The Oslo Affair

by CW Browning

  “Where is Lyakhov?” he demanded shortly.

  “I followed him as far as the bridge. I lost him when he came into this neighborhood.”

  “I want you to follow Comrade Niva,” Grigori told him. “Leave Lyakhov for now.”

  Yakov nodded and prepared to head in the opposite direction. After a few steps, he paused and turned back.

  “And the girl?”

  “Don't worry about her. She’ll head back to the hotel and I’ll apprehend her there. By the end of the day, we’ll know everything we need to know about the Englishwoman and Comrade Niva. Don’t lose him. I’ll take care of him when I’m finished with her.”

  Yakov nodded and turned away to go after Niva. Turning, Grigori continued up the street. He could still see the Englishwoman ahead, moving through the crowds quickly as she headed out of Gamla Stan.

  While he hadn’t wanted to believe that Lyakhov was, in fact, a traitor, he was still surprised at who the leak was. Niva was based in Finland, of all places. How on earth had the British got to him? As far as he knew, the British had no presence in Finland outside Helsinki. Yet clearly they had managed to get to Comrade Niva.

  The frown on his face grew. And what about Oslo? Niva had never been there. He remained firmly in Finland, with occasional forays into Stockholm. After thinking for a moment, Comrade Grigori pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Niva didn’t have to be in Oslo. The Germans were in Oslo. What if the Englishwoman was there for the Germans, then she moved on to Stockholm? There was nothing to stop an agent from pursuing two contacts in the same trip. He’d done it himself many times. And if that was the case, it was only pure luck that he was able to track down her meeting with Niva today.

  But Comrade Grigori didn’t believe in luck. In a bizarre twist of convictions, he actually did believe in fate. Many of his successes could only be attributed to that very thing.

  It was fate that had brought him to Oslo, he decided as he walked through the old streets of Gamla Stan. Just as it was fate that led him to Stockholm. He looked at the woman ahead of him thoughtfully.

  It could be that it was fate that brought the Englishwoman into his sphere. Comrade Niva spoke only Russian, Finnish and Swedish, so she had to speak one of those three languages. The fact that she was traveling with an obvious translator indicated that the language she had in common with Niva was Russian or Finnish. Personally, his wager was on Russian, and if the Englishwoman spoke Russian well enough to be understood, that was no small feat. In fact, it made her a rarity as far as British agents went.

  And that made her a perfect target to be turned as a double agent.

  Herr Renner looked up as the door to his room opened. He set down his pen and sat back, watching as the shorter man closed the door and turned to cross the sitting room.

  “Well?”

  “No one is in the room. The other woman must have left sometime after the Englishwoman.” The man seated himself in one of the chairs and crossed his legs comfortably. “I went through the rooms. I found nothing that could be of use to us.”

  Renner frowned. “Nothing at all?”

  The man shook his head. “No. All that’s there is clothing and some magazines.”

  “What about the telegram that was delivered?”

  “There was no sign of it.”

  Renner cursed. “The other woman must have taken it with her. Do we know for certain it was meant for the Englishwoman?”

  “Oh yes. I spoke with the boy who hand delivered it myself. It was for Miss Margaret Richardson.”

  Getting to his feet, Renner walked over to the window overlooking the harbor and stared out silently for a moment.

  “Any idea who it was from?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Her editor in London, or so I was told.”

  Renner nodded. That made sense. The British Secret Service would hardly send instructions from their own agency. They would use something in line with their agents cover story.

  “There is one thing that might help us,” the man said slowly from the chair. “She will have to contact the British embassy if she suspects that she’s been compromised. We have a man there already. If she sends anything to Mr. Manchester, we’ll know about it.”

  Renner turned from the window. “I don’t see how that helps us. If she suspects she’s been compromised, she won’t come back to the hotel. Especially if there’s nothing in her room worth saving.”

  “There isn’t.”

