The Oslo Affair

by CW Browning

  Miles sipped his brandy, studying her over the rim.

  “Would you have enjoyed journalism?” he asked.

  “I’ve always enjoyed world politics and events, so perhaps,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Will you try it after the war, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  He chuckled and held up his glass in a silent toast. “Touché.”

  “This war certainly isn’t turning out to be what everyone expected, is it?” she asked after a moment of silence. “Here it is, Christmas, and things seem to be getting worse.”

  “You’re talking about what’s happening in Scandinavia?”

  She nodded.

  “Finland will fall,” he predicted. “Although, they’re putting up a much stronger fight than I think the Soviets expected.”

  “Let’s hope they hold out.”

  “Chamberlain sold thirty of our fighters to them,” Miles said with a shrug. “With any luck, they’ll help.”

  Evelyn glanced at him. “But you don’t think they will.”

  He shook his head.

  “No. And eventually Hitler will turn his attention to France. We’ll need our fighters then, and Chamberlain is selling them all off.”

  She sipped her drink, thinking once again of the reports of aircraft production coming out of Germany. Hitler was also ordering an increase in ammunition and mine production. Miles was closer to the truth than he knew.

  “What does he think thirty fighters are going to accomplish against the entire Soviet force?” he continued. “Finland needs troops and support, not a handful of planes that we’ll soon be needing.”

  “They’re England’s ally,” she reminded him. “Chamberlain had to send them something.”

  “Yes, but not planes. We have precious few to spare. Do you have any idea how many fighters we have ready to defend England right now? Less than a thousand. Do you know how many fighters Goering has under his command? Round about two thousand.” Miles got up restlessly and went over to the desk to open the cigarette case there. “And those are just the fighters!” he added over his shoulder. “We should be keeping our fighters for our own defense.”

  He opened the box and took out a cigarette. Turning, he offered the box to her and she leaned forward to take one.

  “How do you know those figures are accurate?” she asked, inwardly shaken at how close his numbers were to the truth.

  “My CO and I were discussing it earlier this week.” Miles looked at her sheepishly. “I’m not supposed to know the numbers, but I do. He let it slip.”

  He flicked open his lighter, holding it out for her.

  “And I’m bloody angry that Chamberlain is selling the few planes we do have to other countries.”

  Evelyn watched as he lit his cigarette and began pacing in front of the fire. He knew entirely too much, but she couldn’t say anything without revealing her own knowledge on the subject. She decided to change the direction of the conversation instead.

  “Do you think the war will really continue into France then?” she asked. “A lot of people don’t think it will.”

  “Everyone said Hitler wouldn’t go past the Sudetenland. Then they said he wouldn’t go into Poland. Then they said the war would be over by Christmas. Now they’re saying he won’t go into France.” Miles paused to flick ash into the fire. “I think you’ll agree that we can’t assume anything anymore when it comes to Herr Hitler.”

  “I think he’ll try as well,” Evelyn said with a sigh. “Why wouldn’t he? Look at how quickly his forces went through Poland. France was already invaded once this century, and he was there. He knows it can be done.”

  “Have you read his book?” Miles asked suddenly, glancing at her.

  She swallowed hard. Not only had she read it, but it was that book that had convinced Bill to approach her on that long ago day in Paris.

  “No. Did he write one?” She managed a feigned look of surprise.

  He nodded. “I plowed my way through it this summer. It’s a monstrosity of a thing, not well written at all, and makes almost no sense.”

  “Hm. Sounds like the man himself.”

  Miles flashed her a grin, then sobered again.

  “It’s a rambling mess, jumping from one soap box to another, but there are some rather disturbing things in it. If he’s able to implement even half of what he discusses in there, it will be Hell on earth.”

  Evelyn was silent, thinking of Karl in Strasbourg and what he’d told her of the concentration camps. Since then, she’d learned more. Not only was Hitler making good on what he’d written in Mein Kampf, but it seemed he was doing it on a much grander scale than anyone chose to acknowledge. Anyone except those who lived daily under the threat of it. They were well aware of the dangers of ending up in Dachau.

