The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 (25 page)

The only story no one told was the truth; that people were avoiding deportation by fleeing across the Oresund Strait to Sweden. Magnus felt a fierce pride in his countrymen who risked themselves to save the lives of people who lived in Denmark, regardless of who they were, even if it meant defying the authorities.

They watched a trio of lopsided boats leaning into the wind, the waves striking hard against the small hulls as the small fleet departed. “How can we be sure Eva and her father made it to Sweden?” asked Annelise.

“Show us where they lived,” Magnus said. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he felt a sting of apprehension.

The place above the bake shop was deserted. Everything seemed left as if they had just stepped out briefly. A boot tray with a pair of wooden garden clogs lay by the door. There was a pitcher of milk on the table, a skin forming on the top. An ashtray containing the remains of a hand-rolled cigarette sat on the painted enamel table. An armoire with its doors agape stood half empty.

There was a peculiar smell in the air. Metallic and strange.

“Word must have reached them already,” Magnus said, standing at the front window and looking out at the town. He pictured Eva walking through the charming cobblestone streets, or passing by the beautiful castle, admiring its spires against a sunny sky, or perhaps playing on the sandy beach across from the strand, able to see Sweden on a clear day. He wondered if he would ever meet her again, and felt a twist of emotion in his gut.

“We should go,” Ramon said. “There’s more to be done in the city.”

Magnus wondered if the smell came from Sweet’s photographic chemicals. Maybe they’d been spilled during the hasty departure. He glanced down at the floor and noticed a trail of dark spots leading toward a windowless back room.

And that was when he knew.

They found Sweet’s body, broken in too many places to count, lying in a heap. Annelise turned and buried her face in her hands. They made a thorough search for Eva, dreading what they might find. But to their relief, there was no sign of her. Magnus stood unmoving, wishing his last glimpse of the man he’d loved and admired had not been this. Then he remembered every detail of Eva, the way she liked to make a wish on dandelion puffs, the way her eyes lit up when he explained to her how Christmas worked, the sound of her laughter, the silence of her sadness. She would be nearly grown now.

* * *

Back in Copenhagen, the Waffen SS had formed teams of police battalions with a Danish collaborator on each team to lead them on their hunt for the Jews. It was the Jewish new year, and the Germans assumed families would make the process simple for them by being at home for the holiday. Yet as the teams moved through the city with their transport vehicles and list of addresses to check, they encountered empty homes, time and time again.

Someone in the underground told Magnus about a Jewish family called Friediger in the east harbor district whom no one had been able to contact. He was to find his way to an address near Langelinie to make certain the family had gone into hiding. To his horror, he looked into the window and saw that they were still at home, gathered around the dining table, eating apples dipped in honey and sharing a loaf of golden braided challah bread.

He pounded on the door but didn’t bother to wait for an answer. The door wasn’t locked, so he burst inside. “I’ve come to warn you that you must leave,” he said without preamble. “Now. The Waffen SS has sent out teams to find all the Jews in the city. If they find you, they’ll arrest you and take you away for deportation.”

“We are aware of the order,” said a man with a gray beard. He wore a white cap embroidered with blue on his bald head. “We have decided to stay together as a family. My wife’s parents are too elderly to be moved, and my daughter has a new baby.” He gestured at the people gathered around the table, indicating an old woman in a wheelchair seated next to an old man whose hands shook with palsy. Mr. Friediger’s wife and daughter were on the opposite side of the table, a tiny swaddled bundle in the daughter’s arms.

“You don’t understand. If you don’t get away now, you’ll be taken,” Magnus said.

“We have money for bribes,” the man answered. “Listen, young man, your concern is well-founded, but the decision has been made. It is the birthday of the new year. We shall celebrate as we always have.”

Magnus thought about the night his own family had been taken. There had been no warning, no offer from anyone to help get them into hiding. In one brutal intrusion, his parents had been taken. Dear God, if they’d had even a moment of advance warning, he might still have a family. This was a gift, and the man didn’t seem to understand that. His temper snapped. “Don’t be stupid,” he yelled, looking around the table. “What good is it to stay together as a family if you’re going to be shipped to a death camp?”

