January 25th, 1941
"Where do you think you're going?" My father's voice rumbles from the living room. I stop in my tracks and take a few steps back to see him.
"I'm going to study with Frances and Eva."
My father looks up from his book to look at the clock on the wall. "At 7:00 o'clock at night?"
I freeze. "We have a big history exam on Monday. Need to finish strong."
He grunts in response. "Be back by 11:00, 11:30 at the latest."
I lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Papa."
Straightening out my long gray coat, I walk out of the house. I shuffle through my clutch to find a small tube of crimson red lipstick. Moving my lips together to even out the pigment, I also extract a tiny bottle of perfume. I spray it sparingly on my wrists and rub them together, and then rub my wrists on my neck.
I wasn't technically lying to my father. I am going to be with Frances and Eva, and what we were going to do could theoretically be classified as studying. We're just studying German soldiers instead of history.
Maybe I'm telling myself this so I feel less guilty, but it works. I'm doing the right thing. I know I am. I'm still trying to make peace with the fact that Jacob would never accept this small part of me, but I'm not going to give this up.
I shiver with excitement as I ride closer to downtown Copenhagen. Our first target is La Tosca, an Italian restaurant that seemed to be popular with German soldiers. Frances made this discovery a few weeks ago when she came to celebrate New Years. She noticed that soldiers came in for dinner and ordered a lot of alcohol to go with their meal. As the night wore on, the more intoxicated they became. They also hung up their coats in the entranceway, as well as their gunbelts. It seemed to be the perfect place to catch German soldiers off-guard and collect information without raising suspicion.
I meet Frances and Eva about a block away from the restaurant in City Hall Square. A Nazi flag ripples in the wind above us, its threatening symbol only pronounced by the light circle that surrounds it. The flash of scarlet flutters like a flare in an ebony sea of stars and uncertainty. Soldiers on patrol walk around us with guns strapped to their shoulders. Two army vehicles drive past each other on the road. A pair of spotlights dance through the nighttime sky, searching for any plane that might not be welcomed in German living space.
"I'm sorry, but whose idea was it to meet in front of Nazi headquarters right before our first resistance mission!?" Eva hisses. "I mean, really!? Anywhere else but here!"
"We're three teenage girls on bicycles, Eva. They're not going to suspect anything." Frances calmly replies.
"That doesn't mean we need to go out of our way to be around them!"
"The best way to do this is to hide in plain sight. We are three beautiful teenage girls who look normal and act normal. We're least likely to get stopped and searched here than anywhere else in this city."
"That's true," I add in.
"Can't we just meet in front of the movie theater next time?" Eva grumbles. She wiggles her fingers in the air. "'Like normal teenagers'?"
Frances rolls her eyes and rides off. I send Eva a pleading look. She looks like she's about to back out for a second, and I think that I'm going to have to beg her to continue on this mission, but she closes her eyes and sighs. Releasing the tension out of her soldiers, she grips the handlebars of her bicycle and begins peddling after Frances. I follow right behind her.
When we get there, we chain our bicycles in the alleyway and walk through the doubled doors of La Tosca together. Cigarette smoke is the first thing that assaults my senses when I enter. It hovers and swirls in the air, coating everything with a thick illusion of mistiness. Dim light emits from the chandeliers that suspend from the molded ceiling. A long red booth lines the right wall and square tables with chairs fill the rest of the narrow dining space. Each table is adorned with an ivory colored cloth and a flickering candle. Alcohol bottles of varying sizes and shapes are posed like families for a portrait on shelves behind a long counter that extends across the entire back wall. Somewhere, jazz plays quietly from a radio, but the music is drowned out by the chatter and overall cluttered atmosphere of the restaurant. I start to look at the occupants of each table.
Frances was right: This place was crawling with Nazi soldiers. A man in a green or black uniform sits at almost every table. Some looked to be just now enjoying their dinner, while others played cards or laughed just a little bit too loudly.
