Touch the Sky (Young Underground #8) (14 page)

7

H
e Knows What We Look Like

             
“
I
’
m not sure I want to go anymore,
”
Henrik shouted over his shoulder. He was pedaling his bicycle just ahead of Peter through the old part of the city. Even though it was after dinner, the sun had only just sunk enough to put them in the shadows.

             
“
How can you say that?
”
Peter called out after him.
“
Last week when we asked our folks, you were all for it. It
’
s going to be a great trip.
”

             
They were almost at the end of Henrik
’
s delivery route for Mr. Krogh at the pharmacy. Only one more bag remained in the wire basket on his handlebars. Henrik pedaled even faster and cut into a narrow cobblestone street between two rows of tall, old buildings. It was the kind of street that Peter could almost jump across in a single leap. Henrik didn
’
t answer.

             
“
So what do you mean?
”
Peter tried another way of asking. A car came in the opposite direction, and they had to ride single file to let it pass.
“
My parents said we could go. Your mom said we could go. Uncle Morten
’
s going with us. Why would you change your mind?
”

             
“
I know all that,
”
Henrik finally answered,
“
and it
’
s not that I don
’
t want to go.
”

             
“
What then? First you say
—”

             
“
I want to go on this bike trip, okay? I just don
’
t want to get to where we
’
d be going.
”

             
“
Oh, is that all? You
’
re going to love my cousins
’
farm. They have sheep, and there
’
s a place to swim, and everything. It
’
s great.
”

             
“
That
’
s not what I mean.
”

             
Peter thought for a minute.
“
You
’
re talking about Palestine again, right?
”

             
Henrik nodded as they made a left turn into another tiny street.
“
I
’
ve been thinking about how we could work things out. Maybe my mother could go by herself.
”

             
Henrik paused, and Peter wondered if he was asking a question or just thinking aloud.

             
“
No matter what happens,
”
Henrik continued,
“
promise you
’
ll help me stay, okay, Peter?
”

             
Now Peter really didn
’
t know what to say.
Could Henrik really stay behind in Denmark?

             
“
You
’
ll help me?
”
repeated Henrik, crossing over to the left side of the little alley.

             
From behind them, Peter could hear a grinding of gears and a car or truck speeding their way. He glanced over his shoulder to see what looked like a small black English sedan, going much faster than it should have been. And for an instant, something about the driver made Peter gasp. He had seen that face before.

             
Peter swerved into a shallow doorway just as the car screamed past.

             
“
Henrik!
”
Peter yelled, but it was too late. The car swerved over to the left side of the lane, and it might have missed Henrik if the driver hadn
’
t popped open his door at the last moment.

             
The door caught Henrik
’
s rear fender like a bat hitting a ball, sending Henrik and his wheels sailing. Peter thought he heard the sound of laughing above the sickening crash of metal and Henrik
’
s frightened cry. Almost before Henrik landed in a heap on the sidewalk, the car had disappeared down the alley in a cloud of blue smoke.

             
“
Henrik!
”
Peter let his bicycle fall and sprinted over to the pile of twisted wheels and metal that surrounded his friend. He had the feeling that he had just seen something like this, then he remembered how his grandfather had been pushed down in almost the same way. Henrik sat up as Peter reached him.

             
“
Who hit me?
”
he asked, his eyes wide with surprise. Peter looked him over. The bicycle looked more like a pretzel than something to ride, and Henrik wore it around his waist like a tuba player in a marching band. But Henrik, incredibly, was left only scratched and bruised.

             
“
Are you all right?
”
someone asked. Peter turned to see an older couple hurrying toward them. Another woman pushed open a second
-
story window just above them, but no one else seemed to be on the street just then.

             
Henrik, his eyes still wide, nodded and tried to stand up, but he fell on top of his bicycle.

             
“
Careful, Henrik,
”
Peter warned. He and the older man helped Henrik untangle himself and get to his feet, while Henrik stared at the cloud of car smoke still floating slowly into the summer evening. Peter could almost hear the echo of the car door thumping Henrik from behind.

