Captive Witness by Carolyn G. Keene

refugee organization, too,” Dr. Bagley said, brightening at the idea. “You never lose your optimism, do you?”
    “Not if I can possibly help it,” the girl said.
    Professor Bagley dialed the contact for the refugee organization and talked for nearly five minutes.
    “There’s a storm watch here,” he said into the phone. “The wind could start whipping up in a few hours, you know. ”
    Nancy had overheard the tail end of the conversation and was bewildered by the strange talk about bad weather.
    “I heard we’re due to have clear skies tomorrow,” she commented when the professor hung up.
    “Storm watch means time is running out,” he replied grimly, explaining that he frequently used weather terms as a code. “We can never be sure if someone is listening in on a conversation.”
    He paused sadly, then added, “They say they’re a small group and everyone who works with them is completely committed to two other operations tomorrow. One is on the East German border and the other on the Romanian border. There isn’t a person to spare. If only we could hold off our rescue for a week. Let’s see what Mr. Popov thinks.”
    When the man emerged, face and hands now shining, he was overwhelmed by the gifts of clothes laid out for him and the dinner that room service wheeled in moments later. As he ate, Nancy and the professor carefully learned as much as they could about the children, their exact location, their individual ages, and their ability to remain silent when necessary.
    “They must keep quiet when they pass close to the Hungarian border guards,” the professor told Popov.
    “Of course. No question about that, and they will,” the man replied. “They understand the seriousness of all this, and they dearly want to be with their families again.”
    The conversation then shifted to the choice of time selected for the border crossing. It was to have been just before midnight when the guards would be awaiting relief, and when they were apt to be most careless, tired, and eager to get home.
    “They would not search so thoroughly then as they would at the beginning of their watch,” Mr. Popov said. “But why are we even talking about such things? They are no longer important since there is no way to bring the children out now through a border checkpoint.”
    “What about the possibility of cutting through the fence?” Ned asked.
    Nancy shook her head. “It’s probably wired.”
    “You mean it will electrocute on contact,” Ned commented.
    “I don’t know about that, but I imagine it must be connected to an alarm,” Nancy replied.
    “How about digging under the fence then?” Eric questioned.
    “Friends.” Mr. Popov held up his hands to interrupt the discussion. “You can cut the fence. You can dig under. But the risk is so terribly great that the guards would catch you. Remember, with ten children you cannot move very quickly. No, we must think of something completely different.”
    There was silence until Ned snapped his fingers. “I’ve heard of people escaping by balloon,” he said eagerly, but seeing the frowning faces of his listeners, he dropped the idea. “Where are we going to get a balloon anyhow?”
    Nancy studied Mr. Popov for a moment. She was startled to see tears in his eyes. She hurried to his side and put her arm around his thin shoulders. “I am so afraid,” Mr. Popov said, half choking, “that I will never see my wife or the children again. It is only a matter of days, perhaps hours, before they find us.”
    Nancy felt tears spring to her own eyes as she hugged the man encouragingly. “Mr. Popov, you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever known because you are afraid, but you do what you have to anyway. You have to fight twice—once against your fear and once against your enemy. You are a remarkable man, and we are proud to help you.”
    Mr. Popov squared his shoulders and said in his still-choking voice, “Thank you, Miss Drew. Thank you.”
    “And don’t