The Informer (Sabotage Group BB)

3

In these early hours of the morning, the city’s still dark. A train with an endless row of wagons carrying trucks and tanks under green tarpaulins scrambles by. Jens smells a puff of steam and smoke in the cold wind. His hands are buried deep inside his pockets, his hat low on his forehead. It is blistering cold. There’s a thin layer of ice covering the puddles. His breath forms clouds around his face. The rain has stopped.

The city is waking up. Out on the major streets, the trams pass bicycles, horse wagons and very few cars. To the east, the first glow of the sun welcomes the day.

Jens crosses the street and heads towards the allotments. A rat runs along the hedge and disappears around the corner. The dirt squeaks under his shoes.

Behind him, a bicycle brakes violently. He stiffens at the sound of the tire plowing the dirt. He’s too tired to do anything else.

“Jens!” It’s Borge. It’s only Borge.

“Are you trying to scare the shit out of me?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Come on. We can’t stay here.”

“I wasn’t sure this was still your hideout,” Borge says soon after, as they sit inside a small, leaking allotment house.

“Grab a blanket! I can’t heat the place. Someone would notice the smoke coming from the chimney. Do you want a shot of schnapps to warm you up?”

“Where do you get schnapps these days?”

“I got it all. You can get whiskey or vodka. Vodka might suit a red devil like you better. Here, take a cigarette. I’m afraid it’s Danish tobacco. It’s so difficult to get anything else. Even for me.” He throws a package of cigarettes on the table and takes two small glasses from the cabinet. “A smuggler owes me a few favors back from my time as a cop. In fact, he was the guy who warned me when they took the police a couple of months ago.”

“You’re a dirty cop, and you know it.”

“Of course, but you’ve got to take care of yourself in this world. It might be different over in your USSR, but here, only the strong survive.”

“In the Communist world order, the black market will be eliminated.”

“If you say so. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Borge empties his glass, grimacing as the schnapps burns his throat. So young, so naïve, so rich. Watching him makes Jens sick to his stomach. In a few years he will surrender and come crawling back to daddy to take over the family corporation. That Communist bullshit has nothing to do with struggling classes. Borge is not fighting for any working man; he is just fighting his dad.

“What happened tonight?” Jens asks, as Borge puts his glass down and looks back at him with watery eyes. “Did you allow them to hit the alarm?”

“No, they were waiting for us in ambush. Where were you?”

“At my post.”

“At your post?” One eyebrow goes up.

Jens sighs heavily, pulls his revolver out, placing it on the table. “I dropped my gun when the Germans came. The hammer bent and there was nothing I could do with a damaged gun. There was a whole truckload of Germans. I hid in a shit stinking privy in some backyard all night.”

Borge takes the revolver to investigate the bent hammer before putting it back on the table. “You will need a new weapon. I know a guy who has a few pistols stolen from the Danish Army.”

“I do not want any pistol. I’ll get myself a new revolver. Pistols never work when you need them.”

“Like tonight?” That infuriating smile.

“You got me there.”

Borge shakes a cigarette from the package and strikes a match. “The Germans were waiting in ambush. I can’t believe we all survived. BB and I were standing right in the line of fire. His coat was ripped into pieces.”

“All three of you got away?”

“That should have been your first question.”

Jens raises his hands. What else can he do? He’s not perfect; judging by what his wife said when he had to go underground he is quite far from perfect.

“Oh, that’s why you’re here.” Jens laughs. His big, round belly wobbles. “You figured I was the rat? Get a grip, young man.” The laughter comes to a sharp end. He leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “I know all of your real names. I know where you live—BB, you, and that hooker. If I was the informer, don’t you think the Germans would have showed up at your places? BB and I make up the core of this group. Remember that. Hell, if there’s anyone the Gestapo would love to get their hands on, it would be me!”

“I’m sorry,” Borge mumbles. “You’re right, of course.”

“Forget it.” The chair squeaks under his weight as he leans back. “We are all under pressure.”

“I’ve met a young man.”

“Oh, that’s your thing?”

Borge blushes. He flicks the ashes from his cigarette. “A smith apprentice. A smith could be of great use to us. We could make our own Sten guns. They do that in some of the other resistance groups … Holger Danske for instance.”

“A smith?” More schnapps.

“We need to test him, of course.”

“I’ve got a traitor who needs to be liquidated, a Hipo officer. I have done all the preparations. It could be an obvious way to test him.”

“He is very young.”

“Apprentices always are.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it.”

“No. It is better Alis K does that. Let me organize it with BB.”