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

There was no point in lamenting the fact now. She had to go tomorrow and meet this soviet agent and find out what he knew about Stalin’s intentions towards Finland. It didn’t matter that another agent had followed her to Stockholm, just as it didn’t matter that she had absolutely no idea where Lyakhov was or whether or not he had been the one to slip the note under the door. All that mattered was that she get as much information as she could and get back to England, uncompromised. If she could do it without sacrificing Anna’s safety, all the better, but her first priority was the meeting at eleven o’clock.

And the second was avoiding her old Soviet friend.

A tall man dressed in a dark suit and darker coat walked into the lobby of The Strand Hotel and looked around. It was late and the only guest traffic was on the side where the entrance to the restaurant was located. He glanced at his watch and turned to walk across the tiled floor towards the concierge desk. A single suitcase was the only luggage he carried, clasped in a leather-gloved hand. The concierge looked up as he approached and smiled politely.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted him.

“Good evening,” the man said, setting his case down and removing his hat. “Pratar du tyska?” he asked in heavily accented Swedish.

“Of course,” the concierge replied in German. “How may I assist you?”

“I’d like a room, please.”

“Of course. Will it be only you?”

“Yes.” The man pulled a long passport case out of the inside pocket of his coat and extracted his passport. “If you have something overlooking the harbor, that would be preferred.”

The concierge took the offered identification and opened the registry book, turning it around to face the man.

“I think I have something that will fit your needs,” he said, opening the passport and glancing down at it. “And how long will you be with us, Herr Renner?”

“I’m not sure yet. Perhaps a few nights.” Renner signed the registry and set the pen down. “I’m meeting a colleague. Could you tell me if she’s arrived?”

The concierge finished copying the details from his passport onto his registry card and passed the identification back to him.

“Certainly. What’s the name?”

“Richardson,” Renner said, tucking the passport back into his holder and sliding it into his coat pocket again. “Margaret Richardson. She’s a journalist for The Daily Mail in London.”

The concierge nodded and turned to go to a drawer on the back wall. While he was looking, Renner turned to survey the lobby. He was tired and hungry and his patience was running thin.

When he arrived this afternoon, he’d been met at the station by one of their men from the embassy. In the car on the way to the embassy, he’d been informed that new orders had come in from Berlin. He was no longer simply to observe Fraulein Richardson. He was instructed to detain her for questioning. Someone in the Abwehr, the Wehrmacht’s intelligence service, wanted to know everything she knew. They already had a location, he was told. Or at least, they believed they did. One of their plants in the British embassy reported that a message was hand delivered to Mr. Horace Manchester, a man known to be British Intelligence. The message had been delivered this afternoon from this hotel.

“Yes indeed, Herr Renner.” The concierge was back and Renner turned back to the counter with a smile. “Miss Richardson arrived this afternoon. Would you like to leave a message for her?”

“No, that’s quite all right. I’ll undoubtedly see her tomorrow. I just wanted to know if I was the first one here.”

“Very good, sir. Here is your room key. You’re in room 305, on the third floor. I think you’ll enjoy it. It has a beautiful view of the harbor and the palace.”

“Thank you. Is the restaurant still open?” Renner accepted the key and picked up his hat.

“Yes.” The concierge checked his watch. “We will be serving for another hour yet.”

Renner nodded and picked up his case, turning away from the desk and walking towards the lift. He would go to his room and leave his case and his coat, then come back down for something to eat. He hadn’t eaten since noon and he knew food would go a long way to improving his temper.

Then he could determine the best way to find and detain Fraulein Richardson.

When Evelyn emerged from the lift the following morning, there was no sign of her friend from Oslo. The lobby was busy with guests checking out and both managers behind the front desk were occupied. Instead of going over to wait, she looked around the lobby for a porter or other employee. Everyone appeared to engaged.

Biting her lip, she gave an internal shrug and crossed the lobby to leave through the front doors. If she couldn’t find anyone in the hotel who could point her in the right direction for her meeting with Risto Niva, she would simply ask a vendor or shop keeper in the city. Someone would be able to assist her.

Stepping into the brisk morning air, Evelyn shivered and turned to go towards the news vendor where Anna had purchased her paper yesterday. The morning had dawned overcast, but the clouds were dispersing now, sliced apart by the sunlight. If the sun had its way, it would turn into a beautiful day.

She approached the news vendor, catching him without any customers, and smiled. He nodded respectfully and said something in Swedish. With an inward sigh, she shook her head and spoke in German. She wasn’t sure how prevalent English would be in the streets, but German seemed to be more common as a second language. At least, she’d found that to be the case in Norway.

“Sprichen sie Deutsch?” she asked.

“Ja.” He nodded and smiled widely.

“Oh good! I’m wondering if you can help me. I’m looking for something called Den Gyldene Freden? I believe it’s located in Gamla Stan,