I ignore Arie’s impatient fidgeting as Brouwer rattles off instructions, which can’t be put to paper. The day after tomorrow, once the morning curfew lifts—as a night drive isn’t an option—Brouwer will commute here from home, and under the guise of a VIP artwork delivery, he’ll drive the loaded truck to pick up Arie and Evelien. The pair will be waiting at the deserted workshop. My idea. Conveniently located for Arie’s purposes, it’s discreetly accessible and lockable. And by then, it could hold the forged documents, no doubt useful even for fugitives who stay within the country, whether for everyday outings or in the event of a raid.

Today, thankfully, Arie isn’t objecting.

“We really ought to go,” he states and shoves on his hat.

I glance at the wall clock, confirming he’s right. It’s a quarter to four. Brouwer has warned us that a soldier will be swinging by in about an hour to pick up a shipment.

For Arie, limiting interactions with Brouwer is likely as much of a motivator.

“Indeed you should,” the fellow replies pleasantly, and we both stand. “Rest assured, only one trusted worker will assist me with building and loading the contraption. Beyond that, he will be privy to no details.”

Arie asks, “And what of your mother?” Despite his controlled tone, I detect an underlying resentment.

“She too will hear of nothing, for everyone’s safety.”

At Arie’s lack of response, I chime in to sustain cordialness since we need this man on our side. “Thank you, Mr. Brouwer. I know you’re taking an immense risk.”

“I would do much more if I could. Your family, they are very dear to me.”

Skipping genialities, Arie angles toward the door, but Brouwer thrusts out a hand. “Until Sunday.”

Arie pauses at the offering.

Take the man’s hand, my mind implores.

If only I could step in for him, but I can’t.

Arie shifts a foot, as if to continue his exit, but then slowly reaches out and accepts the handshake.

Brouwer softens with relief, as do I.

The plans are set, my work complete.

Oddly, however, I feel no sense of closure. For it’s a foreign and troubling thing, constructing an illusion I won’t be present to perform, the reward for success being not applause but survival.

Chapter 69

At the rear door of Brouwer’s building, Arie and I slip into the late-afternoon shadows, and I realize that this, right here, is where we part ways.

I rake my thoughts for anything more to review, not wanting to miss a detail.

Not wanting yet to leave.

“If you’d like,” I say, “we can go over the plan again.”

He shakes his head. “I appreciate that, but I’ve got it down pat. Besides, we really shouldn’t dally around here.”

Although reluctant, I nod.