Page 96 of Winter's End
Zoe wavered, finally nodded, and moved back into the shadows, feeling more helpless and more anxious than she had ever been.
She watched Evi move toward the barn.
Unable to bring herself to cross the road, Zoe crouched deep behind a bed of neglected hawthorn bushes and watched as Evi put an ear to the back door of the barn and listened.
In the next moment, as Zoe watched, Evi bent, gathered a handful of something – maybe small stones or gravel – then tossed it in a spray against the door of the barn, and backed into the shadows.
MILA
German officers were everywhere in Amsterdam, guarding entrances, stopping people at makeshift check points, marching in the streets in that chilling, stiff-legged gait that never failed to rattle her – the more so now because of the pistol Mila carried, buried deep in her shoulder bag.
Exhausted and hungry, she bought a raw turnip from a sidewalk vendor and sat on a bench in the gathering dusk to devour it.
At four in the afternoon, she was no closer to locating Pieter than she had been when she had stepped off the bus nearly twelve hours earlier.
Assuming he had discovered where de Boer was being treated, she was certain he would have taken up a post nearby. She had made the rounds of the hospitals closest to the site of the failed shooting, then widened her search to include the next nearest. But even her skilled flirtation with security guards and any medical staff she could corner did little to yield useful information.
At University Hospital, however, the increased presence of sentries told her she was in the right place. She had walked briskly past the cordon as though she belonged there, had even managed to walk the halls on every floor, looking for the presence of the Amsterdampoliziewho would likely be guarding de Boer’s room. But in the end, it had taken every shred of charm she could muster to avoid being interrogated herself.
“Idioot,”she berated herself. How could she think she could possibly get close to de Boer’s bedside, never mind discover where Pieter might be in a city as big as Amsterdam?
She was considering taking the next bus home in defeat when someone sat down next to her on the bench – a middle-aged woman, she saw, dressed in a long, grey coat with a black wool scarf wrapped around her face, and black oxford shoes…the same sort of practical shoes Mila had seen on the nursing staff all day.
“Goedenavond,” the woman nodded without facing her. Good evening.
Mila hesitated, “Goedenavond.”
The woman produced a bottle of water from her bag, sipped slowly as she glanced around her. “You are looking for someone in hospital?” she said.
Mila narrowed her eyes.
“I understand there is a fine new play in Brussels.”
It was a current code sentence used to validate Resistance volunteers.
Mila nodded almost imperceptibly. “I have heard as much.”
The woman did not look at her. “I am a day nurse at University Hospital. You were walking the hall on the second floor, peering into patient rooms as though you were looking for someone.”
Mila hesitated, taking the woman’s measure. It was never easy, knowing who to trust, even when they knew the proper code words. In the end, she relied on instinct.
“My uncle,” she said. “I am looking for my uncle.”
The woman looked straight ahead, took another sip of water. “Your uncle is perhaps a well-known figure in Amsterdam?”
Again, Mila hesitated. “He is.”
“In uniform, perhaps…”
“Ja…”
“I have a grandson,” the woman said, her expression stoic. “He is eighteen years old. He was arrested three weeks ago by the Dutch police for distributing underground newspapers.”
She looked around her, took another sip. “The police captain demanded more guilders for his release than our family could ever produce…”
Again, a sip of water. The woman closed her eyes. “I fear we may never see him again.”
Mila took her cue, looking straight ahead as she spoke. “I am so very sorry,” she said.” In these dangerous times, one cannot know where the sympathies of Dutch officials lie – even seasoned police captains…like my uncle.”
