Behind Enemy Lines (11 page)

D
AK WASN’T
sure how long he stayed hidden in that closet. He knew when Anton and Cleo left Von Roenne’s office because they walked past, and Anton muttered something about “Gotta find that kid today.” And Cleo then said something about waiting for him to show up near the kitchen.

Words like that made it a lot easier to stay right where he was. And except for the fact that he was getting tired of standing, it wasn’t the worst place. In the darkness, he started counting backward from 1943, listing off major world events from each year, like any ordinary history genius might do for fun. He got briefly stuck on 1938, until he remembered a radio show called “War of the Worlds” that had been performed to sound like a news alert about an alien invasion. Even though there were several announcements during the broadcast about it only being a performance, it set the entire country into a panic for hours. People packed up and left their homes, fired guns into the air to warn away the aliens, and prepared themselves for the end of the world.

Dak frowned at that. There was certainly no alien attack, but the end of the world was coming if he didn’t gather up some courage and leave this closet.

He slowly opened the closet door and looked both ways before sneaking out. It was late and most people had gone home. But in Von Roenne’s office, Dak could hear the clatter of a typewriter.

He balled up his fists, took a deep breath, and then knocked on Von Roenne’s door.

“Come in.” As usual, Von Roenne’s voice was terse, but not unkind.

When Dak entered, Von Roenne looked up, arched an eyebrow when he recognized Dak, then swiveled his chair away from his typewriter and clasped his hands.

“You again?” Von Roenne seemed curious, although Dak wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “What do you want?”

“A few days ago, you said I owe you a favor. I want to repay you now. I can help here in your office, with any jobs you need.”

Von Roenne stared at him a moment, then pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Please have a seat. What is your name?”

“Dak.”

“An unusual name. Are you German?”

“There’s German blood on my mother’s side.” However, Dak failed to mention that his great-grandfather was born near London, and in fact, was serving in the British navy at this time. He figured Von Roenne didn’t need that much of his family background.

“I’m told a housekeeper brought you here to help in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Von Roenne leaned in closer. “But I suspect there’s more to you than that. We both know about the man and woman in these headquarters who seem to have nothing better to do than look for you. I suspect if you’re caught, our housekeeper will need another kitchen boy. Why is that? Did you steal something from them?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you cause them any trouble?”

“No, sir.” It was actually just the opposite.

Von Roenne frowned at him. “Then are you here as a spy?”

Despite trying to hide any reaction, Dak was taken aback by the question and his eyes widened. He tried to speak, but his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his tongue felt roughly the size of Everest.

Von Roenne leaned back. “Ah, so the Allies are using children now to spy on us. Is that because they have so much trust in you, or so little fear of us?”

“The Allies have no idea I’m here. They don’t know anything about me.”

“Then why are you here?” Impatient for an answer, Von Roenne said, “You’ll talk to me, or I’ll turn you over to that pair who are probably searching this building for you right now.”

“I – I’m not . . . I just —” Which was as far as Dak got before the cotton mouth started up again.

Obviously, he couldn’t tell one of Hitler’s most trusted advisers that he was here from the future. The idea of what Hitler could do if he got control of time travel was terrifying.

Nor could he tell Von Roenne about Mincemeat Man. The last thing he needed was for the collapse of the Allies in World War II to be blamed on him. He would be in the history books one day — Dak was sure of that — but not for being the one to destroy the free world. No way.

But he was having trouble coming up with any reason why he might be here otherwise. The obvious thought was to convince Von Roenne that he wanted to join up with the Nazis, that he believed in their cause and wanted to help, even if he was too young to be a soldier.

But there was no way Dak would tell a lie like that. Even to save the mission or to save his own life, Dak would never let those words come out of his mouth. Von Roenne seemed like a decent enough person. But he was fighting for the wrong side, and taking orders from truly evil men.

The Führer, Adolf Hitler, was responsible for millions of deaths on the battlefield, both from those fighting for him and against him. Beyond that, before the war ended, he would be responsible for the deaths of over six million Jewish people. Innocent families who would be rounded up, held in concentration camps, and eventually killed for no crime other than who they were by faith and by heritage.

Thinking of them, Dak was surer than ever that Mincemeat Man had to succeed. It wouldn’t save all those lives, but at least the Allies would win in the end, and those lost lives could forever serve as a reminder of how evil must never be allowed to spread.

“All right, if you won’t talk, then you’ll come with me.” Von Roenne stood and walked from behind his desk over to Dak.

“You can’t give me to Anton and Cleo,” Dak said. “They’ll kill me if you do.”

Von Roenne placed his hands on his hips. “Then why —”

He was interrupted by another knock on his door. Dak looked all around for any way he might escape if it was Anton and Cleo returning. He could dive out Von Roenne’s window, which always looked pretty cool in action movies. But in real life, he’d never do that. The glass would get him all cut up, and he’d probably break a leg landing on the cement below. If it were them, his only choice would be to run and hope like crazy to be fast enough that they couldn’t grab him.

Dak pressed his toes against the ground, ready to push off and run.

Von Roenne invited whoever had knocked to enter, but rather than the two Time Wardens, it was a group of Nazi soldiers who entered instead.
Oh, good,
Dak thought.
More Nazis.

“The Führer to see Colonel Von Roenne,” one of the soldiers announced.

Dak forgot anything he had ever known about running and instead backed up behind Von Roenne. Now entering the room was none other than Adolf Hitler.

C
OLONEL
V
ON
Roenne stood at attention and raised his right arm straight in front of him. “
Heil, mein
Führer!” He nudged at Dak to do the same, but Dak could not,
would not
, do it.