             
“
The driver was aiming for me, right?
”
Henrik whispered.

             
Peter knew the answer, but he couldn
’
t get it out. He replayed the scene in his mind where he looked back to see the face of the man. The same man who had been spying on Matthias at the
Acropolis
.

             
“
Well?
”
Henrik asked once more.

             
Peter had to nod.
“
Yes. I saw who it was.
”

             
“
Thank you.
”
Henrik nodded politely to the man who helped him untangle his feet from the wrecked bicycle.

             
“
Someone you know?
”
asked the man, who was about Grandfather Andersen
’
s age.
“
You should go to the police,
”
he told them. His wife nodded in agreement.

             
“
Thank you,
”
repeated Henrik, looking at his ruined bike.
“
I think we will after I make this last delivery.
”

             
Henrik bent down and picked up the brown paper sack from the pharmacy, checked inside to make sure the prescription was all right, then limped to the corner.

             
“
Henrik,
”
Peter objected,
“
you can do that later. Mr. Krogh will understand.
”

             
But Henrik didn
’
t look back. He knocked on a door and delivered his package, then limped back. By that time, the older couple had continued on their walk.

             
“
So who do you think it was?
”
Henrik asked. He stood over his twisted bicycle with his arms crossed.

             
“
The man with the crooked nose
—
the spy we saw on the Greek ship,
”
pronounced Peter.
“
I saw him. And it
’
s not like he was trying to hide from us or wear a mask.
”

             
Henrik tried to straighten the front wheel of his bike.
“
Did you see the license plate on the car?
”

             
Peter shook his head.
“
All I saw was that it was a little English car. Black.
”

             
“
But why me? I thought he was spying on Matthias.
”

             
“
Yeah, but don
’
t you see? This man must have been watching Matthias long enough to know who we are. You and your mom, too. Maybe he figures that if he can get to you, he can get to Matthias.
”

             
Henrik shivered.
“
That
’
s really creepy. I wonder what he wants.
”

             
“
I don
’
t know, but, Henrik, we have to find out who this man is. Did you see anything else, hear anything? Anything?
”

             
“
Last thing I heard before he smacked into me was him laughing. And something else
...”
Henrik
’
s voice trailed off and he looked up as if he was trying to remember.
“
He yelled something at me. It sounded like
‘
yehoodee.
’ ”

             
“
What?
”
asked Peter.

             
“
‘
Yehoodee,
’ ”
Henrik repeated.
“
‘
Yehoodee wisik.
’ ”

             
“
Oh boy.
”
Peter sighed.
“
We
’
ve got a strange one this time. Let
’
s take this bike back to the boathouse. Maybe Grandfather can help us figure this mess out.
”

             
“
Yehoodee what?
”
Grandfather Andersen scratched his head with the end of a wrench. The
frame of Henrik
’
s bike was sitting upside down on the workbench in front of them.
“
I
’
ve never heard of such a word.
”

             
“
I
’
ll bet it
’
s Greek, or Turkish,
”
Henrik guessed.
“
Something like that.
”

             
“
Or maybe the guy just sneezed,
”
Peter suggested, trying to stifle a smile.

             
Henrik frowned, like it wasn
’
t time for a joke.
“
He practically spit the words out at me, Peter. Like it was some kind of curse.
”
He wrinkled his face together and tried to make his lips say the strange
-
sounding words once more.
“
Yehoodee wisik.
”

             
Peter covered his mouth with his hand so Henrik wouldn
’
t see him grinning.
Come on, this is serious
, he scolded himself.

             
“
Sounds Middle Eastern to me,
”
guessed Grandfather Andersen, spinning a wobbly bike wheel in his hands.
“
And maybe you don
’
t want to find out what it means.
”
Grandfather Andersen put down the wheel, shook his head, and gave the bike frame a whack with his rubber mallet.