The Oslo Affair

by CW Browning

  Renner then moved to the side table, searching under it and leafing through the Bible resting on the surface. Systematically, he made his way around the room, going through furniture, checking behind paintings on the wall, and even inspecting the cracks in the floor. At one point he thought he had something when he spied a slip of paper peeking from behind the armoire, but further investigation revealed a receipt from a bookshop dated four months prior.

  He had just slipped it back into the crevice between the wardrobe and the wall when he straightened up and looked around again. The room was clean, almost too clean. It was as if no one had been staying there. Renner’s eyebrows came together as his eyes narrowed suddenly. There was no clutter anywhere, no sign of occupancy. Not even a hairbrush sat out on the dressing table.

  With a frown, he moved to the front of the wardrobe and opened the door. The frown swiftly turned into a scowl. It was completely empty.

  “Verdammt!” he swore, closing the door.

  His lips pressed together unpleasantly and he strode to the window, glancing outside. The room overlooked the street and as he glowered into the night, he suddenly remembered her in the hallway. She had been carrying a square case. A toiletries or jewelry case.

  “Dummkopf!” he muttered disgustedly, turning away from the window.

  She had been leaving, not going out to dinner as he had assumed. The rest of her luggage must have already been downstairs when he ran into her.

  Herr Renner switched off the lamp on the desk and strode across the room, pausing inside the door to listen. Hearing nothing in the hallway, he eased open the door and slipped into the empty hallway. He would have to report back to Berlin, then try to determine where she had gone. If she’d returned to England, he was out of luck. But if not, then he just might be able to pick up her trail.

  He was passing the head of the stairs on his way back to his room when he heard voices in the hallway below. Recognizing the landlord’s voice, he paused in the shadows to listen.

  “At least the man is gone from the street,” Josef was saying, his voice carrying up the stairs. “Now perhaps he’ll stop hanging around here.”

  “Once he realizes she has gone, he will stop,” Else said. It sounded as if they were moving out of the parlor and towards the kitchen and Herr Renner strained to make out the rest of the conversation. “I just hope he doesn’t...gone...train station.”

  “And her room?”

  “I told her...reserve...week...”

  Renner scowled in frustration as Else’s voice trailed off. They had gone into the kitchen and he heard the door close behind them. Turning, he continued towards his own room. So the Englishwoman had someone else watching her. That in itself was interesting, but even more so was the fact that the landlord and his wife were aware of it. Whoever was watching the house was either sloppy or completely unconcerned with being seen. He was willing to bet on the latter. If someone else was aware of the Englishwoman’s presence, then they had very good information and were most likely professionals, like himself. And that meant another government was interested as well.

  Berlin wouldn’t like that. In fact, he didn’t like that. It made it all much more complicated.

  Reaching his room, he unlocked the door and went inside. At least now he knew she had gone to a train station. He would hold off contacting Berlin until he’d determined where, in fact, Fraulein Maggie Richardson had gone. Once he knew that, he would know just what to report to his superior, and how he was going to proceed.

  Comrade Grigori watched from behind a stone pillar as the Englishwoman met a brunette in the lobby of the station. They were both carrying luggage and he pressed his lips together. The train station wasn’t busy this time of night, but it also wasn’t deserted. He had to keep his distance or the Englishwoman would see him, yet by doing so he ran the risk of losing them. If only he knew which train!

  When she left the house earlier, she’d shown no sign of being aware of his surveillance. A taxi had pulled up to the curb outside the house and the landlord had carried out a suitcase, handing it to the driver. As the driver stowed the bag in the trunk, the Englishwoman had emerged from the house. She hadn’t even glanced in his direction. In fact, she hadn’t looked in either direction. She had gone straight to the taxi and got into the back, saying something to the landlord as she did so. He had nodded and closed the car door once she was inside, going back into the house as the taxi pulled away. The whole thing had taken less than a minute.

  Even though she didn’t appear to be aware of his presence in the street, Grigori knew she must be. It was the only explanation for the fact that she had managed to evade him for two days. Yesterday, he thought she had stayed in. However, when there was no sign of her today either, he knew he’d been blown.

  Yet he’d been able to follow her to the station.

  He puzzled over that as he watched the two women walk together towards the far stairs leading down to the tracks. If she was aware of his existence, why did she allow him to know where she was going? Or did she think he wouldn’t follow her from the city?

  He supposed it was possible that she assumed he would lose interest in her once she had left Oslo. In any other situation, he probably would have. But this wasn’t any other situation and the loyalty of one of his own was in question. He had to know where she was going.

  As soon as the women had disappeared through the far entrance, he emerged from his place behind the column and strode across the lobby to the ticket counter.

  “Good evening,” the man greeted him cheerfully. “How can I help?”

  “Good evening. Could you tell me what trains are running tonight?” Grigori asked, pulling a wallet from inside his coat.

