“The Germans took him to the hospital in Copenhagen. They didn’t know it, but by doing that, they handed him right back to the resistance. The hospital was being used to hide hundreds of Jews. Everyone who worked there either did their part or looked the other way. Hershel was instantly declared dead on arrival—oh, he was still alive. But he was put into a bed under the name Olaf Svensen. A nice, non-Jewish name.
“Annebet told us she had seen him, spoken to him at the hospital,” Helga told him. “His biggest concern was to get us—my parents and myself—to safety in Sweden. One of the nurses at the hospital knew of a ship that was leaving that night. But Poppi wouldn’t leave Denmark without Hershel.
“Annebet begged and argued and cajoled and even cried. She finally ordered me and Marte to the barn to play, and I knew then that Hershel was dying. I wouldn’t stay and eavesdrop even though Marte wanted me to—I didn’t want to hear it. I remember sitting in the barn and Marte telling me that it was going to be all right, but knowing that it wasn’t. Not for me, not for Mother and Poppi, and especially not for Annebet. It was never going to be all right again.”
Helga sighed heavily. “Poor Annebet. She felt to blame. It was her gun—she’d sold it to Johan just that evening. Hershel had been bugging her to get rid of it, for fear something just like that would happen. If she’d never had the gun in the first place . . .”
“Johan probably would’ve gotten one from someone else,” Stan pointed out.
“Yes, that’s what Hershel told her. Still, she felt to blame.”
“Excuse me, Senior Chief.”
Stan glanced up to see Jenk making a beeline for him. “Excuse me,” he said to Helga as he got to his feet. “Trouble?”
“Lieutenant Paoletti wants us to do a few more rounds of practice runs a little earlier than scheduled,” Jenk reported. He lowered his voice, leaned closer. “Apparently things are getting tense aboard the aircraft. They want us together and ready to go.”
“Mrs. Shuler, I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me the rest of this story at another time,” Stan said.
“Of course,” she said. She glanced at her hand—she had his name written there. “Stanley.”
Damn. He couldn’t just leave her here. He looked around the room. “Yo, Gilligan!” The petty officer had just finished lunch.
“Yes, Senior Chief?”
“I need you to escort Mrs. Shuler to her room. 808. Don’t let her take the elevator. Take her all the way to her door, see that she gets inside. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye aye, Senior Chief.”
“Mrs. Shuler, this is Petty Officer Third Class Daniel Gillman. He’ll take you back to your room, ma’am.”
“That’s really not necessary,” she said.
“Ma’am,” Stan said as politely and as respectfully as he could manage, considering he had to stop at his room and change his clothes before heading up to the helo on the double, “I think you know that it is.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty
Stan hit the roof at a run.
Most of the team was already there, along with the two FBI observers, Locke and Cassidy.
Sam Starrett was on a landline, a hotel phone. “Tell O’Leary to catch another helo over because we’re ready to— Fuck. These fucking phones.” He redialed on his cell phone.
“Power’s gone out in the hotel again,” Jenk reported. “Possibly this entire sector of the city.”
“We got a pilot?” Stan asked Jenk, who was carrying a clipboard.
He flipped through the papers there. “Yeah. Howe. No, wait. Edwards. Yeah, they switched assignments at the last minute. L.T. okayed it.”
Shit. Stan was unaware that he’d spoken aloud until Mike Muldoon spoke.
“That’s probably my fault, Senior.” Muldoon pulled on his vest and lowered his voice. “I think she’s avoiding me. She canceled lunch on me, too. She left a message saying she thought we should talk when we get back to San Diego. I think I’m getting dumped before I even got attached.”
“Yeah, I’d like to talk to you, too,” Stan said. “I’m pretty sure I steered you in the wrong direction, and I owe you an apology. After this is over. Maybe on the flight home?”
Muldoon shook his head. “Senior, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, I do.” He owed Teri an apology, too. She’d come to him for help, and he was such a pompous prick, so goddamn full of himself, he’d assumed he could fix all her problems. Of course he could. He was Mr. Fix-It, the Miracle Man. He could make things right for her. And the fact that he’d been hot for her from day one? Well, he could just ignore that. He was stronger than that, tougher than a mere mortal man. Things like lust and desire—the mighty senior chief was above all that.
Except when she came into his room and took off her clothes. That was something he hadn’t planned on happening. Yeah, that was well outside of his projected possible scenarios.
Then, after completely losing his mind over her, he didn’t even have the balls to come clean and tell her. He didn’t say a single word about how crazy he was for her, how much he liked her and respected her, how beautiful he thought she was. He hadn’t told her that making love to her had been completely beyond his wildest imaginings—and he had one hell of an imagination.
He hadn’t admitted that he was scared to death because he was falling in love with her. Yeah, he couldn’t come clean even with himself about that one. Falling. Right. As if he hadn’t already fallen. As if there was still a chance that he wasn’t going down and going down hard.
And while “Teri, I love you,” may not have been the words she particularly wanted to hear either, he could have gone for something more along the lines of “God, you’re incredible.”
Instead he’d asked where she was in her menstrual cycle.
Yeah, he’d messed this up but good. Teri had gone into run and hide mode again—because of him. He was the asshole she was hiding from now.
“Let’s go!” Starrett shouted. “Let’s do this right!”
It sure would be nice to do something right today.
Helga sat in her hotel room, surrounded by Post-it notes.
Never forget. It was the cry of all Holocaust survivors. Never forget.
