Code Name Kingfisher by Liz Kessler

Author:Liz Kessler [Kessler, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2023-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-five Hannie, 1943

Dearest Mama,

Yesterday was the closest I’ve come to being found out. I’m still shaking at the thought of it.

Since I’ve had the bicycle and the satchel, my assignments have changed. I still accompany children sometimes, but more often I am sent to convey messages of one sort or another. Sometimes I have a bag full of newsletters that have been secretly (and illegally) printed. Everyone had to hand in their radios earlier this year, and the only newspapers we can legally read are filled with Nazi propaganda. There are groups of people in the Resistance who produce regular news-sheets and distribute them so that people can still find out the truth about this war and the occupation.

Other times I’m delivering a message to one address, and the rest of my package is a decoy. I don’t even know what the messages are. I’ve had enough near misses that I now truly understand why the knowledge is compartmentalized so much.

When I was given my first package, the man (code name Lightning) gave me some words of advice that I repeat to myself over and over on every mission.

‘If you see any Nazis, go the other way. If they stop you, remember you are an innocent child. You’ve done nothing wrong. Your father is a Dutch NSB official. You love Hitler. Okay?’

Yesterday was one of the days when I was delivering a message to a specific person. My satchel was filled with leaflets covered in Nazi insignia. I had to look like a good Dutch Nazi girl helping the war effort. But hidden in a secret compartment was the real message.

I was cycling along, feeling strangely safe, when it happened. A soldier stopped in front of me. ‘Halt!’ he shouted and, as I stopped, he grabbed my handlebars.

‘ID!’ he demanded.

I grabbed my identity card, the one with my false name – Hannie Van de Berg – on it. The soldier studied the card. He handed it back, and I thought he was going to let me go. But then he spotted the satchel. ‘Open it!’

My throat was so dry I couldn’t swallow, but I forced myself to speak.

I said, ‘I’m working for my father. He’s in the NSB. Look.’ I grabbed one of the fake leaflets and passed it to the soldier. I hoped he couldn’t see the line of sweat I could feel breaking out across my forehead.

He studied the leaflet for a long time. I didn’t breathe out the whole time he was looking at it. Then he handed the leaflet back. ‘Your father has raised you correctly,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ I mumbled.

‘Go,’ he said and waved me on.

My legs felt like they were made of rubber, and it was the first time since that day on our street with Hugo that I felt I might tumble from the bicycle.

Once I was away from the soldier and away from danger, I pulled over to the side of the road. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I had to know what I was delivering.

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