  “There are three, sir. The line to Trondheim departs in an hour, the train to Bergen leaves at ten, and the Ostfold line to Stockholm leaves in ten minutes.”

  “That’s the one I’m looking for,” Grigori said. “Are there any sleepers left?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. I have a first class carriage available.”

  “That’ll do.”

  A moment later, Comrade Grigori was striding across the lobby towards the far entrance. As soon as he was away from the ticket counter, a decidedly ugly look descended on his face.

  Things weren’t looking very good for Comrade Lyakhov. First he left for Stockholm, and now the English agent was doing the same. It could be a coincidence, but Grigori had been around long enough to know that the odds were rapidly deteriorating in Lyakhov’s favor. There had been no sign of the two meeting in Oslo, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a connection. It was possible that Comrade Lyakhov had realized he was being watched and arranged to meet the Englishwoman in Stockholm instead. He wouldn’t have known that the English agent was also in surveillance.

  Passing through the arches the two women had passed through moments before, Grigori started down the steps that led to the platform below. On the other hand, the Englishwoman could be a red herring and not connected to Comrade Lyakhov at all. Even now, knowing she was getting on a train to Stockholm, Grigori was inclined to think that this was all just a wild goose chase. But the fact that she was getting on the train was enough to make him follow.

  If there truly was no connection with Lyakov, then all would be well. He would be in a perfect position to observe an English agent and see who she was meeting with and what she was doing, which Moscow would appreciate in any event, and Comrade Lyakhov would be cleared of any suspicion. It would be a good, successful mission.

  But if a connection between the two was revealed, then things would get ugly.

  Comrade Grigori reached the platform just as the conductors called the last boarding call. There was no sign of the two women and he moved towards the first class carriages quickly, his ticket in his hand.

  For the Englishwoman’s sake, he sincerely hoped there was no connection. She was a very beautiful young woman. It would be a shame to spoil that.

  Paris, France

  B
ill sipped his drink and glanced across the crowded drawing room at his wife. Marguerite was laughing at something one of the other women had said and, as he looked in her direction, her eyes met his almost beseechingly. She wanted to leave. Not surprising, really. He’d warned her that it was bound to be dreadfully dull for her. It was an evening for the diplomats and their wives, and she had absolutely nothing in common with most of the women here. He looked at his watch surreptitiously. In another half an hour, he could politely excuse them both and save her sanity.

  “Monsieur Buckley?”

  A voice spoke softly at his elbow and he turned to see a young footman standing there, looking very apologetic.

  “Yes?”

  “There is a messenger for you,” he said softly, “from the embassy. He’s waiting downstairs.”

  Bill raised his eyes in surprise and nodded. The man moved away as silently as he had come and Bill looked at the older man next to him.

  “Pardon,” he murmured. “I must go and see what this is all about.”

  The older man waved him away. “Of course, of course! We’re always working, no?”

  Bill laughed politely and nodded, turning towards the door of the drawing room. He looked back at Marguerite to find her with her head bent to listen as one of the wives whispered excitedly in her ear. Gossip. Heaven help them all. Marguerite couldn’t abide what she called ‘small-minded woman’s talk.’ His lips curved as he turned and left the room. Hopefully he would return before his wife had had enough.

  He went down the stairs to the first floor where a clerk waited in the entry hall, just inside the door. He had an envelope in his hands and Bill felt his good humor fade.

  “Hallo George,” he said, reaching the hall. “You’re working late.”

  “I was just leaving when a message came through for you, sir,” George replied, meeting him halfway across the hall and handing him the envelope.

  Bill took the envelope.

  “I suppose we’re all working longer hours than usual these days, eh?” he said, breaking the seal and unfolding the single sheet of paper.

  “Yes, sir. If you need to send a reply, I can take it back for you before knocking off for the night.”

  Bill scanned the message swiftly. Other than a slight tightening of his lips, he showed no reaction to the message that had been deemed important enough to send a clerk over to Prime Minister Daladier’s residence while an evening of entertainment was in progress.

  “Thank you, George. I will send a reply. Would you mind waiting here a moment?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Bill turned and went back up the stairs, looking for the study, which he knew would be deserted at present. Once inside, he switched on a lamp and went to the desk, pulling a notepad towards him. He’d just torn off the top sheet and picked up a pencil when the door opened and one of Daladier’s aids poked his head in.

  “Oh! It’s you, sir,” he said with a grin. “I saw the light and thought I’d better check. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. The embassy sent over a message and I’m afraid I have to send an answer back. I hope it’s all right. I won’t be a minute.”

  “Of course! Take your time.”

  The aid withdrew and the congenial look on Bill’s face disappeared. He pulled out the message again, reading it through once more. It wasn’t any better on the second reading. A German SD agent by the name of Herr Renner had arrived two days before and Daniel Carew had had a man observing him. After checking into the Kolstad’s boarding house that morning, he had now just booked a ticket on the first train out of Oslo in the morning, destination Stockholm.