She’d told her story so many times. To classrooms full of children. To women’s clubs. To religious groups. At cocktail parties and diplomatic functions.
“I lived in Denmark as a child—during World War II. I was but one of seventy-eight hundred Danish Jews living near Copenhagen when Hitler invaded. Did you know Denmark was the only country that said, No, you will not take our Jewish citizens. Denmark was the only country in Europe where Jews weren’t required to wear a yellow star on the front and on the back of all their clothing.
“Did you know that in February 1942, in Nazi-occupied Denmark, a man who tried to burn down the Copenhagen Synagogue was tried and convicted—and sentenced to three years in prison? For a crime against Jews.
“Did you know that of the seventy-eight hundred Danish Jews, all but four hundred seventy-four escaped to Sweden? And of those unlucky four-hundred seventy-four who were rounded up by the Nazis and sent to Theresienstadt, all but fifty-four survived because the Danish king sent word to the Germans saying, We are watching you. Those fifty-four died from sickness and old age.
“Denmark said no. You cannot do this to our citizens. Denmark said no, and her people rose up, at great risk to themselves, and thousands of lives were saved. In other countries, they shrugged. What could we do? If we tried to help, they’d have killed us, too.
“Maybe so. But maybe all they really had to do was just . . . say no.”
She would write a book. About Annebet and Hershel. About Marte and her parents. She would do it soon. While she still could. Surrounded by Post-it notes, if necessary. She’d finally put her story onto paper. Then, when her voice was finally silent, when she could no longer remember her own name, her words would still ring out. Her story would not be forgotten.
Helga had faced challenges before. With the grace of God, she could face this one, too.
The hotel’s fire alarm went off.
Teri quit pretending she was sleeping and just lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the braying of the horns.
When she’d switched assignments with Jeff Edwards, she’d told herself it was because she was tired. She needed to sleep.
She’d come back here and climbed into bed and pretended she hadn’t switched assignments because she was hiding from Stan.
But the truth was, she was hiding from Stan.
And Stan, being a highly intelligent man, had probably figured that out.
What she didn’t know was, once he knew she was hiding from him, would he steer clear of her or would he make an effort to seek her out?
If he came knocking on her door, looking to talk seriously about the possibilities of her being pregnant, she would scream.
But really, what were the odds he’d come knocking on her door only to step inside, lock it behind him, and give her one of his knockout smiles? What were the odds he’d admit that the sex they’d shared was the best sex he’d ever had in his entire life, and that he wanted to do it again—right now?
And what were the odds that, afterward, still tangled together on her bed, he’d kiss her. Softly. Tenderly. And he’d tell her . . .
What?
Teri sat up and put on her boots. She shrugged into her hated flack jacket and grabbed her key from the top of the TV that didn’t work and went out into the hallway. The sirens were louder out here, and she covered her ears as she jogged toward the stairwell, heading down to the lobby.
The power was out in the hotel and emergency lights were on in the stairwell, giving it a creepy, otherworldly feel.
There weren’t as many people heading down the stairs as she’d imagined there’d be. And she even passed a maid carrying an armload of towels and going up. That was probably a large clue that this was just a false alarm, but she was more than halfway to the lobby, so she kept going.
Besides, maybe she’d run into Stan.
And then what? He’d drop to his knees and tell her that he loved her? That he wanted to marry her?
The man didn’t even have furniture in his house. He’d told her he had no intention of getting married—ever.
And she—when the hell had she turned into Snow White? Lying around praying that someday her prince would come?
So what if Stan didn’t want to get married. So what if he didn’t love her. So what if he considered their lovemaking to be a mistake.
He liked her. Teri knew he did. And he was attracted to her, too. She knew that as well.
She’d gone to him this morning, and he’d been unable to resist her. Maybe if she did that enough times, he’d get used to the idea, get used to having her around—having someone take care of him for a change.
God, she just wanted to be with him.
And she was damned if she was going to let him get away without a fight.
Someday my prince will come, indeed.
How about tonight? Tonight she’d find her prince. She’d go to him. And tonight, yeah, if she did it right, her prince would definitely come.
Teri laughed aloud at the rudeness of that particular double entendre as she pushed through the door to the lobby.
Sirens.
There should have been sirens when the Germans finally came for the Jews, but there weren’t. It was silent and the sky was very blue. It was just another October day.
Helga was in the Gunvalds’barn with Marte when they heard voices in the street.
They went to the door, thinking it was the vegetable cart.
But it wasn’t.
A crowd of neighbors and friends had gathered—and the German officer in charge was warning them to stand back.
“This isn’t your business,” he said.
Helga saw Wilhelm Gruber standing off to the side, smoking a cigarette, just watching.
And then the German officer, in his gleaming black boots, saw them. “You there,” he ordered, pointing to Marte. “Do you live here?”
“Stay here,” Marte said to Helga. “Stay hidden.”
But the German had already spotted her. “Both of you girls. Come here.”
There was nothing to do but go forward. Running would only prove they had something to hide. Helga had heard Annebet say it often enough.
Marte took her hand, holding it tightly. “I won’t let them take you,” she murmured.
Then Annebet came out of the house, cool as could be. “Is there a problem?”
The German officer stood a little taller at her smile. “We received information that there were Jews hidden here.”
From where Helga stood in the yard, she could see Fru Gunvald leading her parents out the back door and through a hole in the fence to the neighbor’s house.
“There’s no one here but my mother and my sisters,” Annebet said, crossing to stand beside Helga, her hand on her shoulder.