Everything Dak had ever read about Adolf Hitler flooded his mind. How he’d wanted to be an artist when he was young, but failed. How he fought for Germany in the First World War and felt betrayed when his leaders surrendered. The months he spent in prison for trying to overthrow the government, and then afterward, how he built up his Nazi party to take over the government in a legal way. Once he had control, he took over Austria without firing a single shot. But when he invaded Poland, the Second World War began.

Hitler was of average height and build, but people may not have noticed since their attention likely went straight to his face. His thin brown hair was parted at the side and combed neatly across his forehead, and he had a small square mustache above his lip. His eyes were cold and stern, and seemed to bore through anything he stared at.

Luckily, Hitler gave Dak all the notice that he’d give a chair in the room. His eyes flicked over Dak and settled on Von Roenne.

“Have the papers arrived yet?” Hitler asked.

“No,
mein
Führer. But I’m waiting here in case Major Kuhlenthal arrives late tonight. We only know that the papers indicate the Allies will attack Greece and not Sicily.”

“It sounds too easy,” Hitler said. “That a dead British officer should wash up on the shores of Spain with the most top secret of plans?”

“I also have my suspicions,” Von Roenne said. “But until we have those papers, we cannot know exactly what the plans are, or if they are real.”

“I’m told that Captain Clauss got very close to the body, and that it is certain to have drowned off the coast of Spain.”

“He was there for the examination?” Von Roenne asked.

“No, but he had an informant who was there, a Spanish girl who assisted the doctor. Afterward, she told him everything she had seen.”

Dak smiled to himself. Sera had a primarily Mayan heritage, not Spanish, but it must have been her at the autopsy. Sometimes she was so cool!

Von Roenne sighed. “Then it sounds hopeful. But even if the papers are an Allied trick, this is still very good news for us. If they are real, then our army must move to Greece. The Allies will be surprised to see us there. It will be an easy win for Germany.”

Hitler cocked an eyebrow. “And if the plans are fake?”

“Then I will know.” Von Roenne spoke so confidently that Dak became worried. He added, “If the plans are fake, then it will be obvious that the Allies are going to Sicily. Our forces are so strong there, the Allies won’t have a chance. Either way, the coming battle will seal Germany as an eventual winner in this war.”

Hitler nodded without smiling, and it occurred to Dak that he had rarely seen any photo of the man smiling. He
could
smile, Dak assumed. The muscles worked the same as for anyone else, but he chose not to. He wanted to be seen as fierce, bold, and someone to fear. A wolf.

Hitler began to leave, then finally noticed Dak in the room. “Is this a houseboy for you?” he asked Von Roenne.

“I am considering whether to allow him to work for me,” Von Roenne answered. “At least, until he is old enough to train as a soldier.”

“He’s already old enough,” Hitler said. “We might not send him to war yet, but he can train now. From the Nazis, he must learn the true history of our people.”

Dak felt his muscles tightening and tried not to look angry. This man had nothing to teach him about history.

Hitler stepped closer and looked him over. “Your mother and father would be proud of you, boy, to hear that you have joined our great cause.”

“My parents have been missing for some time, sir,” Dak said. “I am alone.” The words echoed in his ears. He was the most alone he had ever been in his entire life. And not particularly comforted by the company he was currently keeping.

Hitler addressed Von Roenne. “When we own the youth, we own the future. Have this boy sent to begin his training tomorrow. I’ll personally find a place for him within the ranks of the Hitler Youth.”

“I won’t go.” Maybe it was stupid to speak, but on this issue, Dak refused to be silent.

Hitler opened his mouth to say something, probably to drag Dak kicking and screaming into those camps if necessary, but Von Roenne spoke first. “Pardon him,
mein
Führer, the boy only meant he cannot go. He owes me some work, and I know you expect our boys to pay their debts. Besides, he’ll get no better preparation to become a Nazi than with me.”

“Very well,” Hitler said, ignoring Dak again. “I expect your evaluation of Kuhlenthal’s papers by tomorrow.”

“It will be done,” Von Roenne said.

It took a full minute after Hitler left before Dak felt he could breathe normally again. Von Roenne had returned to his desk with Dak fixed in his gaze.

“Thank you,” Dak said.

Von Roenne didn’t flinch. He only continued to stare. It made Dak uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight.

Finally, Von Roenne spoke. “You may wonder why I kept you here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s because I cannot quite figure you out, and I’m curious. I believe you are telling me the truth about yourself, but not the whole truth.”

Dak stayed silent. If he had wanted to argue the point, he might have said he felt exactly the same way about Von Roenne.

“And if I were going to have a houseboy, I’d have preferred one who could safely leave this room to fetch me some tea.”

“There are other things I can do for you,” Dak said.

“Such as?”

Dak shuffled his feet on the floor a moment before speaking. Finally, he said, “I’m a Hystorian. I know a lot about the past . . . and the future.” It was a risk to say that, and he knew Riq would be punching him right now to hear Dak identify himself so openly to a high-level Nazi. But he had to know if Von Roenne was on his side.

Von Roenne only arched an eyebrow and said, “A historian? Well, boy, you may know the past, but the future has yet to be written.”

Dak felt deflated to hear that. At least Von Roenne wasn’t SQ, or he’d have known what Dak was talking about, but he wasn’t a Hystorian either.

“All right,” Von Roenne added. “If you’re a historian, then perhaps you can be helpful when Major Kuhlenthal arrives tonight. In the meantime, you can make yourself useful and clean up my office. If the Führer returns and sees you resting, he will take you with him whether I like it or not. And I promise that once he gets hold of your mind, he will never let it go.”

“Does he have your mind, sir?” Dak asked.

Von Roenne only looked back at him with a frown, and then returned to his work at his desk.

And that was really the big question, Dak figured. Because if Von Roenne was as loyal to Hitler as he claimed to be, then Dak didn’t stand a chance.