Without warning, reality hits me in the face. I've spent so much time fantasizing about what it would be like to rebel that I didn't prepare myself for the actual moment. It feels so surreal. We're really doing this, right here and right now. And we're not prepared for it at all. As I look around the restaurant, I have no idea how we're going to pull this off. Do we just go up to an officer and ask them questions? How do we disguise our intent? Should we give fake names? What are we going to do if we even get any information? If someone figured out that we're spying on them, we would be arrested and maybe even executed. Fear clenches in my stomach for the first time, and I almost tell Frances and Eva that this was a bad idea and that we should leave.
I close my eyes and think about what Mr. Jensen said. You're incredibly bright and talented, Ana. I know that you'll excel at anything you choose to do.
Right, of course I don't. You make great decisions on your own. Jacob's words produce a bitter taste in my mouth.
I swallow the lump in my throat and pull Frances and Eva into the small cloakroom in the entranceway. "Here's the plan. Eva, I want you to sit at the last booth in the back right corner of the restaurant and be our lookout." I pull a white handkerchief with a blue stripe out of my clutch. "If you think that something is wrong and we need to get out of here, I want you to walk past me and drop this on the floor. After you do that, meet us outside in the alleyway. Also, make a note of everybody who comes in. If it's someone we know, we can't let them see us."
I step slightly out of the alcove to glance around the floor of the restaurant. As my eyes glide over the room, I try to find a realistic target. Some officers were too old, and it would look suspicious if two teenage girls were trying to flirt with men that could easily be twice their age. Some groups were too big. The fewer witnesses we had, the better. They also needed to be drunk, which knocked out a couple of tables that were only there for dinner. Finally, my eyes catch on two Germans that sit at a table on the left side of the restaurant, their feet sprawled out in front of them. Two bottles of empty schnapps lay haphazardly on the table, and one remains unopened. They look to be only a few years older than us. Judging by their black uniforms and the pins on their right breast, they're not only Gestapo officers, but they're also members of the Schutzstaffel.
A light bulb goes off in my head. I turn towards Frances. "Two German Gestapo and SS officers at 8 o'clock. A few bottles in. Neither of them is wearing a wedding ring. Same age, maybe a few years older than us. Ranked, but not too high up."
Frances purses her lips. "Perfect." She then peels off her coat to reveal a silky wine colored dress with a plunging neckline. It hugs her waist perfectly, and the pleated fabric of the skirt flows like water down her legs. Her thin wrists are cuffed with strings of pearls.
I pull off my own coat to reveal the sleek blue-gray color of my own dress. The sleeves band just below my elbows, but slits show my biceps and my shoulders are emphasized by two pieces of loose fabric. A sweetheart neckline accentuates my collarbone and the necklace that Jacob gave to me.
Flicking her hair perfectly curled hair behind her back, Frances steps down the few steps into the dining room and begins to saunter towards the table, the material of her dress moving with the slight swing of her hips. I straighten my posture and begin to follow her. The clicking of my heels against the tiled floor and the swishing of my skirt around my calves give me an extra boost of confidence.
A few catcalls sound from around us as we move in-between tables. Frances stops in front of our targeted table and sends a warm grin to both of its residents. Both men are quick to move their blue eyes up and down our figures.
The taller one leans forward in his seat. "Well, hello there, little darlings. What can we do for beautiful girls such as yourselves?" Although he speaks fluent Danish, I can tell that I was right about my assumption by the thick German accent he carries.
Frances reaches up to twirl a tendril of her hair in her fingers. Smiling shyly, she says in a sickly sweet voice, "Oh, we just really wanted to thank you for your service in our country. I've felt so much safer since you guys have got here. We have so many questions about the war and what's truly going on out there, but no one will give us the time of day." She pouts her lips.
Both of the officers scramble to push the remaining two chairs at the table out for us. "Sit down here, sweethearts, we've got as much time as you want."
Frances claps her hands together. "Oh, thank you, officers!"
The shorter one takes off his hat and calls the waiter over as we sit down. The waiter comes over and sets two glasses in front of us. I take a second to peek at the right-hand corner of the restaurant. Eva is sitting directly where I told her to, writing in a book to help herself blend in. She looks up, and we make eye contact with each other. With the white handkerchief in her hand, she picks up her glass of water and raises it in a toast-like manner.
