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

as possible. Staggering, Asp lost his balance and fell backwards. A sickening crack filled the room as his head smashed into the corner of the stone mantel above the hearth. Before either Jens or Evelyn could react, he fell sideways towards the stand of hand irons sitting near the hearth. She watched in horror as his head hit the stand, then swiftly covered her face with her hands and turned away as the poker went through his neck.

She heard the final thud as his body came to rest before the empty stone hearth and lowered her trembling hands, taking a ragged, deep breath. Nausea rolled over her, clenching her throat, and making her double over. Then, forcing the bile threatening in the back of her throat back down, she took another deep breath, and another, until she was able to slowly straighten up again.

“Is he...” she whispered, not turning around to look.

“Dead.” Jens’ voice was hoarse and strained. “Oh God. He’s dead!”

London, England

Henry poured himself a drink and carried it over to his favorite arm chair near the fireplace. In the winter months, there would be a hearty fire roaring in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. Spring had truly settled into England, however, and there was no need for the warmth from a fire, so the hearth stood empty. Settling into the leather chair, Henry’s eyes flicked to the dark fireplace. He missed the fire, but readily admitted that there was no point in burning one just for the aesthetics of it.

He sipped his whiskey and soda and leaned his head back, exhaling in contentment. It had been a good day. The Panzers had made it through the Ardennes in record time and had rolled into Sedan to find not one French soldier in sight. They would now construct the bridgeheads to cross the Meuse, and be in France in no time at all. Everything was going according to plan, according to his contact in Zurich. England was about to see just how powerful the Third Reich had become.

In addition to that news, he had also received a very satisfactory message from his handler. He had been worried about that, if the truth were known. After visiting Ainsworth Manor and discovering one of Bill’s men installed as a guard, he had had no choice but to send a message to Berlin, advising them of the situation. Rather than admit his own failure, he had simply explained that he believed the plans to be lost. He pointed out that while he hadn’t been able to locate them, neither had the British. They had a man placed in Robert’s main residence, undoubtedly to watch to see if they would surface. It only made sense that if the missing plans were there, they would have surfaced by now. Yet they hadn’t. He finished by respectfully suggesting that they accept that the package may be buried forever. The only man who knew its location had taken that knowledge with him to the afterlife.

Henry really hadn’t been expecting a favorable response. In fact, he was fully expecting the opposite. Instead, he received a message this evening through an unusual avenue. He had been instructed to go to a restaurant in a shabby area of London. There he had been handed a thick envelope. Inside was a rather lengthy response to his message, and five hundred pounds. Amazing, that. Instead of being chastised, he was given money. Completely unnecessary, of course, but he would take it without question. An extra five hundred pounds in cash could always come in handy.

Setting his drink on the table beside his chair, Henry reached into his pocket to pull out the letter. Re-reading it, a faint smile curved his lips. They admitted that the plans might very well be gone for good, but they weren’t convinced that they might not still surface. However, given the advance into Belgium and Holland, and the speed with which their men were making their way into France, they instructed him to leave the question of the missing plans for now. Instead, they wanted all information he could find regarding all the Allied agents in France, both English and French networks, as well as all the known meeting points. As their forces made their way through France, the SS would find it useful to know where potential threats were in order to ensure they did not interfere with the complete and utter victory of the Third Reich over France.

And so he had received a reprieve. Henry folded up the letter and laid it on the table, picking up his drink again. At least for the time being, Berlin was content to set the question of the missing documents aside and allow him to focus on easier, more pressing matters.

Sipping his drink, Henry couldn’t stop a smile of satisfaction from settling on his face. He had obviously proven his worth to the men in Berlin. It wouldn’t be long now before he was recognized and rewarded for his work in London. Once the BEF and French army were crushed in France, there would be nothing to prevent Hitler from moving into France and England. Germany would become the largest world power next to the United States. When that happened, his efforts on their behalf would be rewarded and his place in the Third Reich would be assured.

But first, he had to gather all the information he could on the new fledgling networks in France and Belgium. And he knew just where to begin.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Evelyn heard the words, but somehow her brain refused to process them.

“Are you sure?” she demanded. “Maybe he’s just unconscious.”

“The fireplace poker went clean through his neck,” Jens said, his voice strangled. “There’s blood everywhere. If he wasn’t dead after his head hit the mantel, he is now.”

“Well, check his pulse!”

“What? He’s covered in blood!”

“We have to know for sure! We can’t just leave him there if he’s not dead. We have to get help!” She heard