Peter, Bernie and Vincent left the villa and headed back to their car. They drove off with the lights on high beams and soon pulled up around the corner from the villa. Bernie suddenly cut the lights and let Peter and Vincent out of the car. Bernie drove off again with the lights on high beams that lit up the snowbanks for miles around.
“Why are we waiting here, Peter?” Vincent asked.
“Something is going on back there. Kemper had on his SS uniform and was wearing boots. I suspect he’s leaving on a boat for Germany sometime tonight.”
“You think he’s got Hanne hidden somewhere?”
“I don’t know, Vincent, but clearly he is on the move tonight.”
Bernie soon returned with the car and the lights off. He pulled the car over, hiding it in a copse of trees. Peter and Vincent watched the villa for several minutes. There was no sign of activity until the concierge stepped out the side door and headed to the nearby shed. He was wearing boots and a winter coat and carrying a suitcase. He opened the door to the shed to reveal the dim outline of a motorcar inside. They lost sight of the man as he went to the back of the car. They heard the boot open and slam shut. The concierge got in behind the wheel and started up the car, driving out onto the road.
As the car idled, the concierge disappeared into the woods behind the shed. Oberleutnant Kemper appeared at the side door in a leather overcoat and SS visor cap. He walked over to the car, smoking a cigarette. A short time later, the burly concierge reappeared, dragging someone through the snow to the car. Peter and Vincent were too far away to see who it was, but it had to be Hanne. The person was wrapped in a blanket and appeared to be sedated. Kemper tossed his cigarette away but made no effort to help as the concierge opened the car's rear door and roughly pushed the person inside. The concierge got in behind the wheel and they drove off along the coast road.
From Peter and Vincent’s vantage point, it clearly looked like Kemper was going on a trip with Hanne. Was he returning to Germany by boat, or were they driving their hostage to another safe house?
Peter and Vincent called to Bernie to bring up the car.
At a private dock near Nynäshamn , a fishing boat waited for Oberleutnant Kemper and his hostage to arrive. Two sailors were loading a cargo of Bofors anti-tank guns on the exterior deck with a crane, as Kemper’s car pulled up on the dock. They got out and waved at the captain. The concierge opened the boot and brought over Kemper’s suitcase, which he put on the boat deck.
Bernie, Vincent and Peter drove along the coast road near the dock with their lights out. They spotted Kemper’s car on the dock near the fishing vessel shrouded in mist. They stopped the car and climbed out to get a better look. Peter turned to Bernie and Vincent.
“We’ve got to do something,” Peter said. “That fishing boat will be in Danzig in two days.”
“We have to get to her before they finish loading,” Vincent said.
Bernie quickly sized up the situation.
“Here’s a plan,” Bernie said with a confident air. “Vincent, I want you to sneak down there and get behind the shed. Peter and I will drive down to the dock in the car. As soon as we stop the car, I want you to open fire on the boat, pinning them down. You think you can do that?”
“Sure, I’ll do it,” Vincent said, suddenly eager to be involved in the action.
“We’ll give you ten minutes to get into place. Put the safety on before you go. You better hurry, go now.”
Vincent clicked the safety on the Thompson machine gun before he took off running along the road.
“Don’t shoot anybody, just keep their heads down.”
Peter and Bernie watched Vincent disappear into the thick fog around the dock.
“Do you think he can do it?”
“I hope so, guv. I hope so. Okay, you take the back seat with the Thompson at the ready. If anyone fires at us, you fire back,” Bernie said.
Peter nodded in agreement and got into the car.
Down on the dock, the loading of the Bofors was complete, and the captain had started up the engines, getting ready for their departure. After chatting with the captain, Kemper signalled for the concierge to fetch the hostage. The man returned to the car just as Bernie drove down to the dock. The concierge stopped in his tracks, seeing Bernie pull up in the Ford.
