In Satan's Shadow Read Online Free Page A

privacy compromised. They turned, embarrassed, and started walking down the tracks in the opposite direction. They didn’t look back.
    The saboteurs continued searching noisily for the stream, watching warily as the couple faded from sight. They waited ten minutes more, ensuring they didn’t return. After scanning the area and finding no one else, they retrieved their tools.
    It took thirty minutes to remove the next section, grunting, leveraging the long iron bars. Once the rail was pried from the ties, they pushed it off the track, down a small embankment and onto the soggy soil. Now twenty meters of rail was missing. The train was doomed.
    They disappeared into a wooded area, emerging a kilometer away. A panel truck with the name of a grocer stenciled on the side was parked at the edge of the forest. The men climbed in and slowly drove away, careful not to arouse suspicion. It was 5:45 p.m.
    *
    The members of the Berlin String Quartet walked towards the Amsterdam railroad station, their military liaison, Captain Klein, leading them forward. A veteran of the Great War, now near sixty, he was slight and wiry, secretive and reserved, and always acted as if he managed massive responsibilities. He kept a constant eye on the group, greeting his role with enthusiasm, but treating them like children. Just not like his own children.
    A porter rolled a cart behind them, five suitcases resting upon it, along with the curved case that contained the cello. The violinists and the viola player carried their instruments, too protective to let anyone else handle them. They approached the station entrance, a sprawling building marked by two towers and three arched windows, and took one last glance back at the city, interlaced with canals, its architecture unique, its residents warm and friendly.
    Amanda Hamilton, almost five months pregnant, had a camera hanging from a strap around her neck. She stopped in front of the station, put her violin case on the ground, and raised the camera to her eye. She took a series of photographs in rapid succession: the terminal entrance and the people passing through it, an elegant arch bridge that crossed a canal, the ornate ironwork looking like lace, a bicyclist with a poodle parked on the handlebars, and a five-story townhouse, an iron beam sticking from the highest window, a bureau hanging from it by rope as it was raised to the third floor.
    The station was sprinkled with civilians, most traveling on business, but was dominated by German soldiers. Transferred by railroad, some troops from the west were going on leave before reassignment to the Eastern Front. They were replaced by new recruits from Germany’s conquered territories, usually Poland or the Ukraine. To the residents it didn’t make much difference. They didn’t care where they came from. It was still an occupation force.
    The musicians paused, an isle in an ocean of uniforms, and studied the hectic terminal. Large boards hung from the walls, identifying arrivals and departures to and from major cities: Paris, Brussels, Copenhagen, and Berlin. Germans swarmed into the station and around the trains, stopping at kiosks to buy newspapers and coffee.
    “Our train doesn’t depart until 7:40,” Captain Klein said. He glanced at the tickets, and then his watch. It was 5:55.
    “You’re early,” the porter said. “There’s a train at 6:25. You should try to make that.”
    The string quartet, two women violinists, an elderly cello player, and a dashing viola player, waited for Klein to exchange their tickets. They were tired, having given six performances in two days at the Concertgebouw Orchestra. They wanted to go home, the sooner, the better.
    Amanda Hamilton stood beside Erika Jaeger. She absentmindedly rubbed her belly and then jumped with a start.
    “What’s the matter?” Erica asked, concerned.
    “It’s the baby,” she said. “I felt her move.”
    Erica smiled. “Her? Are we certain?”
    Amanda laughed “It feels like a