I direct my attention back to the officers in front of me. "What would you ladies like to drink?" the taller one winks at me.
I glance at Frances. "I think we're good, Mr....?"
"Wagner. Marco Wagner that is. But please, it would be our pleasure to buy drinks for such beautiful ladies. Let's live a little."
I smile sweetly at him and look up at the waiter. "I suppose we'll have some whiskey then."
The other officer whistles lowly. "Whiskey girls, huh? I guess the Danes are doing something right. Peter Schmidt, by the way. And your names are?"
Without missing a beat, Frances picks up her glass of whiskey before answering, "I'm Lise. She's Mari."
Marco taps his fingers on the table. "Do we not get any last names?"
Frances leans forward in her seat and sends him a smirk. "You have to earn those, Mr. Wagner."
Marco laughs shortly. "Whiskey girls, that's for sure. What else can we do for you though, other than buy you a drink?"
I bat my eyes innocently at him. "Well, we just really wanted to state our appreciation for you men. You're so brave and courageous, I can't imagine volunteering my life for my country."
Peter glances at Marco and opens the other bottle of schnapps. Judging by his slightly shaky hands, he's either nervous by our presence (which means he doesn't have a lot of experience with girls) or he's getting tipsy. I hypothesize that it's both.
"We're just doing what any good German would do for the Fuhrer, Mari. The world is so corrupt now. But I have good faith in Fuhrer Hitler. If anybody can fix it, it's him."
Frances swirls the whiskey in her glass. "I just don't understand how the Fuhrer can fix Europe. First Bolshevism in Russia, and then the great economic downturn? Europe has never been so tempestuous."
Marco downs another round of schnapps and smacks his glass down on the table. "It's those damn Jews! They're at the center of everything. Bolshevism? Created by Jews in Russian revolutionary parties. Russia would have never become communist if it hadn't been for those rats. The Great Slump? Created by the Jews. The Jews have been in control of the world's economic system for hundreds of years. Just read The Protocols of the Elders of Zion! All the proof you need is in that book."
"Marco, these are ladies you're talking to. Of course, they haven't read The Protocols." Peter jokes.
"Oh right, my apologies, sweethearts. But don't worry your pretty little heads. The Fuhrer has a plan to fix all of this and make the Jewish problem go away. Soon, there won't be any Jews around to bother you."
I shift in my seat. "What do you mean by that?"
Peter raises his hand to the passing waiter and orders a bottle of bourbon. "Well, not to brag or anything," he puffs out his chest, "we know a lot of men in... high-up positions. Let's just say that there's something in the works to rid Europe— and Denmark— of the undesirables that live here."
Frances plays dumb. "Like lock them up or something?"
The waiter brings Peter his bottle of bourbon. He drinks the whole glass in a couple of gulps. "No, I'm talking about extermination. Complete and utter eradication. That's the only way they won't come back."
"What undesirables are they targeting?" I ask as the last drops of whiskey make their way down my throat.
"Mostly Jews. But they're coming after the Commies first. At least, that's what's going to happen in Denmark." Marco slurs.
Sirens go off inside my head. "But why? They haven't done anything in Denmark."
Peter shakes his head. "That's where you're wrong, Mari. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: there are resistance groups in Denmark."
I gasp. "Those traitors! How dare they go against our fatherland?"
"I know, Mari. It's terrible. They all deserve to be executed for even thinking about betraying our high Fuhrer. But don't worry, dear Mari. Most of these groups are being controlled by the communists! It's all an elaborate plan to overthrow the Nazi regime. Once we round them all up, they won't be able to hurt you anymore."
"But how do you know that you'll get everyone?"
"Luckily Denmark has pretty good records of who has registered as part of the Communist Party. There's a decent list of who's going to be arrested, so we're expecting orders to come through sometime soon."
Hook, line, and sinker. Mr. Jensen and the strange man were right: it was just a matter of time before the Nazis came for them. I needed to get this information to them quickly. I'm about to excuse myself to powder my nose when my eyes wander to the back of the restaurant.
