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

eager to get back to Moscow. And who would blame him? Oslo had little in the way of amusement, and Lyakhov had been here for three weeks already. It could simply be that he was tired of Norway and longing for home.

Grigori stared out the window thoughtfully, sucking on his cigarette. On the other hand, if he had met with someone secretly, he could be going to Sweden for an entirely different purpose. And if that was the case, Comrade Yakov would be absolutely useless. He was a snake, that one, and could extract the most interesting pieces of information from nothing, but as far as anything else went, he would be of no use at all.

If Lyakhov was indeed the traitor, Yakov would be no match for him.

And Moscow was convinced there was a traitor. Select pieces of classified intelligence had been steadily making their way into Europe, and into the hands of the English for a few years now. At first, they thought there were multiple traitors at work because the information was varied by so many different levels and departments. There was no way one person would have access to all of it. But, as the months went by and they began investigating each and every section, it ceased to look like the work of multiple people and began to appear to be the result of just one. How they were gaining access to the information was a mystery yet to be solved, but one thing had been exposed: their connection to the English agent who died in Bern in September.

Shaking his head, Grigori blew out a line of smoke. They had got there too late. The man was dead and there was no sign of Soviet intelligence on him, nor any hint as to the identity of the traitor. The trail had gone cold. Unwilling to give up, Beria had ordered that all intelligence agents be investigated. In addition, any and all communication with British agents, even accidental, carried with it the penalty of death.

Stubbing his cigarette out on the window sill, Grigori sighed and turned away from the window. And so here he was in Oslo, watching a known British agent while Yakov watched Lyakhov. And between them, they had nothing. As far as he could see, there was no connection.

But Beria would want more than his assumption. He would want evidence of innocence. And so Grigori would go back to watching the Englishwoman. When she left Norway, he would return home and make his report. As it stood right now, his report would be that there was no connection observed. Lyakhov’s fate was his own from then on, provided Yakov didn’t observe anything out of the ordinary in Stockholm.

But first, the Englishwoman.

Chapter Thirteen

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“Stockholm!” Daniel Carew stared at Evelyn. “What on earth for?”

“I’ve heard the weather’s lovely this time of year,” she said dryly, seating herself in a chair across from his desk as she began to pull her gloves off.

Daniel let out a snort and sat down, his eyes fixed on her face. He was dressed in evening clothes, having come to the embassy directly from a dinner party after receiving her message. When he arrived, he had looked distinctly annoyed at having to come back to the office at such a late hour. Now he looked bemused.

“All right. Start from the beginning. Am I to gather that you’ve met with Shustov?”

“Yes. He gave me a rather interesting tip about the situation between Finland and the Soviet Union.” Evelyn finished removing her gloves and folded her hands over them in her lap. “His exact words were, ‘Moscow has grown tired of their refusal to allow us to protect our cities.’”

Daniel’s brows snapped together. “How tired?”

“That’s precisely what I said,” she said with a laugh. “His response was that there was someone in Stockholm who could give me more detail. He lives in Turku, but is in Sweden for a few days. He will arrange a meeting for me, but only if I go immediately. I’m to let him know tonight. I thought I’d better check with London before I do anything.”

Daniel blinked and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yes, of course.” He shook his head and leaned forward to pull a pad of paper towards him. “I can send a message, but it may be some time before we receive an answer.”

“Then the sooner you send it, the better,” Evelyn said briskly.

“Who is this person in Stockholm?”

“I believe he’s another Soviet agent.”

Daniel looked up sharply. “NKVD?”

“I think so.”

“What’s his name?”

“I wasn’t given one,” Evelyn lied smoothly.

“Then how are you to know who he is?”

Evelyn shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I presume Shustov will let me know somehow.”

Daniel paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of the pen.

“If you make contact with a second Soviet agent and make a favorable impression, that will give us two sources of information out of Russia. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get just one?”

“Yes, which is why I think it best that I go to Stockholm without delay.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t speak a word of Swedish. Perhaps I should take a translator. Do they speak English at all?”

“Many do, actually,” he said, lowering his pen to his pad once more. “However, I think it would be advisable for you take someone along. Not as much for the language barrier, but more to avoid undue interest. Were you thinking of Miss Salvesen?”

“I was, yes.”

“I think that would be a perfect choice. She is familiar with Scandinavian customs and there would be nothing unusual about two women taking a holiday together.” Daniel looked up. “Not that you draw suspicion,” he added with a faint smile.

“Well, someone is following me, so I must draw some.”

“And that I still don’t understand,” he said, tearing the paper off the pad and pushing his chair back. “No one aside from myself was even aware of your arrival here.”

“Not to put too fine a