Page 11 of Winter's End
“Herr Zeller is a Swiss bank clerk,” Zoe said, emphasizing ‘Swiss.’ “He has the proper identification papers. He will stay with you, Lotte, for perhaps two days, until the next link in his journey is in place. Then you will take the barge down river, where an escort will help him to Tilburg and, God willing, out of harm’s way across the Belgian border.”
“I understand,” Lotte said, fully aware that the route could change if the Germans were watching, sometimes even to a long slog across the Pyrenees and into Spain. She doubted the old man could survive such a journey. But there was no point in further distressing him.
“Herr Zeller” she said, “there is little comfort anywhere in the Netherlands these days. It is cold below in the area where you must stay. But there are plenty of blankets – and first, you must have some tea,ja? Evi, fill the teapot. Zoe, will you stay for a cup?”
“Dank je, but I cannot,” Zoe said. “I need to get some sleep tonight before I go back to thekliniekin the morning.”
Impulsively, she hugged the old man. “Goed geluk, Herr Zeller. Safe journey.”
MILA
Mila counted the empty wine bottles sitting on the sideboard – six of them. Her mother had claimed a headache and excused herself from the table hours ago, but at half past ten, the overstuffed SS lieutenant and his sallow-faced young companion showed no signs of flagging.
Worse yet, he and her father had been mostly focused on the finer points of Dutch and German football, and the half-drunk blowhard had yet to offer up anything that made it worth her sitting here.
Lifting her glass, she looked over the rim and directed her gaze at the older German, who picked up her glance like a radio signal and turned at once to face her.
“FrauleinBrouwer,” he murmured, “you are a quiet presence, albeit a lovely one. Thank you for putting up with our chatter.”
His fleshy face, two small, dark eyes like raisins in a bowl of pudding, made her want to retch. She forced herself past it. “My pleasure,Obersturmfuhrer, she cooed. “It’s a joy to listen to your stories.”
Her father shot her a look, but she ignored it. She had long ago taught herself perfect German, and it served her purpose well. “You have a way of adding interest to any topic,Obersturmfuhrer, even an ordinary day’s work. Today, for example. I am sure you were incredibly busy, and still you made the time to visit with us.”
She saw the man’s gaze slip to the low point in the vee of her neckline, then reluctantly travel back to her face. “Ach,” he muttered. “I did nothing of the slightest interest to the beautiful and graciousfraulein.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“Oh, I doubt that,Obersturmfuhrer. I am. In fact, very interested. The Reich expects much of its finest officers. You have a difficult agenda,ya?”
“Ya, undtomorrow – the younger man broke in, his sharp beak of a nose in the air.
Theobersturmfuhrergave him a silencing glare. “Nothing of importance tomorrow,Fraulein. A rather pedestrian agenda.”
Mila offered an encouraging smile.
She leaned forward to fill his glass, the man’s gaze returning swiftly to her bosom. That, and the abundance of free-flowing wine, appeared to loosen his tongue. “Tomorrow I am charged with overseeing the collection of – equipment for shipment to Berlin,” he told her.
Moving war materiel out of the Netherlands?Mila’s expression never changed. But she knew her father’s Berlin route included a stop in Utrecht, and it was information Resistance leaders might find useful.
She offered up her most coquettish smile. “Rather inconsequential work for someone of your rank, is it not,Obersturmfuhrer?”
The pig never looked up from her neckline She could sense his rising desire.
“Surely such a task as gathering and shipping goods could be accomplished by an underling,Nein? Someone with more brawn and less intelligence?”
“Mila –” her father broke in. “That is impudent and none of your business.”
That lowered the level of testosterone. “Sorry, father. My apologies,Obersturmfuhrer. That is quite true. It is not my business.”
The moment was over, but she had gained a tidbit that could be helpful. More than that, she was more than ever convinced that her plan for Evi Strobel could be managed.
The spell was apparently broken, too, for the evening’s guests. The fat-faced lieutenant heaved himself out of his chair, alldanke scheinsand boot-clickingwunderbarsand silent signals to his underling, and almost before she knew it, they were headed for the Brouwer’s massive front door, her father close behind them.
He was an imposing figure, her father, tall, slim, with his manicured beard and a full head of greying hair. He faced her now in the mirrored hallway, eyes blazing, the door firmly closed and locked behind him.
“What kind of game do you think you are you playing, Mila, flirting with a high-ranking member of the Reich?”
“I was hardly flirting, Papa,” she held her head high. “I was merely underscoring his importance to their cause. You know every one of them loves having his ego stroked.”