  Silence fell over the sitting room and the man in the chair leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling while Renner paced before the window.

  “I don’t think it will come to any of that,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “She doesn’t know we’re here. You arrived after she left, so she hasn’t seen you. The woman with her is nobody, just a Norwegian girl from what the concierge said. She’s probably here to translate for her, so she knows nothing. There’s no reason for either of them to suspect anything.”

  Herr Renner looked at him consideringly. The other man was right. He’d been careful not to be seen by Maggie Richardson. She had no idea he was here. As far as she knew, he was still in Oslo.

  “Has Franz seen anything in the back?” he asked, going back to his chair at the desk and seating himself again.

  “No. Everything is quiet. The only people going into the alley are the hotel staff.”

  He nodded and picked up his pen, twirling it absently between his long fingers.

  “We’ll use the alley,” he decided after a moment. “Is Helmut still at the consulate with the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him to be prepared to come when I call for him. When Fraulein Richardson returns to the hotel, we’ll allow her to go to her room. Once she’s there, I’ll pay her a visit.”

  “We can take her from the room,” the man suggested. “There’s a stairwell that goes down to the back of hotel, near the back entrance. It would be quick and easy to get her down the stairs.”

  Renner shook his head.

  “No. We can’t take her from inside the hotel,” he said firmly. “We can’t risk causing an incident that will be protested, as it surely would. Sweden will not take kindly to us breaching her neutrality in such a fashion. Remember, we are under orders to be discreet. Himmler doesn’t want anyone to know about the Fraulein.”

  The man frowned and lifted his head, looking at Renner.

  “If we can’t take her from inside the hotel, what do you suggest?”

  “I’ll get her to leave the hotel with me. Once we’re downstairs, I’ll take her into the alley where Helmut will be waiting with the car.”

  The man’s brow cleared and he nodded slowly.

  “There’s less risk in the alley,” he agreed. “Less likelihood of being seen.”

  “Precisely.” Renner laid his pen down on the desk and leaned forward. “Once she’s in the car, we have her. Then I’ll find out what Obersturmbannführer Voss wants to know.”

  The man glanced at him. “What does he want to know?”

  Renner waved his hand dismissively. “That’s none of your concern. Just be sure to alert me as soon as she enters the hotel again.”

  “What about the other woman? I have a description now. What if she returns?”

  “Let her through. The only way she interests me is if Fraulein Richardson doesn’t return. Then we’ll use the woman to draw her out.”

  The man nodded and pushed himself out of the chair.

  “I’ll go let the others know,” he said, turning towards the door. “We should have something for you soon.”

  Renner nodded and watched as the other man left, closing the door silently behind him. He returned his attention to the letter he was composing to send to Berlin. He was confident that he would have Fraulein Richardson in hand by the evening at the latest.

  And once they had what they needed, he had instructions to bring her back to Germany. Fraulein Richardson was about to be removed from the theatre of operations.

>   When the tall, dark-haired woman breezed through the doors of The Strand with a dull-looking companion trailing behind, the only immediate person to notice was the porter standing just inside. After a brief glance, he returned his attention to the conversation he was holding in a low voice with one of the other hotel employees, uninterested. Later, however, he would claim that he knew there was something excitable about the woman as soon he laid eyes on her. After all, all Spaniards were high-strung, weren’t they? It was because of their hot climate, he would say confidently. When challenged by another porter, he offered his uncle as a point of reference. He’d worked in Madrid for a summer and was well acquainted with the Spanish. While this was highly suspect, by that point two things were beyond dispute: the dark-haired woman was, indeed, Spanish, and, as it turned out, was also very high-strung and excitable.

  At that present moment, though, the lobby of the hotel was quiet and no one was really paying any attention to the two women entering from the street. The morning and early afternoon flurry of check-ins and outs was over and a quiet calm had descended over the lobby, broken only by the occasional whir of the lift. The man sitting in a chair on the far side of the lobby with an unrestricted view of both the entrance and the lift stifled a yawn and looked up from his newspaper as the two women came through the door. After a very brief glance, he dismissed them and went back to his paper. They were not who he was waiting for.

