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

praise. Vladimir had been particularly impressed with how quickly she grasped the importance of meeting with Niva and learning what she could about the situation on the border between Finland and Soviet Russia. There had been no hesitation. For someone new to this game, she was very quick indeed.

He glanced at his watch again and settled back in the rickety old wooden chair that he’d dragged over to the window. He sat just out of sight from the street with a view of the entire corner building were the tavern was located. Studying the people in the street and the old building on the opposite corner that looked as if it had been a large and heavily fortified bank at one time, he looked for any signs that Niva had been followed and saw none. Sucking on his cigarette, he stared down thoughtfully. It didn’t appear as if the witch hunt had expanded to the agents posted in other countries. Yet. Only the ones in Moscow were being watched.

He had to be very careful now. It wasn’t like it was when Robert was still alive. Then he’d had an iron-clad reason for talking to a British agent, one that was beyond question. It had been ordered at the highest level. But now Robert was dead and, with him, his mission. He had to be very shrewd in how he went about his dealings with the daughter. Just one slip and he would end up in the Gulag, or worse.

Vladimir frowned suddenly and leaned forward, his eyes fixed on a slight figure moving through the crowded street. There was nothing remarkable about the woman. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what it was that drew his attention to her instead of the twenty other women who looked just like her. After watching intently for a few moments as she made her way down the street, he realized what it was that had caught his eye. She was moving through the crowds with a very precise and confident stride, filled with assurance. It was the kind of assurance that could never be taught or imitated. It was the assurance inherent in knowing that one was able to defend oneself against most attacks. It was the assurance of knowing that she had complete and utter control over every movement her body made, and that that control had been tested repeatedly and not failed. It was the assurance of a woman who had been extensively trained in a fighting art.

He sat back and a small smile played on his lips. The daughter had many talents indeed. If he didn’t know of her unusual background, she would never have drawn his attention. She blended in with the people around her so well that it was doubtful that anyone would ever look twice at her.

Robert’s daughter had certainly adjusted to her new role with ease. He blew out smoke and watched as she crossed the street to the corner building across from his. She would do well in this war. And he now felt much more comfortable with her as his sole contact in the West.

For that was what she was now. He couldn’t risk dealing with anyone else, nor was he about to let a talent like hers slip through his fingers.

Chapter Twenty

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Evelyn opened the heavy, old wooden door and went into the building. Immediately confronting her was a flight of stone steps leading down, and a narrow hallway to the left leading to the back of the building. She hesitated, unsure which path to take, but the smell of onions and the sound of voices wafting up from the stairs decided her. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the almost overwhelming feeling of apprehension that rolled over her, she started down the narrow steps. She was here and to back out now would be the height of cowardice. And she had never been accused of being a coward in her life.

Reaching the bottom, Evelyn stepped into a large cavern with low lighting and heavy, scarred wooden tables and benches. A bar ran along one side of the room and two serving girls moved through the tables, delivering plates of food. She was surprised at the amount of people in the underground tavern. Given the surrounding neighborhood, she hadn’t expected much of a lunch crowd.

Looking around, Evelyn realized with a sinking heart that she had no idea who she was looking for. She didn’t even have a general description. Her palms grew damp in her gloves as she stood there, her heart rate increasing in proportion with her sudden anxiety.

“Richardson?” a voice asked behind her and she turned sharply to see an older man with an apron wrapped around his waist.

“Yes?”

“Följ mig.”

She had no idea what he said, but his actions made it clear that he wanted her to follow him. Walking behind him, Evelyn scanned the tables, looking for anything that would indicate she was being watched, and saw nothing. Aside from one or two curious looks as they passed, there was no sign of undue interest in her arrival. Exhaling silently, she breathed a little easier as the man led her through the tables to one in the far corner. There, partially concealed by the curve of the wall, sat a man with dark hair and a pencil mustache.

Waving her to the table, the man in the apron turned to leave, saying something in Swedish over his shoulder. The man at the table nodded and said something in return, standing as Evelyn approached.

“Miss Richardson?”

He spoke in Russian and Evelyn nodded, seating herself so that she was across from him but could still see the rest of the room.

“Yes.”

“I’m Risto Niva. You can call me Niva. Everyone does.” He took his seat and looked at her appreciatively. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Evelyn smiled tentatively. “I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late. I had to make a stop on the way.”

“Your Russian is very good. Have you