Read Behind Enemy Lines Online

Authors: Jennifer A. Nielsen

Tags: #Historical, #Adventure, #Science Fiction, #Mystery, #Young Adult, #Childrens

Behind Enemy Lines (6 page)

BOOK: Behind Enemy Lines
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T
HE NEXT
morning, Dak stood with Sera and Riq at the ferry docks near London. He had explained to them everything he’d read the night before while in the Admiralty, but neither of them seemed too excited about the jobs ahead.

Riq handed scraps of paper to Dak and Sera with a phone number written on them. “That’s for a pay phone near the Admiralty,” he said. “Memorize the number, then destroy the paper, because we’re spies now. I’ll be at that phone every night at nine o’clock my time. Call once, then hang up, then call again. That’s how I’ll know it’s one of you.”

Sera shoved her paper into her pocket. “We’ll both call every night. I don’t like splitting up.”

“Me neither,” Riq said. “If the body is already on its way to Spain, I won’t do much good here.”

“If something goes wrong, we need someone here in London to warn the officials,” Dak said. “You already have a job at the Admiralty, so it makes sense to keep you here, just in case.”

“But what if Anton comes back?” Sera asked. “Or someone like him? I knew there would be SQ among the Axis powers. But the British are fighting for their freedom and survival. How can Anton really believe he’s doing the right thing by supporting the SQ over the Allies?”

“Tilda lied to him,” Dak said. “Just like the SQ lies to everyone else. She’s made him believe that he’s saving Earth from the Cataclysm.”

“When they’re the ones causing it,” Riq added. “Don’t worry about Anton. I’m sure it’ll take him a few days to see straight again. You two just get your jobs done.”

“I’ll make sure Spain believes Major Martin is a British officer who drowned a few days ago in the ocean,” Sera said. “Not a homeless man who died from rat poison a few months ago.”

“I’ll bet you know more about science than any of those coroners,” Dak said confidently. “Fight science with science.”

Sera bit her lip. “Riq and I have jobs that make sense. But why do you have to go to Germany?”

Dak didn’t want to go behind enemy lines. But even if Riq and Sera did their jobs perfectly, none of it mattered unless Germany believed Martin’s papers were real. Somehow, Dak had to get to Hitler.

“He was brutal,” Sera said. “If Hitler suspects you’re there as a spy —”

“Just do your parts right and maybe I won’t have to do anything,” Dak said quickly. “Mincemeat Man was a good plan, but everything had to fall in place perfectly for the plan to work.”

“And if it doesn’t, Hitler could have you sent to the concentration camps,” Sera said. “Or even killed.”

“I’m already dealing with the Cataclysm. If I can face that, then I can deal with Hitler.” Dak shrugged, then a mischievous smile crossed his face. “That sounded pretty brave, right? We should remember that, for the book they write about me one day.”

“You’d better go before I lose my lunch,” Riq told Dak. “Besides, you don’t want to miss your boat.”

“You first,” Dak said to Sera. She was going to use the Infinity Ring to warp to the morgue in Huelva, Spain, where Major Martin’s body was expected to be taken. Traveling there by boat and across land could take a week or more, which would be too late.

Sera nodded and ducked into a thicket of trees nearby. She pulled the Infinity Ring from its bag, crouched low, and then pushed the button that would send her away.

Dak and Riq watched her go, and Dak was surprised to feel himself already missing her. It wasn’t that he liked her, or at least, he didn’t
like her
in that way, but things were never quite right when she was gone.

“Your turn,” Riq said. “Is everything set?”

Dak hoped so. The easiest way to get into Germany was on a shipping barge. It had come from a neutral country and was only making stops at ports for businesses unconnected to the war. Dak had spent the entire morning talking a deck supervisor’s ear off until he finally said Dak could have a job swabbing decks if he would just promise to stop talking.

“I’ll try to call you tonight, from wherever I am,” Dak said.

He started to walk off, then Riq said, “Quick question: plans like this in history . . . how often have they worked?”

Dak frowned back at him. “Something this big? Almost never.”

With that, he waved good-bye to Riq and looked back at the area where Sera had disappeared, then ran up the gangplank and onto the ship. Once on board, he gazed over the railings of the ship . . . and then quickly ducked down low.

