They’re gathering the chute.

After several tension-racked seconds, the murmurings resume, yet fainter. Same for sounds of movement. I ease my eyes open, just as the soldiers call out. I flinch.

A vehicle revs closer, rolling over gravel. When the engine idles, I brace for the troops to return on a more scrutinizing search.

That doesn’t come.

Their hunt continues but farther and farther away, until it’s only me, left cocooned in the darkness with the daunting choice of what to do next.

Chapter 51

During our final briefing, I received directions to the barn that would serve as our safe house. We’re to meet there, Bram told me, should anything go astray.

Bram. My alleged adversary. Although he’s gone, my relief is scant given the scene I witnessed. A ghastliness I can’t afford yet to process.

I spend the next couple hours cautious in the shrubs, squelching the images as best I can, along with my plans involving the barn. In their ongoing search, the Germans could be surveilling any structures in the area. Not that Voorthuizen, the sole village within walking distance, promises to be much safer. But my bus stop is there, and I have no better alternative.

In fact, for both me and Arie, I have only greater reason now to catch the earlier pickup, the first of the day to Utrecht. Watchful Nazis aside, once the British hear what occurred, who’s to say they don’t reassign Bram’s duties? Perhaps to an operative already nearby and without including me. A saving grace of the situation is the military’s tendency to piecemeal information, covert work even more so by design. Battles and distance, I figure, could also delay communication, giving me the upper hand.

For a few days at least.

All in, I have a week here—not even. I’m to depart by train Saturday morning to rendezvous with my escape guide, leaving me but six full days to find Arie—or “Frans.” That’s his field name, I’ve learned.

Anxiously, I climb out of my hiding spot. I remove all my jump gear and, minus my knife—which I store in my hidden pocket—cram it into the shrubbery. Seated close, away from the road, I’m prepared to serpentine back in if needed. To fend off sleep, I ingest one of my two blue Benzedrine pills, and through the side effect of a light dizzy wave, I listen for sounds.

At dawn’s welcome light, I change my clothes. Since pants on women are considered brazen here, I pull on a plaid day dress, as subdued as my lisle stockings made of gray cotton. After refastening the buttons and belt of my coat—also gray, though charcoal—I rid my hair of debris while tidying the pins. Less out of hunger than to pass the time, I snack on the licorice and biscuits I received before the flight—both deliberately Dutch brands.