“Willem,” I blurt out. “Heavens. I’m so glad it’s you.”

He shuts us inside, not returning my smile. “What is it you want?” The tone in his English isn’t cold, but neither is it warm. A touch unexpected after our last interaction.

He is, nonetheless, here.

“I need your help. Only once more.”

When he doesn’t respond, I dare to cut to the situation. “Two friends are in grave danger. They need ID cards and travel papers, like mine, to get to Switzerland along an escape line.” A vision of the three of us traveling together sweeps through my mind. As if sharing the view, Willem’s stoicism wavers.

“Ach. That is all? Let me look.” He makes a show of patting his coat pockets, a smirk passing over his lips. “Sorry. I must have forgotten my extra set.”

As with Arie, the mocking is galling, though just slightly more reasonable. I know from MI9 how often we shipped forging supplies—passable stamps, inks, paper materials—to POWs and Resistance groups throughout the Continent.

“Please, you must know someone with access to resources. A leader in the underground, maybe a sympathetic clerk.”

His spark of levity dims. “I do not wish to be more involved.”

Then why ever did you come? I want to say. But cautious of putting him off, sensing his readiness to leave, I delve swiftly beyond the personal. “The agent I dropped in with—Bram—the one you asked about—”

“He is dead.”

“You knew?”

“I have heard.”

I shouldn’t be surprised; at some level, word must have spread in the days since. Perhaps my prior withholding of that information is adding to his guardedness. “Well, what you might not have heard is that the Germans seemed to know we were coming. Given similar occurrences, it appears intelligence has been compromised. That’s why it’s even more vital my friends and I get back to share details, so London won’t keep sending operatives.”

“But already,” he says, “these are stopped.”

“How do you mean?”

“There are no more drops. Not of people. Therefore, your headquarters must already be informed.”

I want this to be the case, I do—particularly after what I witnessed in the fields. I just wish it didn’t weaken my cause for Willem’s help. “That may very well be true. To be safe besides, if there’s any way you can still assist—”

“As I told you, I am a messenger of information only.”

“Yes. I know you said that—” This is all I get out before he turns to exit, and apprehension grips me. “Willem, stop. I beg of you! I’ll pay you all that I have!”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses. “It is not a matter of money.”

“What, then? What would change your mind?” Encouraged when he looks back at me, I rush to emphasize, “There must be something I can offer you. Anything.”