The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2)

by CW Browning

  And in that, at least, she could finish the last task her father had been unable to complete.

  Chapter Twelve

  ––––––––

  Evelyn stared up at the imposing facade of the public library and shook her head. Another library. She started up the steps, glancing behind her and scanning the street. There was no sign either of Vladimir or of her mysterious stalker. However, she knew from experience that that didn’t mean anything.

  Entering the library, she crossed the tiled floor to pass the circulation desk, nodding with a smile to the librarian seated behind the counter. The woman nodded back and Evelyn continued past the desk, looking around the first floor. There were a few patrons, but none of them were Vladimir.

  She pursed her lips and hesitated before glancing over her shoulder again. Her eyes fell on the card catalog and she turned suddenly to go towards it. On a hunch, she moved along the neatly labeled drawers until she came to one that was only partially closed. Something like a surge of excitement went through her and she opened it to find a card sticking up, preventing it from closing all the way. She pulled out the card and scanned the title and call number on it, committing it to memory before inserting the card back into place correctly and pushing the drawer closed.

  Then, after a swift look around, she turned and strode across the floor to a wide staircase leading to the upper levels. This library was larger than the one in Strasbourg had been, with at least four levels. At the foot of the steps, Evelyn glanced up, her hand on the railing. She was just in time to see a shadow disappear to the left at the top of the stairs.

  Catching her breath, her heart thumped against her ribs and her stomach dropped. Was it Vladimir or someone else? She inhaled, forcing herself to calm down. She was simply a journalist from London, visiting the library. There was absolutely no reason for her to be afraid. She wasn’t picking up a package, or dropping one off. There was nothing about her visit that could be construed as remotely suspect.

  As long as you ignored who was most likely waiting to meet her.

  Evelyn reached the top of the steps and checked the sign on the nearest bookcase. She turned left, moving along the aisle, searching for the row that contained the book from the card. If Shustov was here, in the library, he had picked a perfect spot to meet her and not be seen. Every row that she passed was empty, and the hushed silence was almost deafening.

  Her gaze caught the label on the next bookcase and she turned down the row, scanning the spines of books, looking for the one in question. She was halfway down the aisle when a deep voice spoke behind her, making her jump.

  “You came faster than I expected,” a man said in Russian.

  Evelyn swung around to find Vladimir pulling a book out of the shelf a few feet away.

  “I didn’t see any point in wasting time,” she replied.

  “Your Russian is very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not surprised. Your father said you had an ear for it.” He didn’t look in her direction but flipped open the book instead. “You speak Norwegian as well?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. That explains the interpreter.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

  He finally turned his head towards her, his lips curving faintly.

  “It’s my job to know.” He studied her for a long moment. “You look different from your photograph. Older.”

  “Losing your father suddenly does that sometimes,” she retorted, unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice. To her surprise, a laugh leapt into his eyes and he flashed a grin.

  “Of course. That was rude of me. I apologize.”

  Evelyn exhaled and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  “Do you know why you are here?” he asked after a moment, turning his attention back to the book in his hands.

  Feeling as if she should appear to be busy as well, Evelyn pulled a random book from the shelf closest to her and opened it.

  “I was told that you would meet with no one else,” she said in a low voice.

  “Your father and I used to have wonderful conversations over whiskey,” he said, turning the page in his book. “He told me about your stay in Hong Kong. Did you like it there?”

  “It was exciting for a child,” she said carefully, her eyebrows draw together. What was he driving at? “I had no complaints.”

  “He told me an amusing story about a childhood friend of yours. He said the two of you were often inseparable and, one day, you ran away from your governess and went to the other side of the town to watch a play. Your friend carried the tale to your father, but instead of punishing you, he bought you ice cream.”

  Evelyn’s brows smoothed. He was testing her.

  “It wasn’t a play,” she said calmly. “And the ice cream was because I had given my friend a black eye when he tried to stop me from going again the next day.” Her face softened as a smile crossed her lips. “My father said I should never let another person intimidate me. I got ice cream for standing up for myself, then was grounded for three days for disobeying him and leaving the property.”

  Vladimir closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf. He turned to look at her, his face softening slightly.

  “Your father was an unusual man,” he said. “With unusual ways of raising a daughter. Tell me, do you still practice Wing Chun?”

  “Not as much as I would like, but yes.”

  “It’s a formidable skill. I fear you will need it more than you think for the times ahead.”

  He held out his arm, motioning for her to walk with him. After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn slid the book onto the shelf and turned to walk with him to the opposite end of the aisle.

  “This war is not something that either me or your father wanted to happen,” he said slowly. “Our countries are now enemies. I will be killed if my government discovers that I am talking to you.”

  “Wasn’t that the same with my father?”

  He shot her a look. “Ah. So you know. Good. That makes things easier.”

  “How did you and my father meet?” she asked, glancing at him.

  “We met in Zürich three years ago. I was there, well, on business for my government and he was doing the same. As fate would have it, we were both after the same thing: information about the new Führer and his National Socialist Germany. Our paths crossed. I made sure they crossed again a few months later.”

  “Why?”

  He paused at the end of the aisle and was silent for a long moment.

  “That is a much more complicated answer and one that we don’t have time for today.” He looked at her, his gray eyes considering. “Perhaps we save that for another time, yes? For now, just know that I respected your father and, I hope, one day you will learn to trust me.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” Evelyn said softly, shaking her head. “Especially given the current situation between our two countries.”

