“There is a chance they might fire at us,” Bernie said to Peter and Vincent in his old Ford. They were driving south on a two-lane blacktop in rain and fog. The weather had grown milder but it made driving at any speed hazardous.
“We need to keep a lid on this,” Peter said. “We don’t want a diplomatic incident.”
“Peter’s right, we’ll lose our jobs,” Vincent said. “We need to keep quiet about this.”
“We’ll lose our jobs,” Bernie mimicked Vincent with a sarcastic air. “Don’t be a fucking pansy, Vincent. Crikey, do you think for one moment that those Nazi bastards are going to let us take her back without a fight?”
“I’m afraid Bernie’s right, Vincent. If she’s there, then it’s the Gestapo we’ll be dealing with. They’ll be armed and ready for action.”
“I brought three Thompson machine guns just in case, guv,” Bernie said. “They’re in the boot and your Webley is in the glove compartment.”
Peter pulled out the Webley revolver and put it in his pocket.
“There probably won’t be anybody around this time of the year,” Vincent said. “They don’t usually open until May for the summer months.”
“If this broad is there, we take her,” Bernie said. “I don’t care what the consequences are.”
“We won’t have any choice in the matter,” Peter said. “We must get her home.”
“I brought winter coats and balaclavas,“ Bernie said. “They’ll never recognize us. The way I see it, is we go in, grab the woman and shoot any Fritz that stands in our way.”
Vincent looked distraught on hearing the plan.
“Look at it this way, Vincent,” Bernie said. “Kramer and the Gestapo kidnapped this woman on Swedish soil in broad daylight. That’s a crime. They won’t be complaining to any local police if we happen to kill a few of them taking her back, now will they?”
Vincent thought about his wife Elsa and her friendship with Hanne.
“Bernie’s right, Peter. Elsa will kill me if I don’t bring Hanne back alive.”
It was almost midnight as Bernie took a left towards the town of Norvik. The snow was still heavy in drifts on the side of the road, but the rain had finally stopped.
Bernie pulled up at an isolated two-storey villa after cutting his headlights. The air was chilly near the coast and there was a good deal of ground fog. They climbed out of the car and Bernie opened the boot. They put on black winter coats over their suits and removed their hats. They slipped the balaclavas over their heads and grabbed the Thompsons. Bernie showed Vincent how to remove the safety on his weapon.
“Since you chaps have no military training, just follow me one at a time, keeping your distance,” Bernie said. “Walk in my footsteps, keeping your guns pointed at the ground. And no noise or talking.”
Peter and Vincent nodded quietly and followed Bernie towards the house in a long detour. They sneaked around the villa in the deep snow, keeping their distance from the windows. They could see a light on inside the silent house.
After completing their surveillance of the house, they congregated at the side door to the kitchen. Through the window, they noticed an older man dressed in workman’s overalls pouring himself a glass of water.
Bernie kicked the door open and raced into the kitchen, yelling at the man in German.
“Auf den boden!” Bernie screamed.
“Auf den boden,” Peter repeated the order, taking over from Bernie, who ran up the stairs to the second floor while Vincent checked the adjoining rooms.
“Nicht schiessen,” the concierge was terrified and dropped to the floor.
“Haben Sie eine Frau?” Peter asked after the man’s wife.
“Ja, sie schläft,” the concierge replied, indicating his wife was sleeping.
“Gehen sie finden,” Peter ordered the man to go fetch her.
The concierge stood up stiffly and went to wake his wife. Moments later, he reappeared with a frightened woman in her nightgown. On the upper floor, Bernie appeared with a German officer and brought him downstairs. The officer emerged from the dark and Peter immediately recognized the face of Oberleutnant Kemper in a black SS uniform.
“He’s the only one around,” Bernie whispered to Peter in English.
“So Herr Faye. It’s Herr Faye, isn’t it?” Kemper asked.
“Oberleutnant Kemper, I believe. You are with the SD now. What are you doing here?”
“This is a retreat, Mr Faye, for hard-working German officers and diplomatic staff.”
“Yes, I can see that. We’re looking for a woman who has disappeared.”
“A woman? Well, you have come to the wrong place. It’s just me, the concierge and his wife.”
Vincent reappeared and shook his head at Peter.
“She’s not here,” Bernie insisted. “Let’s go, Peter.”
“Sorry for the disturbance, Oberleutnant,” Peter said, taking the lead from Bernie. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night to you, Herr Faye,” Kemper replied, “and good luck finding this woman.”
Bernie, Peter and Vincent filed out of the house, closing the door behind them as Kemper and the concierge looked at each other and broke into a laugh.
“Verfluchte Engländer,” Kemper said, remarking on the crazy Englishmen.