  He’d just returned to the half-hearted pretense of reading a newspaper that he couldn’t understand when a shrill voice made its way to his corner of the lobby. He looked up in astonishment as the dark-haired woman stopped a few feet into the lobby and swung around to face her companion. She appeared to be berating the other woman, but as she was speaking in Spanish, it was very hard to know for sure. The man lowered his paper, his attention well and truly caught as the well-dressed Spaniard laid into her companion, her voice carrying across the lobby.

  The sudden outburst stunned the few people scattered around and a shocked silence fell as one and all stared at the women, trying to understand what on earth was happening. Instead of appearing embarrassed by the public tongue-lashing she was getting, the companion looked resigned. Her clothes were good, but not of the same high quality as the woman in the process of losing her temper, indicating her status of a personal secretary or paid companion. She had dark hair pulled into a tight bun and a sensible, brown hat covered the lot. The man looked at her, noting the black-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose and the woolen stockings that covered her legs under a plain woolen skirt. Not even the faintest flicker of surprise crossed her face at the outburst, showing plainly that this was a common enough occurrence.

  “...... completo imbécil! ¿Cómo puedes olvidar recoger el vestido? ¡¿Qué se supone que debo usar esta noche ?!”

  The woman was rattling on in Spanish, her voice increasing in volume with each word. When she paused for breath, her companion murmured something unintelligible that only seemed to enrage her further.

  “Bah!” she exclaimed in disgust, turning to continue across the lobby with swift, angry strides. “Eres una idiota!”

  The hotel manager appeared then, moving across the tiled floor to intercept them smoothly, and the man with the paper felt a wave of amusement wash over him. Ah. Here was the manager to try to diffuse the situation and quiet her down. The scene, as diverting as it was, would be over in a minute.

  Every eye in the lobby was on the trio in the middle of the floor, midway between the entrance and the lift. The man imagined that if someone pulled out a pistol and fired it, no one would take any notice. Everyone was straining to hear what the manager was saying in a low, quiet voice.

  “I am Senora Damita Huerta Lucero,” the woman responded to his low tone in heavily accented English that carried to every ear in the lobby. “I have come to see the Condesa de Carilla for tea. She is expecting me.”

  The manager nodded and said something again in a low voice at which the dark-haired woman seemed to calm slightly.

  “Thank you. This is my secretary. She will be accompanying me, although I should not allow her anywhere near the Condesa. Her incompetence is outstanding.” The woman turned to continue towards the lift, the manager beside her. “I should discharge her but it is very difficult to find good help in my country since the civil war.”

  The man watched as the trio moved towards the lift, the secretary trailing behind. Just when it appeared that the excitement was over, the dark-haired woman turned her head and snapped at the other woman.

  “¡Darse prisa! ¡Te mueves como una cerda preñada!”

  The man had no idea what the woman had said, but a snicker came from the direction of the front desk. The manager shot a look over his shoulder and the guilty party flushed and promptly lowered his head to become suddenly engrossed in paperwork.

  “Do you see what I must deal with?” the woman demanded of the manager, drawing his attention back to her. “Just look at her dawdling! If she had her way, we would miss tea altogether! She does it on purpose, you know. Her family is socialist. They fought with the Republicans and she doesn’t approve of the aristocracy. I notice it doesn’t stop her from taking her salary from us, though.”

  The lift attendant had the door open before the trio even reached it and the manager handed her into the cage quickly, saying something in a low voice to the attendant. A moment later, the gate was closed and the lift churned into action, carrying the woman and her hapless companion out of sight.

  Shaking his head, the man in the chair glanced once more at the entrance and raised his newspaper again. That was the most interesting thing to happen so far today. If the Englishwoman didn’t show up soon, he was going to fall asleep in this chair.

