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

hers. “You must leave and go back to Paris. I don’t know how much longer it will be safe here.”

“Why Jens Bernard, are you trying to get rid of me already?” she teased. “There are easier ways, you know.”

Jens flushed a dull read. “No, I... I mean to say, it’s rotten luck that this is happening now.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it?” She smiled and squeezed his hands before pulling hers away. “But really it comes as no great shock. As you said, we all knew that it was coming.”

“Then you’ll leave? You’ll go back to Paris immediately?”

“Not immediately, but I’m already taking the morning train.”

“Well that does make me feel better,” Jen said with a smile. “I know it’s probably silly of me, but I feel kind of responsible for you. After all, you’re visiting my city.”

Evelyn laughed lightly. “My dear boy, you’re hardly responsible for my being in Brussels. If anyone has that honor, that would be my employer. And myself, I suppose,” she added thoughtfully. “I came here under no dissolution. All of Europe knows what’s coming, even if most of us choose to pretend that it won’t happen. Luckily I’ve completed my work here and was already planning to leave in the morning. And so, you see, there’s been no harm done. You have no need to feel responsible for me.”

“Yes I know, but I feel it all the same.”

“You’re a good person, Jens,” she said softly. “I hope you make out all right through all of this. If the Germans do make it into Belgium, will you leave Brussels?”

“I don’t know. I have family in the country, but I hadn’t really given much thought to where I’ll go if...well, I suppose there’ll be time enough to think about that when it happens.”

“There’s always France,” Evelyn said gaily. “You said you wanted to visit.”

Jens’s lips twisted and he smiled ruefully. “This isn’t quite what I had in mind though.”

“No, I know. As you said, what rotten luck.”

They were both quiet for a moment and then Jens looked up. “At least I was able to have one last dinner at Marcel’s,” he said with a smile. “Thank you for that.”

“I should be thanking you. I had a lovely time, and even though my stay is being cut short, it was a very nice stay thanks to you.” Evelyn finished her coffee, setting the empty cup down with the click. “Now please don’t worry about me. I’ll be on the first train to Paris in the morning, safely out of harm’s way. I do appreciate you sharing all of this with me, however. I wish there was something I could do to help you through it all.”

The shrug Jens gave was resigned.

“I’m very much afraid that the only one who can help us now is God himself.”

The man known as Eisenjager bent over the low sink and held his hands under the running tap. Blood mixed with water to swirl around the drain and, once the worst of it was off, he reached for a sliver of soap. The job was done. The man from Zurich, whom he had followed to Brussels as instructed, was dead, and the information he had been carrying to the British attaché was now in his hands. The end had been a bit messier than Eisenjager was used to, but that couldn’t be helped. At least it was done.

After scrubbing away the last of the blood, Eisenjager stripped out of his blood-splattered shirt and tossed it into the sink. He would throw it away in an alley when he went to dinner, but right now he had to contact Hamburg. They would be waiting for news.

He left the small bathroom and went over to the open suitcase on a chair near the bed. Pulling out a clean shirt, he shrugged into it as his eyes strayed to the window overlooking Brussels. He’d always enjoyed the city. After arriving early this morning, however, he hadn’t had time to revisit some of his favorite haunts. A shame, that. Perhaps, if his handler didn’t have another job for him, he would stay a day or two and become reacquainted with the city. Soon it would be very different from the Brussels he knew and loved. Soon, everything in Europe would be very different.

Buttoning his shirt, Eisenjager walked over to the window and looked out over the evening streets. They were alive with men hurrying home from work and women rushing around, finishing last minute shopping before dinner. An entire city going about its business despite the growing threat from the north. He watched them thoughtfully for a moment, listening to the sounds of the traffic through the open window. An entire city on the verge of being faced with the full might of the German forces.

He turned away from the window and went over to the rickety old desk in the corner where he’d set up his wireless. Sitting before the radio, he slipped the headphones over his head and reached out to turn the knob to the correct frequency. Pulling a codebook from inside the case, he opened it and began transmitting his message. Once Hamburg was alerted to the fact that he had the information and the courier was dead, he would go to dinner and try to enjoy at least a few hours of Brussels. If he didn’t have any immediate instructions, perhaps he could even enjoy a few more tomorrow.

Eisenjager finished transmitting his message and waited for acknowledgment of receipt. While he waited, he picked up a pencil and began drawing random doodles on the notepad on the desk. He would return to Munich by way of Switzerland, he decided while he drew the rough outline of a pistol. It was how he had come, and it would cause the least amount of interest. He always tried to draw the least amount of attention to himself as possible. In his line of work, the last thing he wanted was to be