As we wade deeper into the room, the plum-colored walls close in. What will Arie do if I don’t show? Will he bypass our hideout, Brouwer’s pickup included, for fear our plan has been blown? Will he stay to search for me?

Evelien’s safety needs to come first. He must know I understand that.

Still, there has to be a way out, something I can do…or use. I slip my hand into my coat’s hidden pocket. My fingertips brush the folding knife. The small blade, while useless against a houseful of Nazis, can debilitate a lone man. If he doesn’t see it coming.

Play along, I think.

Once we reach the far corner of the parlor, the officer opens a door. Dread surges through me as he stares, waiting for me to enter. I dare to inch forward, and though I’m delighted it’s not a bedroom, the setting yet confounds me. Flanked by book-lined shelves and a mantled fireplace alight with flames, two officers sit at a table for four…

Is one of them Ziegler? Perhaps I’m being delivered as a test of my claim.

Then I recall the dinner party he’s attending shortly, and I surmise—I hope—it would be near impossible for this to be him. Though why else would I be here?

My escort declares in German something involving boredom and refers to me as “ein Geschenk.” Two Dutch-like words.

A gift.

At the depraved implication, a dire voice screams in my head: Why didn’t you run?

The duo turns our way, the yellow shade of a standing lamp tinting their pallor, before they wave me off.

But my escort prods me forward with a small shove and shuts the door. Then he shoves me again toward his comrades. “Zaubertricks,” he stresses, as if correcting their assumptions.

And it all becomes clear. Magic tricks.

The fellow with a double chin perks with interest while his companion, oval-faced with a broad nose, exudes indifference. They could almost pass for the comedy team of lean, grumpy Abbott and heavyset Costello—if not for the SS uniforms. Between them sits a chessboard, its white king toppled, and pint glasses half-filled with what looks to be beer.

As I reach the table, calming slightly, the Orpo officer pulls my cards from his pocket and tosses them onto the board.

“Entertain us,” he says to me. The command doubles as a warning. He takes a seat between his friends, who eye me expectantly.

I’m a trained monkey performing on demand. In that light, even circus chimps are rewarded for pleasing a crowd. If, likewise, I manage to delight them, who knows? I just might make it back to Arie. Or make it out of here at all.