“Young man—”

“I can help you. I’ll get you on a boat—”

“Papa, maybe we should listen to him,” said the daughter.

There was a pounding at the door, and the tiny baby let out a wail.

“Police,” called a voice from outside. “Open up.”

Magnus’s pulse surged. “Put out the lights. Is there a back door?”

The man stood up. “Look at them,” he said with quiet resignation, gesturing at his family. “Can you truly think we can sneak away in the night? Now, the back door is through there. I suggest you make use of it. I can deal with the police.”

The baby’s cries sounded like the mewing of a kitten. With unhurried deliberation, Mr. Friediger went to answer the door. Seething with frustration, Magnus headed for the back of the house, lingering behind the pantry door. Perhaps Friediger knew something Magnus did not, and they would be left alone.

There was a shuffle of heavy footsteps. “You are to come with us,” said an officious voice in German-accented Danish. “You may each bring two blankets, food for three days’ travel and one small suitcase per person. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“I can offer you fifteen thousand kroner,” Friediger said calmly. “It is all the cash we have.”

“Why would you think for a moment we’d accept a bribe?” the German demanded, and Magnus heard the sound of coins, spilling across the floor.

* * *

On October second, Ramon, Magnus and Annelise saw about two hundred Jews forced to board the ship
Wartheland.
Magnus’s gaze combed the crowd for a glimpse of Eva. Each time he saw a girl with thick dark braids, he stiffened, thinking he’d spotted her. But she didn’t appear to be in the group being forced aboard the ship.

“I feel sick,” Annelise murmured, “but I can’t look away.”

Magnus understood her horror. The victims were entirely innocent; they were mothers cradling infants in their arms, elderly citizens bent over their canes, sick people coughing into wadded up handkerchiefs, a rabbi carrying a book and a flimsy suitcase. The guards screamed at them, kicked and beat them as they drove them belowdecks, seizing their luggage with impunity.

A young couple stepped out of the shuffling line and approached a guard. “There’s been a mistake,” the man said. “We’re not Jewish.”

“Shit,” said Magnus under his breath. “That’s not going to work.” He started walking toward them.

Ramon grabbed his arm. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to be taken if you—”

“Then so be it,” Magnus snapped. He strode forward. “Sir, I can vouch for them,” he stated. “These two don’t belong here.”

“Who are you?” the guard demanded.

Magnus thought fast. “I was with the search team covering Langelinie.”

The guard glared at the couple and then at Magnus. “Wait here,” he said. “I must go and check on something.”

While he went over to consult with his superior, Magnus leaned forward and whispered, “What is your name?”

“Jan and Marte Sonne. I am a brick mason, born and raised right here in the city.” The man’s voice shook. “Please, can you help? My wife is expecting our first child.”

The guard returned with the officer, who showed them a hardbound leather book. “Your name is here, on the census record,” the officer said. “You are listed as a member of the synagogue. How can that be a mistake?”

“He’s a mason,” Magnus said. “He was teaching me the trade, doing repairs at the synagogue. You know, after last year’s incident,” he added, referring to the explosion at the synagogue. “That is why his name is on the list.”

The officer snapped the book shut. “Step out of line. We will verify this later.”

“I’ll wait with them over there.” Magnus made a vague gesture toward the street, having no intention of waiting, of course. As he escorted the couple away from the line of people, the guards were distracted and the couple ducked into a shop.

“Where the hell is she?” Magnus asked Ramon, still thinking of Eva. “I’m going to get on that ship.”

“You can’t. It’s too dangerous. If they catch you, they’ll kill you.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think she’s not worth it?”

“You’ll be useless to her if you’re dead,” Ramon stated.

“Distract them,” Magnus said to Annelise.

“But I—”

“Just do it.”

She set her mouth into a seam of fury, but strode forward and approached a guard who was loitering on the quay. He couldn’t hear what she said to him, but when the guard looked away, he loaded a crate onto a hand truck and wheeled it toward the transport ship. He got as far as the loading plank when a sharp command hit him like a blow:
“Halt.”

Magnus froze, then slowly turned. “Yes?” he asked, feigning boredom.