  “So much for lightening the mood, eh?” he suddenly asked, looking at her guiltily. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t suppose this is the conversation you want to be having on Christmas night.”

  Evelyn summoned a smile and got up to throw her cigarette in the fire.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Honestly. I told you I’ve always enjoyed world affairs. This is part of our world now. I don’t have to like it, but it doesn’t mean I won’t discuss it.”

  Miles tossed his butt into the fire as well and looked down at her, a strange glint in his eyes.

  “You really are the most extraordinary girl,” he murmured. “I’m not really sure what to do with you. I don’t know if I should put you in the bluestocking category, or chalk you up as a wealthy eccentric.”

  She tossed her head, her eyes twinkling up at him.

  “Why don’t you withhold judgment for a bit longer and kiss me instead?”

  A laugh leapt into his eyes and he followed her gaze upwards. There, hanging from the ceiling, was a bunch of mistletoe tied with a pretty white ribbon.

  “How long has that been there?” he demanded, dropping his eyes back to her face.

  “All day,” she said with a laugh. “It’s one of Millie, the housekeeper’s, favorite things to do. Every year she hangs a bunch of them, then moves them throughout the day to catch unsuspecting people like you.”

  Miles grinned and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

  “Then we mustn’t disappoint Millie,” he murmured, lowering his lips to hers.

  Evelyn felt a shock go through her as his lips touched hers. His arms were strong and warm around her and she suddenly forgot all about the war and fighter planes and concentration camps. He smelled like musk mixed with brandy and a rush of heat rolled over her that had nothing to do with the fire. She lifted her hands to hold on to his shoulders, clinging to his solid strength as her world slipped sideways. This was what she’d been waiting for. All the stolen kisses in the gardens of Paris, and all the flirtations in the drawing rooms in London had never come close to this feeling of exhilaration.

  When Miles lifted his head a few moments later, they stared at each other for a long moment before he exhaled and laughed a little ruefully.

  “I’m not quite sure that that’s what dear Millie had in mind when she hung that piece of greenery, but I don’t regret it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He was making no move to pull away, so Evelyn took the opportunity to trace the scar at the corner of his eyebrow.

  “How did this happen?”

  “I was over confident when I was a boy and tried to take a fence that was too high. My horse had more sense than I did and threw me. The fence added its disapproval for good measure.”

  Her eyes shifted to his and she smiled slowly, gazing into the sparkling green depths.

  “I see the recklessness isn’t new, then,” she said. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

  “Would you be sad if I had been?”

  “Of course! Then who would be here kissing me under the mistletoe?” she demanded playfully.

  The smile that curved
his lips was wicked and he dropped his eyes to her lips again.

  “Speaking of...” he murmured, lowering his head again.

  This time when he lifted his head, they were both breathless and Evelyn took a deep, steadying gulp of air.

  “Definitely not what Millie had in mind,” she agreed breathlessly.

  “Perhaps not, but I’ve been wanting to do that since the Savoy,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

  Evelyn felt her pulse leap again and swallowed before sliding her hands off his shoulders.

  “I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” she said, her voice low.

  Miles sighed and reluctantly pulled away from her.

  “At least you’ll be moving closer to London,” he said, moving back to the desk to pick up his abandoned brandy. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

  She nodded and watched as he finished his brandy, one hand tucked carelessly in his pocket. He was the image of idle peerage, but she knew he was anything but idle right now. He was training day and night to defend England from the storm that was coming; a storm that could very well take his life.

  A stab of panicked fear shot through her and a lump took over her throat, making her catch her breath. Neither of them knew what was coming, but they knew it wasn’t going to be good for anyone. While he would be defending the skies against the inevitable onslaught from the full might of the Luftwaffe, she would be God knew where trying to gather the information that would give England an edge in this war. Both of them would be fighting for survival, with not much hope of success.