All the air leaves my lungs. Eva's not at her table, but there's no handkerchief on the floor. I feel my eyes widen in surprise. I kick Frances under the table. Her green eyes flash towards me in bewilderment but then look at where I'm gazing. Something shifts in her face as she comprehends the situation. I look around the restaurant and realize that most of the people that were in here before are now gone. Anxiety tears at my beating heart when I realize that I don't see Eva anywhere.
Oh God, this is bad. What are we going to do? She wouldn't have just gotten up and left without letting us know. She wouldn't have done that. Does that mean someone has taken her? Did she look too suspicious? What if she got caught? I can't make a scene, not in front of these officers.
"So, what about those last names, ladies?" Peter asks, his drunkenness far surpassing tipsy. Marco nearly falls out of his chair.
Unexpectedly, a glass of water with a handkerchief underneath it is placed in front of me. I immediately flip the handkerchief over to find a blue stripe. It's my handkerchief. I look up at the waiter, my panicked state overflowing with hope.
He winks at me. "The girl in the back corner over there said that you could probably use some water right now after drinking so much with those two. She also wanted to give back the handkerchief that you loaned her in the ladies' room."
It was Eva! Thank the Lord, she's okay! I have to stop myself from exhaling in relief. I need to play out this charade just a little bit longer.
I smile at the waiter. "Thank you so much, sir." He nods and walks off.
Frances lifts her head from where it rested on her propped up fist. "Well, officers, I believe it is time for Mari and me to head home. I'm afraid we've overstayed our welcome, and we must be getting back to our families."
"No, wait!" Peter slurs. "We wan... we want your last names. Right, Marco?"
Marco drops his head on the table. "Last names?" he murmurs.
Frances winks at Peter. "I'm sure we'll see you again. Thank you so much for your time."
We walk briskly out of the dining room and into the cloakroom. Shrugging on our coats, we rush to the alleyway. Eva stands with her back towards us, her arms clutched in front of her.
"Eva, what the hell!?" I seethe. "That was not the plan! You scared both us to death!"
"Shhhhhh!!" she whips around. The chest of her coat is puffed out, and her arms are folded around her stomach. She unbuttons her coat, and about a half a dozen handguns fall out.
My mouth falls open. "Sweet Moses."
Frances struggles to speak. "How the hell did you fit six handguns in the front of your coat!? How did they not go off?"
Eva grins. "Don't worry, they have the safety on."
I pick one up off the ground. "Where did you even get these?"
"From the coat room. Frances said that they hung up their gunbelts when she came here before. And we can't get weapons anywhere else in Denmark. Might as well keep German soldiers from using theirs."
For once, I'm completely speechless. I'm not even sure what to say. Why didn't I think of this?
"Wait, why didn't you drop the handkerchief like you were supposed to?" Frances inquires.
"Because it would've looked suspicious to everyone in the restaurant. It's not like I could come to inform you of my plan, so I just went with it. Besides, I didn't want the three of us in the coatroom at the same time."
"Eva, you're incredible," I say in awe. "But we can't carry this many weapons on us. What if we get searched?"
Eva thinks for a moment before picking up three handguns. She hands two of them to us, and she puts the other one in her bag. She then walks to the harbor across the street, Frances and I following behind her. One by one, she throws the remaining handguns into the inky water. Ripples disrupt the glittering city lights that reflect off the surface. "There. Now we all have one gun for right now. We can get some spare ammunition next time. If we get stopped, we can just say that there are feminine products in our purses that we don't feel comfortable with men seeing. They won't question it."
Frances stares at Eva in admiration. "Who are you, and what have you done with Eva Ewald?"
Eva flips her hair behind her shoulder. "Did you find anything?"
I nod. "They're planning to target communists sometime soon, but I'm not sure when. They have a list."
"How are we going to warn people?" Frances questions. "We're a resistance group with absolutely no contacts."
I smirk. "On the contrary, we know one person that can help us."
Until we see each other again, comrade.