Page 71 of Winter's End
Zoe began to understand.
“The police are still searching for the’ perpetrator,’” Leela said. “But the ‘stolen’ ration books are in our cellar at home, along with the other things we stowed there. We can parcel them out to those who need them.”
“What if the Germans –”
Leela held up her hands. “So be it.”
Tears sprang before Zoe could stop them.
A look of understanding passed between them.It was risk that was keeping them alive.
MILA
It was dark in the alleyway in Amsterdam, and cold. Mila pulled her woolen scarf close and peered at the bubbling fountain in theLeidseplein. She had seen it many times, but never with such nervous trepidation.
What was it about men like Reimar de Boer, she mused – men with power but no principles – who thought they were exempt from payback?
The police captain had squired her around the city as though he had built it brick by brick for her pleasure – the Rijksmuseum, and the Prinzengracht Canal, miraculously spared from the bombing
And all the while, he told her of the evening he planned for them – an evening, thanks to her insinuation, ripe with the promise of sex.
It had not been easy, when she insisted on a change of clothes, to dissuade him from collecting her at her hotel. But she had been adamant and charmingly insistent that they meet at the celebrated fountain.
“I will enjoy it more seeing it with you,” she had coaxed – and he, in his eagerness to get under her clothing, acquiesced.
“I will meet you at the fountain at eight o’clock,” she had told him, her hand stroking his thickset wrist. “I have been told it is extraordinary at night. Tell your driver to pick us up at the entrance to the square at eight-fifteen promptly. Then I shall be yours for the night.”
Mila looked up, glad for the nearly starless sky and the slowly gathering mist. She checked her watch again. By seven-forty-five, if all went well, Pieter would be positioned in a dark alleyway across from the entrance to the square.
It was risky to choose a spot where people might gather. But Pieter was a good marksman – and on such a cold night, they chanced it would be relatively deserted. As she looked out now toward the appointed meeting spot, she was relieved to see they had been correct.
Stamping her leather boots in the cold, she squinted into the square. Traffic was light, but the minutes were passing, and there was no sign of de Boer’s black BMW.
What if it all went wrong? What if de Boer had grown suspicious? What if Pieter was not in place, or if de Boer’s driver, whose assistance they counted on, was less trustworthy than they hoped?
Minutes went by. Mila worked hard to tamp down anxiety.
At seven-fifty-nine precisely, an automobile emerged out of the gloom, black and sleek, she thought..
A BMW?Ja!
The driver parked on the far side of the entrance, as planned, away from the nearest street lamp. A door opened facing the curb, and de Boer’s bulky figure emerged. He leaned back into the car, perhaps to say something to his driver, then shut the door and straightened up.
Mila could do nothing but hold her breath.
It was over almost before she knew it – one…two…three seconds before de Boer’s foot stepped onto the curb. She did not hear the report of the pistol, but she thought she saw the flash, and she watched as the big man lurched, swayed, and in the second it took her to blink, fell, as if in slow motion, face forward into the street.
EVI
Willem, the Beekhof’s boy, pedaled alongside Evi on the trek back to the river’s edge, the consensus being that if anyone were to be stopped so near to curfew, best that they were underage children.
Evi’s bicycle had been forgotten near the tavern, and the one she borrowed from Mevreow Beekhof required more strength to maneuver. She struggled to keep up, and it was just after curfew when she bade Willem goodnight, urged him to stay safe, and made her way into the barge.
Mam was waiting, her graying hair askew, her eyes wild with fright. “Where in God’s name, Evi? I was mad with worry! Where on earth have you been?”
Her heart and soul still under the elm tree with Jacob, Evi fought to find an answer. In the end, she thought it best to stay close to the truth. “I was out – learning to shoot.”
Mam stared. “Learning to shoot…a firearm?”
