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‘For Christ’s sake, get a grip on yourself,’ hissed Sneum with a glare.

‘The equipment’s so loud,’ whispered Christophersen. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘But you always said you’d be safer in Denmark,’ said Tommy, taunting. ‘Well, now you’ve learned something. If you’re working with me, you’re not safe anywhere. Now finish the message.’

Christophersen must have seen something in his partner’s eyes which scared him, because he continued, albeit in a Morse style full of stammers and stutters. It might have sounded confusing to those back in England who were used to his normal Morse hand, but Sneum knew it was better than nothing.

Once Christophersen’s shaking fingers had finally completed the communication, both men waited for a response from England. There was none. The poor quality of their British equipment hadn’t helped. The transmitter was bulky and heavy, weighing around twenty kilos. Hard to operate, it could be used only with an alternating current; at 7.5 watts. For reliable transmission and reception, a good aerial was also essential; they didn’t have one. Tommy recalled: ‘We had this ridiculous transmitter, which wasn’t powerful enough. It was heavy, it was piss-poor and Christophersen wasn’t achieving contact. As far as I was concerned, it was his fault and the transmitter’s fault.’

In the hope of receiving some kind of acknowledgement, Sneum ordered Christophersen to send the message again. He complied, but by now his nerves were in tatters. Once he had finished the transmission, tears poured down his cheeks. ‘I’ve had enough, I’m going home to see my parents,’ he said at last.

‘No, you’re not,’ Sneum said firmly. ‘Not if you want to live.’

Chapter 23

MEET THE WIFE

STILL FEELING PAIN FROM the cracked bone at the base of his spine, Tommy left Oxlund’s apartment a worried man. Later he called Kaj and asked his friend to keep a close eye on Christophersen. ‘If he doesn’t get a grip, we’ll have to kill him,’ said Sneum. ‘He could jeopardize the whole mission.’

Sneum sought the opinion of another trusted associate, his brother-in-law, the police detective Niels-Richard Bertelsen. Their conversation reminded Tommy just how high the stakes were. He learned that, in his absence, his entire family had been questioned by the authorities about his escape. Fortunately the Germans and the Danish police all thought he had been killed in the Hornet Moth. But if Christophersen were arrested, as seemed possible because his nervousness must already have aroused suspicion, Sneum felt sure that his own cover would also be blown. And then the people he loved could face worse interrogations than they had already endured. Bertelsen reluctantly agreed that they might have to kill the radio operator and find a more reliable accomplice:

Bertelsen and I planned how to kill Christophersen. We would take him down to some marshes in the south of Zealand, shoot him and throw him out of the car so he went under. It would be a long time before his body was found, if ever. I was going to be responsible for the killing, so I decided I wanted some neutral Danes as witnesses. That was because even during the war, to kill a man you were working with was a dangerous business. You had to be seen to have a very good reason. And we did have a good reason. He was scared, he was talking of leaving and going home. He was a security risk.

Before they took such drastic action, however, Bertelsen and Sneum decided that Christophersen should be given one last chance to recover his nerve.

The more Tommy thought about it, the more determined he became that London should pay for any new transmitter he might be able to acquire. The British had sent agents into Nazi-occupied territory with primitive equipment; now they should make amends.

His next meeting with the lawyer Aage Park, at his offices in Dronningens Tvaer Gade, would show whether the British were serious about backing the young men they had sent into such terrible danger. Tommy was politely shown into Park