both of us under investigation, it’s best that we do not meet, and I will no longer visit our favorite spot. Also, burn this letter after reading it.
Please know I love you dearly. When all this is over, I will come to you as soon as I’m able. Then no one and nothing will keep us apart.
I will pray for you and your family, and I will trust the Lord. He is good and he is faithful, even when we can’t see it.
Gerrit leaned back in his chair and raked his hands back into his hair. If only he’d proposed. Then she’d know he meant every word of his promise.