  Miles looked over and frowned in concern, setting his empty glass down and crossing to her in two strides.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Evelyn lifted her face to his and she knew he could see the tears shimmering in her eyes. Any other time, she would be absolutely mortified at the thought of anyone seeing her so vulnerable, but this wasn’t any other time. And she suddenly found that she didn’t care if he saw the tears.

  “How do we say goodbye when we don’t even know where we’ll be in a few months?” she whispered around the lump in her throat. “We could be...”

  Her throat closed on the words and she couldn’t finish the thought, but it was unnecessary. They both knew what she was trying to say. Miles lifted his hands to cup her face and brushed his lips against hers softly.

  “We don’t,” he said. “We don’t say goodbye. There’s nothing that says we have to, after all. Goodbyes are over-rated anyway. They’re so damn final. And there’s nothing final about this. I fully intend to see you again.”

  She swallowed and stared into his eyes. Hearing the confidence in his voice and seeing the determination in his eyes gave her strength, and she nodded slowly.

  “You’re right,” she agreed softly. “All right. We won’t say goodbye.”

  He smiled pulled her close into a warm hug. “That’s my girl.”

  Evelyn smiled at the endearment and rested her cheek on his shoulder for a second before pulling away.

  “Now I’ve gone and made things maudlin anyway,” she said, forcing a lightness to her voice that she didn’t feel. “Say something diverting.”

  “Did you really relieve your brother of fifty quid tonight?” Miles asked promptly.

  She blinked, then gurgled with laughter.

  “I did,” she confessed, “but he makes it far too easy.”

  He grinned. “Remind me never to play cards with you.”

  She tilted her head and considered him, a smile playing on her lips.

  “Somehow I don’t think you would be as easy to read.”

  “Why do I get the distinct impression that you could read hieroglyphics if you so chose?” he drawled.

  Evelyn smiled, not answering. She raised a hand to his cheek and stood on tiptoe to press a soft kiss on his lips.

  “Take care of your Spitfire, Flying Officer Lacey,” she whispered.

  “And you take care of your WAAFs, Assistant Section Officer Ainsworth,” he replied just as softly.

  Evelyn smiled and turned to leave the study. As she opened the door, she glanced back to find him leaning against the desk, watching her with an unreadable look on his face. When she met his gaze, he smiled slowly and winked.

  As she crossed the hallway to the stairs, Evelyn felt a rush of emotion that she couldn’t understand. She didn’t know what the future held, or what the next few months would bring, but that suddenly didn’t seem to matter. No matter what happened, she knew that she wasn’t alone. Miles would be fighting the same war against the same odds. While he went back to his Spits and training, she would go back to her classified missions, knowing that they always had tonight.

  And she would carry the memory of that slow, sexy wink with her into the shadows.

  Epilogue

  Berlin, Germany

  December, 1939

  Herr Renner sat upright with his hands on his knees, waiting. He was dressed in full uniform, not a crease or speck of lint in sight, with his hat placed carefully beside him on the bench. He stared across the entryway at a portrait of the Führer hanging opposite, his face void of any expression. Silence reigned in the waiting area, broken only occasionally by the sound of a telephone in a distant office.

  A tall door opened suddenly to his left and a man in the black uniform of the SD emerged. He looked at Renner and stood to attention.

  “Herr Obersturmbannführer Voss will see you now,” he announced.

  Herr Renner rose to his feet and placed his hat under his arm, turning precisely to go through the door without a word. Once inside, he stopped and clicked his heels together smartly as he raised his arm in salute.

  “Heil Hilter!”

  A tall blond officer turned from the window, casting a swift glance over him. After a moment of silence, he motioned him to stand at ease and crossed the room to the desk. He took his seat and opened a folder.

  “Sturmbannführer Renner, you’re aware that a determination has been made in the investigation of the events that took place in Stockholm on the tenth of November?” he asked, glancing up from the paper in front of him.

  Herr Renner didn’t look away from his superior’s face. “Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer Voss.”

  “And you’re aware that you have been found guilty of negligence of duty in allowing an enemy of the Reich to evade capture?”

  “Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer.”

  Hans Voss sat back in his chair and studied the other man for a long moment.

  “What have you to say for yourself?” he finally asked.

