After Hitler invaded the Netherlands following the Rotterdam Blitz, even Queen Wilhelmina found it necessary to retreat to London with her government-in-exile. On Radio Oranje, a BBC program named for her monarchy, she broadcasts messages to her citizens who tune in secretly on their radios. She can do little more than offer encouragement as the enemy clamps down, the effect of a clear miscalculation.

Not illogically, the Nazis initially figured that as the Germans’ Aryan “cousins,” most Dutch would be lured willingly into the Reich, but those hopes are withering. Just recently, the slaying of a Nazi collaborator, a high-ranking Dutch official, triggered a succession of German reprisals. Reported among them was the summary execution of fifty imprisoned Allied operatives and raids to seek out more. To prevent meeting a similar fate, Arie needs to make it out of there and soon.

Were our roles reversed, no doubt he’d dive straight in to help—but how?

I skim through our past, times we inherently worked hand in hand. Inspired by that very first film, we performed at the local junkyard for a pocketful of pennies. We played our parts and commanded attention. We made things vanish, then reappear.

Suddenly I see that the goal, of pulling off the seemingly impossible, remains the same.

And so, then, is my solution.

Chapter 44

Entering the hospital room, I’m relieved to find Hutton alone. Rumored to be fit any day for discharge, he’s at the window in a robe belted over his pajamas, studying the near-cloudless sky while puffing on a cigarette. I’ve grown as accustomed to smoke from his Pall Malls as to the scent of disinfectant here and barely detect either.

The second I close the door, I launch in without preamble. “I’m in need of your help, Clutty. It’s an urgent personal matter.”

He turns, peering through his glasses.

Before I can come to my senses, I expound while moving toward him. “The issue pertains to a dear friend in U.S. intelligence. This morning, you see, I was questioned regarding suspicions over—”

“Your lieutenant friend.”

This halts me, despite having considered the possibility of Hutton’s awareness. “They spoke with you. About me.”

“Quite so.”

“And…you told them…”

“That I would entrust you with my life, as I believe that has already proven a fine bet.”

I ease with an exhale. “Thank you for that.”

He waves the sentiment away, shifting on his slippered feet. “Now then. This chum of yours, I reckon you view his guilt as…unlikely.” There’s skepticism in Hutton’s voice.

“Not just unlikely. He’s absolutely incapable of what they’re suggesting.” Pointedly I add, “And I know this because I’ve entrusted him with my life. Far more than once.”

At Hutton’s pondering, no doubt wrangling with the accounts he’s been told, I recall the rationales I assembled on the bus ride over.