The Iron Storm by CW Browning (best fiction novels to read .txt) 📗

Frau Lutz’s face paled considerably and she swallowed. The look of deadly promise in his icy blue eyes was terrifying and she stood up quickly.

“I wish you God speed,” she said quickly.

“God will have nothing to do with it, if he knows what’s good for him,” Hans muttered, spinning on his heel. “I want every hotel and boarding house in Antwerp checked before the end of the day,” he added over his shoulder. “See to it.”

He strode away, fury making his steps sharp and measured. Thanks to an incompetent idiot, he now had to go to Brussels without delay and attempt to track down a mysterious female without even a description to go on. It was impossible! He didn’t even know that she was in Brussels at all. Marie Fournier may not even be in Belgium anymore. She may have taken the train to the capital, only to then take another into France. Yet he had no choice. He had to go to Brussels and make a concerted effort to find her. Even if she no longer had the plans, she would know who she had passed them on to. It was his only lead, no matter how small, and he had to follow it until it ended.

Looking at his watch, Hans stifled another curse. The woman had a huge head start on him. Even if he knew what she looked like, every minute that passed lessened the likelihood of finding her. But he had come this far in tracking down the stolen package. He wasn’t about to give up now. He could be in Brussels in two hours, and then he would begin his search. If Marie Fournier was there, he would find her.

Chapter Nine

Evelyn smiled at the vendor and paused to look at the brightly colored silk scarves displayed in the booth. She had come upon an open market in her exploration of the city and couldn’t resist walking through the large area crowded with tables selling everything from fruit and vegetables, to books, to perfume, to hats. It reminded her a bit of the markets in Paris, and she never could resist a stroll through the crowded thoroughfares with Gisele. They never came away empty-handed and, as Evelyn fingered a particularly attractive scarf, she smiled faintly at the memories. She hadn’t seen her cousin since before her fateful trip to Norway. Suddenly she wondered if she would see her again before the inevitable offensive by Hitler against France.

The smile faded and she put the scarf down, shaking her head at the vendor before moving on. If and when Germany attacked, her Aunt and Uncle would move their household to their country chateau in Monblanc, near Toulouse, in the South of France. It was all planned. If the Germans succeeded in invading France, they would go to Ainsworth Manor and stay with Evelyn’s mother until it was safe to return to France. At least, that was the last plan she had heard. She had no idea if Gisele and Nicolas, her cousins, would accompany their parents to England. Nicolas was rather of the inclination to fight, and if he stayed, so would his twin sister. There was no separating the two.

Her brows furrowed as Evelyn moved through the stalls, her mind far away. She wished her cousins would go to England where it would be safe if the worst were to happen, but she was very much afraid that they would not. And who would blame them? If the roles were reversed, Evelyn knew she would stay in France and do what she could to save her country.

“Ooof!”

A solid mass suddenly collided with her, pushing her sideways and into a table. Evelyn gasped, gripping her purse with one hand while she tried to steady herself against the table with the other. The solid mass turned out to be a man who stumbled against her, pressing her backwards as he clutched a paper-wrapped package to his chest. Startled brown eyes met hers and he grunted, struggling to straighten himself and push himself away from her. A torrent of undecipherable Flemish washed over her and Evelyn shook her head, frustrated at her lack of understanding of the Dutch language.

“Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas néerlandais,” she said, reaching out to help him steady himself as she regained her own balance.

The man moved away a bit and looked at her, a sheepish smile on his face.

“My apologies, Mademoiselle,” he said in French, running a hand through curly red locks. “I tripped over that loose paving stone over there. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so.” Evelyn straightened her hat and jacket and looked more thoroughly at the man who had run her down. He was about her age and height and dressed in a brown suit. Freckles dotted a friendly face and his brown eyes reminded her forcibly of a doe. “Are you all right?”

“Oh yes. I’m used to things like this, unfortunately,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m something of a klutz. I tend to pay more attention to what’s going on in my head than what’s going on around me.”

“Well I hope it’s at least more interesting.”

“I think so.” He grinned and held out a hand. “I am Jens Bernard.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn smiled and held out her hand. “Marie Fournier,” she introduced herself.

“Mademoiselle Fournier,” he repeated, nodding. “I’ll remember that. I had an old school master with the name of Fournier. He was from Nice, I believe.”

Evelyn laughed and withdrew her hand. “Well, I’m from Paris and of no relation.”

“Thank heavens for that. The man was a horror. Are you visiting Brussels?” he asked, falling into step beside her.

“Yes. I’m here for a few days,” she said, glancing up at him. “And you? Do you live here?”

“Oh yes. I moved here last year to take a job. It’s a wonderful city. Are you enjoying it?”

“I’ve only just arrived, but yes, I think so.”

“Until some awkward