  Stifling another yawn, he looked at his watch. Herr Renner would be down in half an hour to relieve him. He just had to make it another half hour. With any luck, the Englishwoman would return before then and the tedious wait would be over. He was growing weary of doing nothing but watch the door. The sooner she came and they got to work, the better for all of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As soon as the lift began its ponderous upward journey, Evelyn exhaled silently and glanced at Anna. The woman really did look the part of a harassed and weary personal secretary. Her glasses had slipped to the end of her nose and her hat had tilted sideways sometime in their walk from the entrance to the lift. She kept her gaze downcast and Evelyn really was impressed. She hadn’t been sure that Anna would be able to pull off her small part, but no one had suspected that she was anything other than what she appeared to be. Even the man with the newspaper hadn’t looked twice at either of them until Evelyn started her performance.

  When they entered the lobby, he was the first one she noticed. Despite holding a newspaper, he’d been more interested in the entrance of the hotel than what was typed on the pages before him. She had recognized the cut of the dark suit as soon as she saw it. It was undoubtedly German, as was the hat on the chair next to him.

  There was no sign of Herr Renner, but she knew that he would appear eventually. When he did, she wanted to be nowhere in sight. While she had obviously been able to get past everyone else in the lobby just now, Evelyn wasn’t so sure that Renner would be as easily fooled. He had eyes that seemed to see everything, and he had an uncanny way of appearing just when she was least expecting him.

  She looked at the back of the attendant’s head and then looked at Anna again. Meeting her gaze, she smiled faintly. Then, tossing her head, she began speaking rapidly in Spanish once again. The attendant started at the harsh tone but, to his credit, failed to turn and stare. Instead, he stood stoically with his face turned forward while Evelyn proceeded to reprimand her ‘secretary’ once again, alternating between Spanish and English.

  “Nunca he tenido una empleada tan estúpida!” she exclaimed, waving her hands. “And now, now we are late to tea. Es inaceptable! Your very presence offends me! Informaré a la condesa que es tu culpa. Siempre es tu
culpa. I’m not putting up with it! I refuse to stay in your company one more minuto!”

  Evelyn turned her attention to the attendant.

  “Stop the lift,” she commanded imperiously.

  The attendant turned to look at her, startled. He rattled something off in Swedish and Evelyn sighed loudly, turning to her companion expectantly. Anna pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  “He said but you are going to the fifth floor. This is only the fourth,” she said in English.

  “Stop it, I say! I will not ride another floor with this...this...nincompoop!”

  Anna obligingly translated, only the faintest tremor in her voice.

  The attendant swallowed and obediently pushed the lever, bringing the lift to a stop at the fourth floor. He opened the gate, expecting to see the companion disembark. Instead, Evelyn strode out and turned to glare at the companion with a dramatic flourish.

  “I will take the stairs rather than look at your face!” she announced, tossing her head. “You will go on and wait for me.” Then, just as the attendant was sliding the gate closed again, her eyes met Anna’s. “Godspeed, my friend,” she said, keeping the berating tone in her voice.

  The faintest smile crossed Anna’s lips and she nodded, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

  “And you,” she murmured.

  The lift started up again and Evelyn turned away with an exaggerated huff, her eyes darting around the wide hallway. She was just in time to see a blond head retreat behind the corner at the far end of the corridor. From that spot, the man could see not only the lift, but the door to her and Anna’s room.

  After glancing at the other end of the corridor and seeing nothing, she took a deep breath and started down the hallway, muttering to herself in Spanish. Just in case the man watching their room happened to know Spanish, she kept her complaints in the same vein as the reprimanding she’d been engaged in for the past ten minutes.

  “Stupid, incompetent girl! She doesn’t have much to do, but she still manages to get it all wrong. And she looks like a depressed cow half the time. No wonder I’m going out of my mind. It’s like having Job for a secretary. Worse! At least he was Catholic!”