“What are you doing?” a soldier asked.

“Bringing supplies aboard.”

“Under whose orders?”

He shrugged. “Just doing what I’m told.”

“I’m telling you to make yourself scarce,” the guard said. “Be off with you, now.”

Magnus set down the hand truck. He clenched his hands into fists. He thought about the dagger he always kept concealed in his ankle holster. His fingers twitched. Cries of distress from the prisoners filled the air. An explosion detonated inside him, made of fury and impotence and raw despair.

Leaning down, he reached for the knife. Annelise grabbed his hand. “Come,” she said. “We must be going.”

* * *

Magnus had been looking for Eva for a year, ever since the roundup of the Jews. After being shipped from Copenhagen, the captured Jews had been driven like cattle into cars and locked in for transport. With no water and little ventilation, they were sent to Danzig and ultimately to a work camp. The Danish people had done their best to persuade the Germans to accept packages of food and medicine for the prisoners. The Danish Red Cross monitored conditions at the camp and tried to minimize the casualties.

The Allies applauded the action, but Magnus feared Eva had been among those seized. She had disappeared along with dozens of others.

After the Normandy invasion, the atmosphere in Copenhagen changed. Everyone noticed; it was like an ill wind sweeping down the city’s narrow alleyways and through its harbors and docks. The Germans seemed to be on edge and even more suspicious than usual. The least little thing could set them off, and ordinary citizens were liable to be detained and questioned.

The Danish government had long since resigned in protest. Some of the largest ships in the harbor were scuttled to keep the Germans from using them.

In retaliation, several buildings in Tivoli Gardens, the city’s one hundred year old amusement park, were burned down. Many blamed the Nazis or Nazi sympathizers. Resolute citizens rebuilt the place and even erected a Ferris wheel, determined to carry on.

Magnus was staked out one September day, garbed in a shapeless gray workman’s overall and swirling a twig broom lazily across the walkways around city hall square, listening to snippets of conversation from passing government officials. For the most part, their conversations were mundane and dull—the unseasonably hot weather, the difficulties of managing their department workers, the latest office gossip, the need to find more electric fans for government offices.

On that September day, Magnus got lucky. He was rolling his two-wheeled waste cart past the side of the massive, steepled city hall when voices drifted to him through an open window.

Magnus stopped the cart and took hold of the broom, busying himself near the window.
“...arrest or deportation,”
someone said in German.
“It makes no difference to me.”

“Now that the HIPO are in place, we have no further need to delay action.”

Magnus felt a cold sting of suspicion. “HIPO” was code for
Hilfspolizei,
a corps of Danish collaborators who had thrown in their lot with the Germans. Rumor had it that they would take the place of the proper Danish police. Ordinary citizens held them in contempt. Members of the resistance were dedicated to defying them at every turn.

“The Danish police have been of no use at all,” said the German. “Write the order, effective next Monday.”

“That’s too much time,” the first speaker said. “You know these Danes. They take each other in, help each other to hide. They’ll slip through our fingers.”

“Just write the order and be done with it.” The man sounded exasperated. “In the meantime, the HIPO will keep order around here.”

Magnus brought this bit of intelligence to a meeting of his group. Another agent corroborated the story, saying he had seen correspondence from the German in charge of civilian affairs. The Danish police force was slated to be arrested en masse.

Most of them went into hiding or escaped to Sweden. Without a functioning police force, crime skyrocketed, but this was nothing new to Magnus. He had been living outside the law for years. He welcomed the lawlessness, because it distracted the Germans from their hunt for rebels.

Secret telegrams crackled through the city. Acts of resistance grew more fierce and audacious. Ramon and Magnus went out one night to place detonators along a railway track to derail a German transport train. It was an act of sabotage that had been done many times, and guards patrolled the rail lines at two hundred meter intervals.

The night was gloomy, the air heavy with fog. They waited in a wooded area near the tracks, straining to see through the dark mist. Running along with their heads low, they placed the first three detonators, affixing them under the lip of the rail so the guards wouldn’t see. As they were installing the fourth one, Magnus heard the sound of boots on gravel. “Shit,” he whispered, “someone’s coming.”