Tilda was on the dock, her head darting around like a pigeon’s as she scanned the area. She was searching for him and Sera and Riq, no doubt. Carefully, Dak peeked back over the railing and groaned. Riq wasn’t far from her, still watching Dak’s ship as it sailed away. He was completely unaware of Tilda.

Tilda turned to a woman nearby to ask a question, and the woman looked Tilda over with clear disapproval before finally shaking her head and walking away. Only then did Dak pay more attention to her appearance.

She had on a tight red skirt and a shiny black jacket with a bright ruby pin on the lapel. It was totally out of place for the time period, and practically screamed for everyone to notice her. With her red hair pulled up high on her head, she almost looked like a burning ember of fire. In fact, in many ways, Tilda reminded Dak of fire: Get too close, and you’d get burned.

Still on the shore, Riq gave Dak a final wave good-bye, then started to walk off. Tilda bobbed her head in Riq’s direction, but Dak didn’t think she had spotted him. Or had she? The ship was far from shore now. All Dak could hope was that Tilda was looking for three kids, and ignoring the single boy walking away.

By that time, the deck captain had begun shouting orders, and he put Dak to work cleaning the railings. It kept him busy, and that was better. The work helped keep his mind off of Tilda and the Cataclysm, the world war, and the fact that he was heading straight into the wolf’s lair.

He scrubbed decks for nearly the entire day at sea, but was given a warm meal with the other crewmen that evening, shortly before the captain announced that the ship would soon be docking in Germany.

When the boat came into port, Dak ditched his mop and went down to ask if there were any boxes he could unload.

A crewman pointed to a small crate in the corner. “Those are goblets specially ordered in for Hitler,” he said. “Carry them if you dare, but if you drop them, it’ll be your head. Someone will be waiting for them on the dock.”

Dak picked up the wood crate, which was heavier than it looked. Why couldn’t people have discovered shipping in cardboard yet? That would’ve saved him a few pounds. But he kept it balanced in his arms as he walked across the gangplank and onto the docks.

“Are those the goblets?” The woman who asked was older, with stooped shoulders and graying hair. The wrinkles on her face were long and deep, but when she smiled, her eyes seemed warm and energetic.

“Yes.” Dak felt relieved to hear his translator pick up the German language. It was the first time since he’d landed in 1943 that he’d needed to speak in a language other than his own.

“None of them had better be broken. They’re for the Führer, you know.”

“You work for Hitler, then?” Dak asked.

“I do kitchen work at a bunker in Berlin. Nothing more.” She held out her arms. “Well, hand them over.”

“The box is heavier than it looks,” Dak said. “I’m worried you might drop them.”

“And if I let you carry them for me, what would you want in return?” the woman asked.

“Just a ride to Berlin,” Dak said.

She smiled. “It’s a long drive. I’d enjoy the company. But you’ll have to do more than carry this box to my car. I’ll also expect you to do all the unloading once we’ve arrived. If you work hard enough, maybe I can hire you. We need a good kitchen boy.”

“It’s a deal.” Dak was quick to agree before this opportunity passed him by. He wouldn’t be anywhere near a phone tonight to call Riq, but this was more important. For better or worse, he had just found his way into the heart of enemy territory.

S
ERA ARRIVED
at her coordinates in Spain with a pulsing migraine and with her body feeling as if it had not quite come back together. She wiggled her fingers to make sure they were still there, and was rewarded with sensations of hot electrical currents traveling from them along her arms and into her chest.
Forget the Cataclysm,
she thought. Time travel would destroy them much sooner.

Remembering the ways she had managed these feelings before, Sera backed against the nearest wall and forced herself to breathe, to just draw in a full gulp of air, and release it again. Slowly, the pain faded, but she promised herself that she would not use the Infinity Ring again until she absolutely had to. She doubted her body could take much more.

It turned out she had unknowingly backed up against just the right wall. The morgue entrance was only a few yards to one side, and from the other direction and around the corner, she could hear two men arguing. She flattened herself against the plaster and listened. With any luck, nobody would notice her there.

“You must let me see that body!” a man said. Even without the translator, Sera knew he was speaking in Spanish, but his accent was German. She hadn’t realized there would be any Nazis here, but it seemed like a safe bet now.