Suddenly, Vincent opened up, firing wildly at the boat. The concierge ran to his car as bullets slammed into the wheelhouse. Most of the shots were over the heads of Kemper and a sailor hiding behind the bulwark.
The concierge reached his car just as Peter fired a first volley of shots at Kemper. Bernie jumped out of the Ford and ran after the concierge, only to see the man pull a Schmeisser machine pistol from the back seat. Bernie ran for cover as the concierge sprayed the Ford with bullets. Peter slipped down on the floor as bullets slammed through windows.
The concierge approached Peter in the car as he looked for Bernie on the dock. As Vincent continued to rain bullets down on the fishing vessel, Peter crouched on the floor, hoping to get a shot through the window. The concierge stepped close to the side window and fired blindly into the front seat. He heard a cry and looked in, but saw no one. He moved along to get a look into the back seat. As he peered in, he saw Peter moving about. He shoved his gun through the window just as Bernie fired his Thompson, killing the man instantly.
“Stay down, guv. Kemper is coming this way.”
Peter struggled to sit up, holding his bleeding arm. A bullet from the Schmeisser had clipped his upper arm. He opened the door on the side away from the fishing boat and looked around for Bernie. Vincent had stopped firing after having run out of ammo. As Peter glanced over at the fishing vessel, he saw Kemper cross the dock and go to his car, holding a Luger pistol in the ready. A sailor threw the mooring cables off the dock and quickly jumped back on the deck as the boat started to move away.
“Bernie, where are you?” Peter whispered.
Peter stepped out of the car and fired twice at Kemper with the Thompson. Kemper fell to the dock and stopped moving.
“Good shot,” Bernie yelled. “Let’s get the woman and be on our way.”
Bernie ran over to the German car and checked on Hanne in the backseat.
“Is she okay?” Peter called.
“I think so,” Bernie said, feeling for a pulse. “They must have drugged her. She’s out cold.”
Bernie looked up as Peter approached.
“We gave them Nazi sods a taste of their own medicine, didn’t we, guv? You’re covered in blood!”
“It looks bad, but it must be superficial. I can still move my arm.”
They were interrupted by the voice of a night watchman, stumbling drunk out the warehouse door and holding a shotgun pointed at them. Bernie levelled the Thompson at the man as Peter ordered him to lay down his gun.
“Legen Sie die Waffen nieder.”
He goggled at Peter and then dropped the gun. He backed away, stumbling into the warehouse. Bernie watched him go as Vincent arrived.
“Let’s take a look at that wound, guv,” Bernie said.
“Not now, Bernie,” Peter replied. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“What happened, Peter?” Vincent asked as he arrived on the dock.
“The bastard clipped me with the Schmeisser. I think it’s just a flesh wound.”
The fishing boat was clearing the dock on its way out to sea, as Bernie went over to examine the Ford. The windshield and windows were smashed, and the body of the vehicle was riddled with bullet holes. Bernie got into the front seat and started the engine. Steam soon started to rise from the perforated radiator. Bernie lifted the hood and took a look at the engine.
“Vincent, are the keys in the ignition of Kemper’s car?”
Vincent went around the German Opel and sat in the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and started up the engine.
“It’s running, Bernie,” Vincent said.
“Good,” Bernie said. “We’ll drive mine into Norvik and dump it somewhere. I don’t want the Swedish authorities to find it here.”
Bernie took the Thompson and went to have a look in the warehouse. He stopped near the door and glanced inside. The night watchman was on the couch in the office and appeared to be fast asleep. Bernie looked at the stack of shipping crates with German lettering in long rows.
On the dock, Peter grabbed the concierge’s feet and turned to Vincent. “Give me a hand, Vincent. We can’t leave the bodies on the dock.”
Peter and Vincent dragged the concierge to the edge and dumped his body into the sea. Then they went to collect Kemper as Bernie returned.
“What do we do about the old man?” Peter asked.
“He’s too drunk to care. I don’t think he saw anything.”
“Right. Let’s get out of here.”