  He bent his head to scrawl a message to Jasper. It couldn’t be a coincidence that now there was a German agent pursuing Evelyn. That was one agent too many. There was no doubt in his mind that they had a spy somewhere in London. Jasper had to be made aware of the situation.

  He finished the message and folded the paper, looking around the top of the desk. Spotting a stack of envelopes in a pigeon hole, he extracted one and slid the paper inside. If there was any way he could warn Evelyn of the threat, he would, but there wasn’t. She would be on a train to Stockholm herself by now. The most he could do was alert her when she checked in upon her arrival.

  He turned to leave the study, uncomfortably aware that tomorrow could be too late. Her mission had been severely compromised, that much was clear, and the prudent thing to do now would be to recall her immediately.

  A rush of irritation went through him. If Daniel Carew had informed them of this Herr Renner before now, they would never have approved her going to Stockholm. It was far too risky with two agents now aware of her presence. She hadn’t been prepped for this. She had been prepped for a nice, easy fact-finding mission on friendly soil, and this had turned into anything but.

  He went down the stairs to the hall again and handed the clerk the sealed envelope.

  “Have this transmitted directly to Lord Montclair, in London,” he told him briskly. “His eyes only.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He watched the clerk hurry out the door and into the night before turning back to the stairs. His lips suddenly curved as he considered the situation. This was the second time that a simple, straight-forward mission had turned sideways on Evelyn. She really did appear to have the worst luck. The first time she had come through without a scratch, but that was before the war began.

  The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. Everything was different now. Both agents trailing her worked for countries that would not take kindly to a British agent in their midst. It was time to get her out of there.

  He just hoped tomorrow would be in time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Strand Hotel, Stockholm

  November 9

  Evelyn signed the registry at the desk and waited while the man checking them in went to a cabinet to get the key to their room. It was early afternoon and the lobby was empty save for a few guests wandering through on their way to the door, heading for the sights and sounds of the harbor. Anna had stopped at a vendor outside on their way in, lured by the sight of newspapers and cigarettes, promising that she would be right in.

  “Here you are, Miss Richardson.” The man returned with the room key and a smile. “The lift is to the back. Would you like me to call a porter to carry your luggage?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He nodded and motioned to a porter. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

  “Oh! There is one thing. Can you have a message delivered to the British embassy for me?” she asked.

  “Of course. Would you like some paper?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He placed a pad of paper before her and handed her a pencil. “I’ll ensure it is delivered immediately.”

  Picking up the pencil, Evelyn wrote a few lines on the paper and tore it off the pad. Then, folding the paper, she wrote a name across the front.

  “Please have it delivered to Horace Manchester.”

  “Of course.” He took the note and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it in front of her. “I’ll send it over right away.”

  “Thank you very much.” Evelyn picked up her gloves and purse and smiled brightly. “I appreciate it.”

  She turned from the desk as Anna came hurrying across the lobby, her heels clicking a rapid staccato on the tiled floor. She held a folded newspaper in her hand and her hair had partially slipped from under her hat in her haste.

  “Maggie! You’ll never guess what’s happened!” she exclaimed breathlessly, coming up to the desk. She shoved the newspaper into Evelyn’s hands. “Someone tried to kill Adolf Hitler!”

  “What?!”

  Evelyn grabbed the paper and opened it to the black and white headline. She didn’t need to know Swedish to understand the headline: EXPLOSION MENADE FÖR HITLER.

  “It says there was an explosion last night at the beer hall where
he was speaking,” Anna told her, looking at the paper with her. “He speaks there every year on the anniversary of the Putsch. Last night, not ten minutes after he left, a bomb exploded behind the podium where he had been speaking, bringing half the roof down. A bunch of people were killed, but it says that there’s no doubt the bomb was meant for Hitler. His speech was supposed to be at nine, but they moved it up to eight so that the Führer could get back to Berlin. If he had started when originally planned, he would have been killed.”

  Evelyn stared at the paper for a moment, trying to decipher some of the words for herself, then looked at Anna.

  “Does it say anything about the person responsible?”

  Anna shook her head. “No. They’re looking for them. They think the bomb was on a timer and put inside a stone column.”

  The porter cleared his throat apologetically and, when both women looked at him, he motioned to Anna’s bags questioningly. She nodded and he picked them up along with Evelyn’s.

  “How extraordinary,” Evelyn said, passing the paper back to Anna and turning to walk towards the lift. “I thought everyone loved him in Germany!”

  “Not everyone, apparently.” Anna fell into step beside her. “Could you imagine if it succeeded? It was so close! Hitler had just left!”

  “If it had succeeded, it certainly would have taken care of this war,” Evelyn said. “Pity. This could have all been over.”

  “I’m sure that’s what the person who did this thought as well. I wonder if they’ll catch him?”

  “I’m sure they will. The Gestapo are nothing if not efficient.”