The person who answered had a Spanish accent. “Clauss, the man inside this morgue is a dead British officer. You are a German — an enemy to that man. Why would I let you see him?”

Clauss lowered his voice and his tone became more desperate. “Doctor, you don’t understand. I am quite well connected in Germany. There are people in my country who would do anything . . .
anything
. . . to get their hands on the dead officer’s briefcase. I will pay you well if you only let me see what it contains!”

“I don’t want your money, Clauss,” the doctor replied. “Now you must excuse me. There are people inside who are waiting to begin.” He rounded the corner with Clauss on his heels, then they both stopped when they saw Sera.

“Are you all right?” The doctor put the back of his hand against her forehead to check her temperature. Little did he know the reason for the sweat on her brow and flushed checks was worse than a simple flu.

Sera nodded calmly, but on the inside her pulse was racing. She had heard enough of their conversation to know that her real mission was more than just convincing Spain to accept Major Martin’s fake cause of death. She had to convince Clauss, too.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you just now. And I can help with the postmortem,” she said.

“How?” The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “A girl of your age has done a postmortem examination before?”

“Well . . . no.” But Sera had read about them, and even sat in once on an autopsy performed at a local hospital, just for fun. But she hadn’t gotten that close to the body and half the time her view was blocked by the doctors doing the procedure. “My name is Sera, and I’m very good with science. I can hand you tools, and record your observations. I know anatomy and chemistry, and I’m a quick learner.”

The doctor nodded. “All right. I could use another set of hands,
if
you know when to stay out of our way. Come on in.”

The doctor went inside, but Clauss grabbed Sera’s arm and pulled her back. He was so thin he almost looked unhealthy, and had a high forehead and a face that looked as if it had been cut from stone. Not a single hair on his head moved in the light breeze. Either he used gallons of gel each day, or else his hair was cut from stone, too.

“Tell me everything you see in there,” he said. “I’ll pay you well for any information.”

Sera shook him off. “How much?” Clauss wasn’t likely to trust her as a spy. But he obviously trusted in the power of a good bribe.

He withdrew a thick wad of money from his pocket and flipped through it. “That depends on what you tell me.”

Sera felt like running away, or yelling, or doing nearly anything other than helping this man. But she was a spy now, and this was her one chance to convince Clauss she was on his side. She whispered, “If you meet me after the examination, I’ll tell you everything I see.”

Clauss studied her a moment, then leaned in and pinched her cheeks. “I’ll pay you for information I can use,” he said. “But if I find out you are lying, or holding back a single detail, then you are the one who will pay.”

Sera wormed from his grip, then backed away from his threats and into the morgue. There were others in the room besides the doctor. A man in a British uniform stood there looking bored — did he know about Mincemeat Man, or was he just as confused as everyone else? Next to him was a man in a Spanish uniform who was holding a wet briefcase — Martin’s, no doubt. He asked if they could hurry up, because he had already missed lunch. The doctor was working with a young attendant, and Sera thought she saw a resemblance between them — his son, perhaps? There was an American soldier, too, sitting in the corner and looking like he was about to be sick from the horrid smell in the room. None of them paid Sera much attention, except the doctor who handed her a clipboard and told her to write down everything he dictated.

And, of course, lying flat on a table was the guest of honor: Major Martin. Mincemeat Man, who was worse than dead. He looked like a full-on zombie, with sunken eyes, yellow skin, and knotted hands. Right then and there, Sera decided that she would grow up to be a physicist or a botanist or any scientist that didn’t deal with dead bodies. Because this was just gross!

The attendant started by emptying Martin’s pockets. Most of what he found was useless — just soggy old receipts, some cash, stamps, and two ticket stubs from a theater. Sera wondered why anyone had bothered to put all that into his pockets — none of it had anything to do with the fake plans.

But then she realized it wasn’t about convincing the Germans that the plans were real. It was about making the Germans believe
Major Martin
was real. If they thought Martin was a real British officer, they’d automatically believe his plans. Major Martin wasn’t supposed to be some unfortunate homeless person who’d been holed up in a freezer for the past three months. He was supposed to have been alive only a few days ago, doing the things living people did. All that stuff in his pockets was genius.

