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

“How long have you worked for him?”

“It will be two years in August, if we make it that long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, who knows what will happen with this war. There may not be a company by August if the Germans keep coming like they are.” She tore off some bread and bit into it, reflecting that it was amazing how closely fiction could mirror the truth. “Right now, I just hope we make it to Paris without any more delay. He must be worried sick about me.”

Jens looked at her, startled. “You weren’t able to send a telegram before you left?”

“No. I didn’t even try.”

He was quiet for a moment while they ate, then he glanced into the back of the car.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I have my wireless radio with me. I don’t suppose he has a radio in his building, does he?”

Evelyn pretended to consider for a moment while she ate. After a moment, she looked up and nodded vigorously.

“Do you know, he does!” she exclaimed. “I’d completely forgotten! He uses it to communicate with his offices in London.” Then, her face fell dramatically. “Oh, but I have no idea how to contact him in Paris. I’ve only ever contacted the London office for him, and that was only once.”

“Do you remember the frequency and number? I could send a message to the London office. I’m sure they will relay it to your boss in Paris.”

Satisfaction flowed through her and Evelyn felt her lips curving of their own accord.

“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful! Yes, I remember. I have quite a knack for remembering numbers.”

“Well, then that’s no problem!”

He beamed at her before shoving the last of his bread into his mouth. Evelyn watched him for a second, then reached for the bottle of wine. He was such a nice man, and she was lying through her teeth to him. Well, not entirely, she thought as she lifted the bottle to her lips. He will be contacting my boss. It’s just not quite what he thinks. The thought did nothing to appease the twinge of guilt and she gulped down some wine.

“Once we’ve finished and I’ve stretched my legs, I’ll set up the radio,” Jens said, finishing his cheese and reaching for the bottle. “It won’t take long. I only have to—”

He broke off suddenly, staring out the passenger window. Evelyn turned to look and stilled, her breath catching in her throat. Several pinpricks of light were slicing through the darkness across the dark field, moving towards them. Without thinking, Evelyn reached out and switched off the interior light, but of course it was too late. They had already been seen. She watched, her heart pounding, as the lights closed the distance between them rapidly, revealing tall shadows behind them. The lights were flashlights, and the shadows were quite clearly five people, all headed straight for the car.

“I think that might have to wait,” she said slowly, glancing at Jens in the darkness.

“Do you think it’s the farmer who owns this field?” he asked, peering into the night. Then he sucked in his breath as he caught sight of what Evelyn had already seen. “Good Lord, are those rifles?”

“Yes.”

“Why would the farmer be becoming with rifles?”

Evelyn took a deep breath and slid her hand towards her clutch purse on the floor by her feet, and the pistol inside. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Somehow, I don’t think those are farmers.”

London - 10pm

The man crumpled the paper in his gloved hand and shoved it into his overcoat pocket impatiently, turning to stride out of the telephone booth. The message had been left in the back of the telephone book, tucked there by invisible hands shortly before he arrived. It was unusual to get a message like that. It was usually reserved for only the most important and most pressing instructions.

Henry strode down the street towards Piccadilly, his hands in his coat pocket and his eyes alert in the darkness. The blackout was in full force, as it had been for months. Tonight, however, it seemed darker and more quiet than usual. Germany had invaded Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg, and were undoubtedly heading for France. The city had been injected with a new sense of apprehension as the population waited to see how the BEF would fare against the Wehrmacht in the far-off battlefields of Belgium. It had finally begun. It wouldn’t be long now before the German army moved into France. And then the real battle would begin, for if France fell, Britain would stand alone.

Henry felt neither triumph nor apprehension as he strode along the pavement. The war on the continent would unfold as Fate allowed and decreed. He was more concerned with his own war right here in London. His handler was getting impatient. He had been buying time now for eight months, but it was running out. They wanted the missing plans that Robert Ainsworth had stolen before his death, and they wanted them now. He had promised that he would find them, but so far he had been unable to do so. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d looked everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. He’d even gone back to the hotel in Bern where Ainsworth died and searched again, even though it had already been searched thoroughly by the Abwehr, MI6 and the Swiss. It was as if Robert Ainsworth had taken them to the grave with him.

Pausing on the corner of Jermyn Street, he waited for a car to pass before crossing the road quickly. But of course Ainsworth hadn’t taken them to the grave with him. It was quite absurd. He’d hidden them somewhere, and Henry had to find where before his handler took matters into his own hands. If that happened, it would only end up bad for him. MI6 was already suspicious of anyone and everyone, and his security access had been restricted to the point that he had no idea what