“Matsen, Gustav; Nygaard, Benedikt; Pihl, Edvard; Risberg, Knut; Steensen, Harald; Thomason, Jacob.”
It was after midnight at the Berger flat as Anders typed a list of the names of the disappeared on his Halda portable, as Britta called them out.
“Want some more coffee, Anders?”
“Yes, please.”
Britta returned with a thermos of coffee and poured him a cup.
“We’re halfway through,” Britta said. “It won’t be long before we finish.”
Anders stood up to stretch briefly before sitting back down and drinking his coffee.
“Count Bernadotte has a secret plan to bring back all the Scandinavian prisoners.”
“Really? What is this plan?” Britta asked.
“Well, it’s still being debated by the authorities, but Bernadotte wants to send some thirty buses to collect our people at Neuengamme. The buses will be painted white with the sign of the Swedish Red Cross to prevent bombing from the Allies. He wants the army to provide twenty doctors and nurses to accompany the volunteers.”
“When do you think they will start?”
“I don’t know, but the minister must first accept the plan,” Anders said. ”They need to hurry.”
“Will you go with them?”
“I hope so,” Anders said. “I am not giving up on Rolf.”
Britta smiled at Anders and gave him a kiss.
“The minister has appointed Colonel Björck to look over the plan. He’ll be in charge of handling the logistics of the repatriation.”
Unshaven and drunk, Golcher was asleep on the couch in his small flat when he heard a knocking at the front door. He awakened as the knocking increased in intensity.
“Herr Golcher. Open up.”
Still half asleep, Golcher went to the door and opened it. Karl-Heinz walked in without a word and looked around at the mess. There were empty bottles of beer and glasses on the table, clothes piled high on the chairs, and dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. Worse was the stink of unwashed bodies and rotting food.
“Herr Golcher, you need to get cleaned up and come back to work.”
“But I have no work. The Gestapo has barred me from returning to work while they decide what to do with me.”
“Who do you think got you out of that Gestapo prison?” Karl-Heinz asked.
“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”
“Schellenberg. Who else? He put in a call to the Gestapo head Müller. That’s why you were sent home. I said I would help you.”
Kramer lit a cigarette and puffed on it as he looked around the flat.
“Where is your Swedish woman? You should get her to come over and clean this place up.”
“She left me, Dr Kramer, after this business with the Gestapo.”
“I’m sorry, but you need to pick yourself up and come with me. I have some work I want you to do. It’s a temporary job, but you’ll be paid by the SD Ausland office.”
Golcher’s eyes lit up with hope.
“Vielen Dank, Dr Kramer! Thank you. Give me ten minutes.”
Karl-Heinz opened a window as Golcher started running around the flat, picking up clothes and clearing space for his boss to sit down.
In the Florsberg common room, Bernie and Sabrina waited as Aksell, in a threadbare old grey suit, was brought in.
“Pappa! How are you?” Sabrina asked, rushing forward to greet her dad.
Bernie gave them a moment and then joined them.
“We’re taking you home, sir,“ Bernie said. “You’ve been released.”
Aksell looked confused.
“Home?”
“Yes, you’re free to leave, Pappa,” Sabrina said. “We’re taking you home today.”
“I can go home?”
“The minister has released you,” Bernie said. “We have the papers here. Show him, Sabrina.”
Sabrina thrust the letter from the minister into Aksell’s hands, but he ignored it.
“I must say goodbye to my friends, Sabrina. I must say goodbye.”
“Yes, of course, Pappa.”
“The British have given you an award for your music compositions,” Bernie said.
“My music?” Aksell laughed. “No, it is not possible.”
“Bernie is right. The British have given you a prize for your music.”
“But I have never been to Britain, Sabrina. This is a joke, yes?”
“No, sir,” Bernie said. “With the award, you will be able to go to Britain.”
“It’s not a joke, Pappa,” Sabrina assured him.
A short time later, after numerous handshakes and hugs from his friends, Aksell walked out of the Florsberg camp on the arm of his daughter.
Spring was in the air as Bernie and Sabrina drove south through the Swedish countryside with its pretty falu red cottages and melting snowbanks. Aksell sat in the back, admiring the view.
“So who is giving me this prize?” Aksell asked.
“The Rugby Music Society in Warwickshire,” Bernie said.
“I’ve never heard of these people.”
“Nor them of you, Pappa,” Sabrina said. “The award was the only way to convince the minister to release you.”
“Sweden cannot start putting its prize winners in jail,” Bernie said. “Imagine what would happen to the Nobel prize.”
“Which composition did they hear?” Aksell asked.
Bernie looked at Sabrina and Sabrina at Bernie. There was a moment of silence before Sabrina turned to address her dad.
“You know my favourite, Pappa.”
“You mean my ‘Daybreak Symphony’.”
“Yes, that is the one. They loved it.”
Sabrina smiled at Bernie as Aksell looked positively ecstatic at hearing the news. He felt honoured that the Rugby Music Society loved his precious symphony.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and the restaurant in Gamla Stan was almost empty. Bridget was having tea with Hanne and Elsa.
“Frau Kramer is worried about her mother,” Hanne said. “She wants to return to Cologne to see her, but her husband is against it. After the bombings in October, her mother fled the city. She’s living with an elderly cousin in a nearby village.”
“There’s real panic at the German Legation,” Elsa said. “I heard that a lot of their employees are trying to stay in Sweden. They fear that Germany will be overrun by the Red Army.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the same,” Bridget said.
“No one wants to go back,” Hanne said.
“Is the Gestapo still watching the Kramer house?”
“No, I think they’re gone. I haven’t seen a car in quite a while.”
“Are we good for a pickup tomorrow, Hanne?”
“I think so. It may be the last in a while. I will only be working one day a week if Frau Kramer gets her wish to return to Germany.”