The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2) by CW Browning (read after .txt) 📗

thought popped into her mind and she pressed her lips together grimly.

Why did Vladimir really want her to go to Stockholm?

When Evelyn arrived at the Hotel Bristol exactly at seven, there was no sign of Herr Mayer waiting out front. She frowned and went in, looking around the crowded restaurant. As she was scanning the tables, the host approached her.

“Miss Richardson?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “Yes?”

“This was left for you.”

He handed her a folded note with a smile and retreated to his domain near the door. Evelyn looked down at the paper in her hand and opened it. As she had suspected, it was from Hans, written in a very precise hand.

Dear Miss Richardson,

I apologize but I will be unable to meet you for dinner. Upon further consideration I have decided that it would be unwise for me to meet with a member of a foreign press without the prior approval of the Ministry of Propaganda. I hope you understand. I wish you the best of luck with your article.

Sincerely,

Hans Ferdinand Mayer

Evelyn folded the note again. That was that, then. So much for her gently plying the physicist for information about Nazi controlled Germany. She wasn’t surprised. He had seemed very uncomfortable with the idea last night when she proposed it. Now she understood why. He was afraid he would be punished for talking to a member of the press that wasn’t controlled by the Goebbels ministry of propaganda. She really couldn’t blame him. Not if the whispers coming out of Germany were true.

Turning to leave the restaurant, she gasped as she walked into a tall, solid figure.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, glancing up into an angular face. “I’m sorry!”

She spoke in German automatically, reverting to a language that she had learned was more easily understood in Oslo than English.

“It’s quite all right, Fraulein,” the man said easily, his brown eyes sweeping over her as his hands steadied her. “Are you hurt?”

“Not at all. Perhaps just my pride,” Evelyn said with a laugh. “I wasn’t paying attention. My apologies.”

“None are needed, Fraulein...?”

“Richardson.”

“I am Herr Renner,” he said, dropping his hands from her arms. “How nice to meet a fellow German! Are you staying at the hotel?”

“I...no, I’m not.” Evelyn glanced at her watch and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m late for an appointment.”

Herr Renner bowed his head politely.

“What a pity, but I understand. Have a nice evening, Fraulein.”

Evelyn nodded and moved past him to leave the restaurant. As she went through the door, she looked back over her shoulder to find him watching her. She forced a bright smile and continued on her way, emerging onto the street a moment later.

Turning to walk away from the hotel, Evelyn exhaled. She was seeing nefarious intentions everywhere now. Herr Renner was probably simply another scientist staying at the hotel for the conference. There was no reason for her to think he had any interest in her other than that of a passing curiosity. After all, she had bumped into him, not the other way around.

Yet, something was sending a warning all through her.

She shook her head, her heels tapping quickly along the pavement as she headed back towards the boarding house. She must be imagining things, and no wonder! She was being followed by a mysterious Russian agent, and she had met with a member of the Soviet NKVD just that afternoon. It was hardly surprising that she was suspicious of a man who spoke German and wore a long black coat over a dark gray suit. She was seeing shadows everywhere.

Even so, she was conscious of profound sense of gratitude for every step that put distance between Herr Renner and herself.

The man looked up impatiently at the knock on his door. He wasn’t in a good mood. The Englishwoman hadn’t appeared all day and he had no idea where she was or where she had gone. By the time he realized that she must have slipped out while he was at the embassy that morning, it was too late to hunt her down. Giving up, he returned to his room after a brief supper in the hotel dining room. Now he was pouring over what little information he had on her, which wasn’t much, looking for clues as to where she might go tomorrow. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

“Come!”

The door opened and small, slight man slid in.

“Comrade Grigori,” he wheezed, closing the door silently.

The man threw down his pen and sat back in his chair, eyeing the newcomer. “Comrade Yakov.”

“My apologies for disturbing you this late.” Yakov moved further into the room. “You wanted to know if I observed any movement on the agent.”

“I did.”

“He is booked onto a train leaving Oslo at two in the morning.”

“Where is he going?”

“Stockholm.”

Comrade Grigori stared at the little man for a moment, then nodded once.

“Very well. Get yourself on the same train and follow him. Report back with any updates.”

“Yes, comrade.” Yakov nodded and turned to leave the room. At the door, he paused. “Do you still want to know if he meets with anyone?”

“Yes.”

Yakov nodded once more and disappeared silently out the door. Grigori watched him go and lowered his gaze to the papers on the desk before him. He stared at them for a moment, lost in thought, then got up and went over to where his coat was draped over the back of a chair. Reaching into the pocket, he extracted a packet of cigarettes and pulled one out.

So Lyakhov was going to Sweden on an overnight train. Now why would he leave so suddenly? If his work here was done, why not catch a train that left at a more reasonable time? Why the rush to get to Stockholm?

He lit his cigarette and turned to pace across the room to the window. It was true that the easiest route to the Soviet Union was through Stockholm. The agent could simply have finished his assignment and be