  “There’s nothing to say, Herr Obersturmbannführer. I allowed the English agent to slip through my fingers.”

  There was another long silence, then Hans Voss stood up and went around the desk to lean against it, facing him.

  “You knew how important it was that we detain her?”

  “Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer. I am sorry.”

  “So am I, Sturmbannführer Renner.” He was quiet for a moment. “That was our only chance. We won’t get another.”

  “With respect, Herr Obersturmbannführer, I disagree,” Renner objected. “The other woman, the Norwegian, she will surface eventually. She can be made to talk. She will lead us to the English agent.”

  “No doubt she would,” Hans agreed, “but you misunderstand me. We won’t get another chance because the whole case has been removed from our jurisdiction.”

  Herr Renner stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “The SD no longer has any involvement in the affairs of the English agent known as Maggie Richardson. The Abwehr will be taking complete control of the case.”

  Renner’s mouth dropped open. “The Abwehr!” he exclaimed. “Why?”

  “Because, Herr Sturmbannführer, by your own admission you allowed a girl to slip through your fingers!” Hans’ voice sharpened. “If I thought for one moment you would allow such a thing to happen, I would never have sent you to Oslo. I had all confidence that you could detain her, but I was
mistaken. And this is the result. The Abwehr is turning it over to Eisenjager.”

  Renner’s face drained of color and he stared at Hans in shock.

  “Eisenjager?” he whispered. “The man’s a myth, a legend. He doesn’t exist, surely?”

  “He exists, just as you and I do.”

  “And he’s going to hunt down the English agent?”

  “Yes. So you understand the position you’ve put me in. Himmler is furious.” Hans straightened up and turned to return to his seat behind the desk, the informal portion of the interview over. “You will return to your quarters and remain there for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, a car will arrive to take you to the station. You are being reassigned to Warsaw.”

  “Poland!” Renner exclaimed. He immediately stopped his protest when Hans lifted cold blue eyes to his. “Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer.”

  “Do you have any questions?” Hans asked, lowering his eyes again to the paper before him and picking up a pen.

  “Just one, if you would indulge me, Herr Obersturmbannführer.”

  “Yes?”

  “What is so important about this particular English agent?”

  The pen paused in its journey to sign the order and Hans looked up slowly.

  “I wish I knew.”

  Author’s Notes

  1. Oslo Report: Hans Ferdinand Mayer was a German mathematician and physicist who approached the British Naval Attaché, Captain Hector Boyes, in Oslo Station in late October 1939. He sent instructions which arrived by post, offering technical information on German military projects. He instructed for the BBC German broadcast to be altered to say “Hullo, hier ist London” and, if it was, then a package would be delivered. Boyes arranged it and on November 3, a packet was hand-delivered to the embassy. It contained 10 pages of technical information ranging from the development of experimental pilotless aircraft at Peenemunde to the introduction of radar along the German coasts, as well as advances made in the manufacture of bomb fuses, an example of which was included with the report. The package was sent to SIS Headquarters on Broadway in London, where it was received by Section IV on the basis that the air section was the only SIS section with any technical knowledge. However, they did not have the scientific knowledge to evaluate the report. They called in a scientist working for the Air Ministry’s Directorate of Scientific Research, Dr. R.V. Jones, who confirmed that all the information was genuine and that the Report was of the highest importance. Unfortunately, no one else agreed. At the time, all scientific research was so compartmentalized in England and other countries that SIS felt that no one scientist would ever have access to such a variety of information. What they didn’t realize was that Germany did not compartmentalize their research in the same way. Therefore, Mayer did indeed have access to the research he provided. But SIS concluded that the Oslo Report was a plant sent by the Germans to mislead them. Therefore, Mayer was never pursued as an asset. In time, the Oslo Report proved to be genuine as more and more things within it were confirmed and discovered, but SIS lost the opportunity to learn more by utilizing Mayer. (MI6 British Secret Intelligence Service Operations 1909-1945 by Nigel West, pg 111-112. Weidenfeld and Nicolson - London. 1983)