Читать книгу Our Only Shield - Michael J. Goodspeed - Страница 15

9

ANNIKA BIT HER LIP and began to pace the length of Oscar’s and Nina’s living room. She was exhausted. Saul had been “missing” for three weeks now, although she had few doubts as to where he was. And that knowledge made things worse. Her imagination ran wild. She was unable to see him, communicate with him, or get any information about him. Saul had suddenly become a non-person. Over the last days she had made a dozen inquiries and merely got shrugs and sympathetic looks.

Three weeks ago, when Saul had not returned to their apartment, Annika went searching for him at the Van Zuiden Diamond Factory. There she spoke to the young, blond gate guard. He confirmed what she didn’t want to hear. Yes, he had seen both Samuël and Saul being arrested. He shrugged in an idiotic sort of way and looked away. The Germans took them away, that’s all he knew.

Annika’s voice turned shrill and she shouted, “Where did they take him? Why the hell haven’t you phoned anyone?” When the security guard merely shrugged again she became furious. Her face flushed and her hands went clammy. She took a deep breath, struggled back onto her bicycle and, cursing at the idiot guard, began pedalling frantically the two and a half kilometres to the Amsterdam Central Police Station.

At the police station her pulse was racing, but she had recovered her composure. Although the officers on duty treated her respectfully, something wasn’t right. Despite having never met these men before, she had no doubt that the sergeant and the constable at the front desk were behaving in a strange manner.

All the time she was in the building a steady stream of helmeted German soldiers with rifles slung across their backs and clickers on their boots were carrying document boxes through the front door. The police sergeant blinked rapidly, acting as if he couldn’t see them. He was polite and sympathetic, but there was no question: he wasn’t telling what he knew. He kept his voice unnaturally low and refused to make eye contact. “I really can’t say, madam. The Germans have made a number of arrests, but none of us in the Amsterdam police know who they are or what they’ve been charged with. We aren’t allowed to visit them. There are a number of prisoners downstairs.”

He shrugged in exactly the same way the gate guard had an hour ago. And it struck her that these men weren’t being stupid or unconcerned. It was probably a peculiar mix of shame, humiliation, and fear. She was still very angry, and her flash of insight didn’t make her feel any better. The Dutch police couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her anything about Saul or Samuël, and at the same time, they shied away from any other questions. It was as if they knew exactly what was going on but weren’t saying anything. The police sergeant found some reason to leave the room and ordered the constable to take the particulars of Annika’s query.

The constable had been no better; if anything, he had been even more uncommunicative. The behaviour of both men seemed unnaturally muted, as if they were in shock or suffering from some grievous news themselves. There was nothing reassuring in their manner, and their behaviour only served to increase her anxiety. Finally, the constable told her she couldn’t stay there. There was no information on either Saul or Samuël. Once the Dutch police knew something they would be in contact with her. They took her phone number and her address, and without speaking, escorted her through the door.

As Annika stood alone on the concrete steps of the police station, a pair of black German staff cars with swastika pennants on the front bumpers screeched to an overly dramatic halt in front of the building. Reinhold Neumann got out from the lead car, took a last drag on his cigarette, and flicked the butt out onto the street. He walked up the steps, stopping below and to one side of Annika, as if in wait for someone. He made no effort to conceal his interest in her and stared approvingly. No doubt about it, she was a pretty girl. For a second, Neumann wished Maida were like that. Maida was pretty enough, but she didn’t have the sense of purpose or confidence like this one. How many of the Dutch women here would be like that?

Annika looked back and caught his eye for a fraction of a second, then she turned away in anger. He smiled and tipped his Tyrolean hat. Two middle-aged German army officers deep in conversation emerged from the second car and walked up the stairs. One of them took a long look at Annika and smirked as he brushed past. Neumann followed them and called out loudly to them in German, “Gentlemen, if they’re all that pretty, we’re going to enjoy this war.” They laughed as they went through the front door. Annika glared back at them and marched down the steps to her bicycle.

At home, she took a deep breath and telephoned Oscar. But as soon as he came on the line she began to sob. “The Germans have arrested Saul and Uncle Samuël, and our own police won’t even tell me if they have him in custody, or where he is or how he is doing. I don’t know what to do. I’m frightened.”

Oscar was quiet for a second. “I don’t know what to say, Annika, but you can’t stay alone now. You have to come and stay with Nina and me.”

“I can’t go. If Saul is released, I have to be home, or if there is any word of his condition, I have to be here.”

Oscar hesitated again before he spoke. He was doing his best to be precise but sympathetic. “I’ll speak to your neighbours, Annika; if anything happens, they’ll get word to us. But for now, you should be with us. Nina and I will be right over.”

By the time Oscar arrived at her apartment, Annika had made up her mind. She wasn’t leaving. “No, Oscar. It’s very kind of you and Nina, but I belong here. Whatever it is, Saul hasn’t done anything wrong and he’ll be released shortly. I have to be here for him when he gets out.”

Oscar and Nina exchanged glances. Oscar spoke softly, choosing his words carefully. “Annika, I understand completely how you feel, and I don’t want to say anything to alarm you, but I think it would be wrong to underestimate the danger we’re all in. The Germans have just conquered our country. They are in no mood to be nice to anyone, especially when they are in the process of imposing control on a newly conquered territory. I’ve heard that there have been a lot of arrests. All the diamond merchants have had their property seized. Politicians, newspaper editors … God knows who else has been rounded up.”

Nina, who had been quiet up to this point, added, “And remember, Annika, in Germany the Nazis routinely arrest the entire families of political prisoners. We have to assume that Saul has been taken as some kind of political prisoner, or even as a hostage when they arrested your uncle. They’re just as likely to come back and arrest you as well. It’s best if you aren’t living here, for a few days at least. You can’t help Saul here.”

Annika put her hand over her mouth and said nothing.

All that was three weeks ago now, and Annika had had no word of Saul since. She couldn’t wait any more. There was no point sitting around waiting. She’d had enough. She was going back to the police station to demand Saul’s release.

* * *

7 June 1940

WINSTON CHURCHILL was angry, or at least he certainly appeared to be angry. It was often difficult to tell. He had an unlit cigar in his hand and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was working on his speech to be given in the House of Commons in a week’s time. He paced the floor of the dining room at Chequers, the prime minister’s country house. Two expressionless middle-aged women in tweed skirts and jackets sat in opposite corners of the room with stenographer’s pads on their laps. Churchill’s private secretary suppressed a yawn. Sir John Peck was sitting at the long, polished mahogany table with a leather satchel of state papers by his side. Churchill’s glass tumbler of single malt Scotch sat on the table in front of him. Peck noticed that tonight, like so many other nights, Churchill always had a drink at hand. Despite this, he rarely saw him drinking.