Next, the Spanish officer placed the briefcase on a table and unlocked it with an attached set of keys. Seawater dripped back onto the papers inside as it was opened, but that didn’t matter — they were already plenty wet. On top of everything were a handful of envelopes with red wax seals over them. They looked very official, like secret military plans. Sera pictured Clauss outside, drooling in his desperation to know what was in those envelopes.

After loosely sifting through the contents, the Spanish officer shut the briefcase and held it out to the British man. “You’ll be wanting this back, no doubt.”

Sera looked at the two of them, wondering what would happen next. Of course he should take the briefcase. It came from a British soldier and should be returned to one, especially if it contained top secret information. The British officer’s eyes widened, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. Only a bumbling fool would refuse to take his country’s top secret information back, but if he did, Mincemeat Man was finished.

The British officer decided to play the role of bumbling fool. “Well, your superior might not like that,” he finally said. “So perhaps you should deliver it to him, and then bring it back to me, following the official route.”

The Spanish officer only shrugged, gathered up the items that had been in Martin’s pockets, and left. The American followed. His face had gotten greener and greener with the smell, and once outside, he’d probably run for the nearest bush.

With that, the doctor requested tools to begin the autopsy. Sera pressed in closer and reminded herself
again
that she was here not only as a scientist, but also as a spy. And spies could not get sick, no matter how disgusting this was.

But when he cut into the body, her understanding of gross went to an entirely new level. The insides were rotted and watery. Sera knew how long this body had been frozen, and how far the body would decompose in that time. But she couldn’t let the doctor think it had been more than a few days.

“So much decomposition?” he wondered aloud. “Strange.”

“Maybe it’s the seawater,” Sera offered. If Martin had drowned at sea, the doctor would expect to find seawater in his lungs. And seawater was hard on a human body. “The seawater and the heat,” she added.

“And the skin is quite discolored,” he said.

“Probably the effects from lack of air underwater,” Sera said. It wasn’t that. The man had actually died from eating rat poison, which contained high levels of phosphorous. That’s what had turned his skin yellow. But she hoped the doctor wouldn’t think too long or hard about it.

To her, the signs that Martin hadn’t died at sea were so obvious. But the doctor had no reason to suspect it was anything else, so she hoped he’d keep trying to find ways to explain Martin’s condition that were consistent for a drowning.

Finally, the doctor wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “It’s quite warm for an autopsy, don’t you agree?”

“The smell is . . . a bit much,” the British officer replied.

“To be thorough, I need more time.”

The doctor wasn’t stupid, and that worried Sera. With more time, he was bound to realize Martin had been dead long before he was dumped into the sea. And if he figured that out, word would get back to the Nazis no matter what Sera told Clauss. She spoke quickly. “Of course, this heat will continue to degrade the body, even worse than what’s already happened since he was pulled ashore. Very soon, it will be hard to know anything for sure.”

“True. You are a bright girl.” The doctor pursed his lips, then ordered his assistant to help him move the body into a wood coffin behind them. “Let the death certificate state that this is a drowning victim, in the water for eight to ten days.”

“Very good,” the British officer said, probably too quickly. He must know about the plan, Sera thought, or at least, enough to know his role in this morgue today.

Before the lid went on, the doctor placed a hand on the coffin. “Still, there are questions that should be answered. A drowning victim is always, er, nibbled on by the fish. I see none of that here. Seawater should have made his hair brittle and stiff. But it is not. Even his clothes are in better condition than I would have expected for a man floating this long in the water.”

As if sensing she was on his side, the British officer locked eyes with Sera. She looked up at the doctor. “These are good questions. I’m sure you’ll want others to come and check your work. The Germans, perhaps.”

The doctor frowned down at her. No, he didn’t want the Germans checking his work any more than he wanted to be hung upside down and subjected to tickle torture. “It is death by drowning,” the doctor said firmly. “That is my final conclusion. His body will be returned immediately to the British for burial.”

Sera nodded and recorded his findings on her clipboard, but inside she was beaming. Operation Fix Mincemeat Man had just cleared its first hurdle.

BOOK: Behind Enemy Lines
6.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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