She tried to read his expression through her tears but couldn’t. He didn’t look menacing, but he didn’t look kind, either. Then he smiled and her blood ran cold. “That is a very nice story, but you see, Bernandina, I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s true! My bike —”

“Yes, perhaps your bicycle was taken. But I’ve never heard of a dairymaid who rides such great distances in the middle of a war unless she is up to something more than buying shoes.”

“It was my day off . . .”

“Don’t insult me.” His smile was gone now. “You are in a great deal of trouble, and I would like to help you because you are very pretty. And because I think you are only a minnow.”

Ans shivered at the mention of her code name, Minnow. Was it merely a coincidence, a figure of speech? Or did he know more about her?

“I can help you, Bernandina, but you must help me catch some bigger fish.”

“I don’t understand —”

“I think you do. Why don’t you start by telling me your real name?”

“That is my real name. Some people call me Dina —”

“Is that what your boyfriend calls you?”

“I-I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Now, I know that’s a lie. A girl as pretty as you must surely have a boyfriend.”

“But all the young men my age were taken away —”

“Tell me who you’re working for.” His tone was becoming harsher, angrier.

“The Dykstras —”

“Who gave you the bicycle and sent you to Bodegraven?” He stepped closer. “What did you really do there? Who did you contact?”

“Nobody! I needed shoes!”

She started to tremble, terrified of the torture Erik had warned about. The room was hot, the coarse prison dress scratchy. She started to cover her face as her tears fell, but the officer shouted at her. “Look at me!”

Ans lowered her hands. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Tell me where you are from, innocent farm maid. Where is your family?”

Ans had thought this through in the brief time she’d spent in her jail cell. Any answers she gave could be checked —and probably would be. She didn’t want to put anyone she loved in danger, so she had decided on a story that couldn’t be verified easily and hoped she could fabricate enough details to make it believable.

“The Dutch East Indies. Bandung, on Java. I came to the Netherlands to work as a housemaid, but then the war started and the only work I could find was on a farm.” He studied her face. Ans struggled to recall the details Erik had told her about Java, all of the photographs they’d looked at together. She hoped she was a convincing liar.

“What do you miss most about home?” he asked. His cruel smile was back.