Free The Informer (Sabotage Group BB) by Steen Langstrup Page A

horse-drawn garbage truck carries the stench of decaying waste down the street.
    There are posters on the long, decorticated cemetery wall encouraging the public to report any member of the resistance to the Gestapo.
    The saboteurs haven’t made any contact since he left Alis K, and it’s starting to worry him. He wants to fight. Do something. It wears him out to wait. There is no rest anywhere.
    A German military convoy crosses Norrebrogade at the end of the cemetery, and he has to stop and wait as it goes by. While he stands there, blowing warmth down his folded hands, a big, black Ford stops at the intersection. He eyes it. Doesn’t need to smell the fumes to know it is a Hipo car. The car has no doors. They have been removed to make it faster for the officers to get out of the vehicle. There are four of them inside the Ford. Black uniforms, black caps. One of them speaks, making the other three laugh. The driver looks straight at Poul-Erik, who immediately looks away.
    Instead he glances down the crossing street, Jagtvej. There are still seven or eight trucks left before the military convoy has passed. The light from their headlights is dimmed and is only just visible on the cobblestones. Suddenly he is sweating like a pig. He glances back at the Hipo Ford from the corner of his eye. The driver is smoking now. The commander, who always sits in the front seat next to the driver, gets out of the car and walks over to have a look down Jagtvej. Putting a finger to his black cap, he greets a German officer passing by in a VW-Kübelwagen before he returns to the black Ford and jumps inside. He says something to the others. He is a big man, well over two meters tall. Rosy cheeks. Big hands.
    Poul-Erik is unable to breathe. He turns away, looking at the dark morning sky. It is him. The Hipo bastard. It is him. The man he was supposed to have killed. Einar Hovgaard. The man on the photo, Alis K showed to him. It is him.
    The last vehicle of the convoy crosses Norrebrogade, and Poul-Erik hurries across the street. Using all his will not to look back.
    Behind him, the Hipo car speeds up. He has never been this afraid before. Walking too fast, nearly running, but he doesn’t. He can hear the car approach from behind and wishes he had brought his pistol, but it is hidden back home inside the outhouse in the backyard.
    And then the Hipo car passes him. It just passed him. He stares as the red glow from the sole dim taillight heads on down the dark city street. They didn’t recognize him.
    Only as he passes the church of St. Stefan further down the street, does his heart returns to its normal pace, and he realizes that he is still walking far too fast, stumbling by actually, and he slows down. His stomach is a tight knot.
    Later, by the S-train station, he meets the black Ford once again. It is blocking the street. Continuing along the sidewalk, Poul-Erik aims his face straight ahead, only his eyes turn to look. The driver is standing by the car, gun in hand. The car’s headlights are pointing at a group of people being body searched by the other three Hipo. A woman is thrown into the street, collapsing on the cobblestones. The huge Hipo Commander kicks her in the gut, again and again. He snatches his long truncheon from his belt and pounds her head with it.
    Chased by the screams and cries of the poor woman, Poul-Erik hurries through the viaduct and away as the S-train passes over him on the bridge.
    Ten minutes later, the smith slaps him in the face for being late at work. He’s just lucky the Master Smith hasn’t arrived yet, as he would have been beaten by him as well.
    Then he has to get back at the circular saw to continue yesterday’s work while the smith opens another beer and the blue flashes from the welder light up the workshop.

18
    Frost flowers cover the windows in the allotment house. Nothing but shadows and spots of light can be seen through them. But that’s all he needs to tell that somebody is sneaking around