  “And that is why I say one day.” Vladimir turned the corner and she followed him to the next aisle. “I have something for you. Consider it a gesture of good faith.”

  She raised an eyebrow and shot him a look from under her lashes. “Oh?”

  “What do you know of Finland?” he asked, pausing next to the shelves and reaching out to pull another book out.

  “I know that Stalin has been trying to get them to cede a large portion of their border land over to him so that he can set up military protection there for Leningrad, and that Finland has refused.”

  “Yes. Moscow has grown tired of their refusal to allow us to protect our cities.”

  Evelyn looked at him sharply. “How tired?”

  Gray eyes met hers. “Very tired.”

  She was silent, her lips tightening. If the Soviet Union invaded Finland, that could potentially spell disaster for both Norway and Sweden, both o
f whose neutrality was firmly established.

  “Why tell me this?”

  “As I said, consider it a gesture of good faith. I’m sure you’re aware of the precarious situation in Finland. Should my country gain what they are seeking, then Finland will need military support. Whichever country gives it to them will have a side door into the Soviet Union.”

  “Why would you support that?” Evelyn asked, her brows coming together in a frown. “That can only mean war for your country.”

  “My country is already at war. It has been for ten years.” He shrugged and closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf. “Not everyone shares in the belief that we are better off now than we have been in the past.”

  Evelyn was silent. She supposed her father would have known and understood all the political nuances of the situation, and would have known what to say to that. She was not her father, however, and she had no idea what response was expected of her, if any. As if sensing her uncertainty, Vladimir glanced at her.

  “In Turku, there is someone who knows the details and intricacies of what hangs in the balance. His name is Risto Niva. He has worked undercover in Turku for the NKVD for over five years. If anyone can help you understand, he can.”

  She stared at him. “I can’t go to Finland!” she hissed.

  “You don’t have to. He is in Stockholm right now. I can arrange a meeting, but only if you go soon. He will be leaving in a few days to travel to Leningrad before returning to Finland.” Vladimir turned and moved a few feet away, looking at the book spines. “He is staying at the Strand. He has only one weakness, from what I have observed.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He turned to smile at her. “Beautiful women, especially blondes.”

  Evelyn exhaled and gave him a look close to a glare. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. I’m Russian. We don’t joke about matters of security. We can’t afford to.”

  “I thought I was here to pick up the same information you gave my father.”

  “The information your government managed to lose?” Vladimir made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “I must be mad for risking it again, but yes. It’s here, in the book you looked at in the card catalog downstairs. Don’t lose it again. I won’t be trying a third time.”

  “I didn’t lose it the first time,” Evelyn muttered. “Why did you take the chance on smuggling it out again?”

  “I believe it holds significant value for your government and the safety of your agents, both in Europe and abroad. Guard it well, for there are many who would kill to get their hands on it, and some who already have.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve been together too long. I must go. If you will meet Niva, light the candle in your window at midnight tonight and I will make the necessary arrangements. If not, then I wish you a safe journey back to England.”

  He turned to leave and Evelyn watched him go, chewing her bottom lip. His back was straight as he strode to end of the aisle and turned the corner without once looking back.

  And there goes Vladimir Lyakhov, Soviet agent, she thought.

  Shaking her head, she turned to retrace their steps until she was back in front of the bookshelf housing the book from card downstairs. It was a slim volume and she plucked it from its place between two fat tomes. As she opened it, an envelope slid into her hand. After replacing the book, she opened the envelope to find several strips of microfilm. She tucked the envelope into her purse and turned to leave. At least this was something she was familiar with. She was no stranger to retrieving microfilm, or to concealing it.

  As Evelyn stepped out from between the tall bookshelves, she glanced at her watch. The meeting had taken longer than she thought and now she would have to hurry to make her appointment with Hans at the Hotel Bristol.

  Her heels clicked rapidly across the tiled floor as she hurried to the stairs. There was no sign of Shustov. In fact, there was no sign of anyone. A shiver went through her and she hurried down the steps to the first floor, thankful to see several patrons moving through the lobby.

  As she reached the ground floor and started towards the door, one thought popped into her mind and she pressed her lips together grimly.

  Why did Vladimir really want her to go to Stockholm?

  When Evelyn arrived at the Hotel Bristol exactly at seven, there was no sign of Herr Mayer waiting out front. She frowned and went in, looking around the crowded restaurant. As she was scanning the tables, the host approached her.

  “Miss Richardson?” he asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Yes?”

  “This was left for you.”

  He handed her a folded note with a smile and retreated to his domain near the door. Evelyn looked down at the paper in her hand and opened it. As she had suspected, it was from Hans, written in a very precise hand.

  Dear Miss Richardson,

  I apologize but I will be unable to meet you for dinner. Upon further consideration I have decided that it would be unwise for me to meet with a member of a foreign press without the prior approval of the Ministry of Propaganda. I hope you understand. I wish you the best of luck with your article.

  Sincerely,

  Hans Ferdinand Mayer

  Evelyn folded the note again. That was that, then. So much for her gently plying the physicist for information about Nazi controlled Germany. She wasn’t surprised. He had seemed very uncomfortable with the idea last night when she proposed it. Now she understood why. He was afraid he would be punished for talking to a member of the press that wasn’t controlled by the Goebbels ministry of propaganda. She really couldn’t blame him. Not if the whispers coming out of Germany were true.

  Turning to leave the restaurant, she gasped as she walked into a tall, solid figure.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, glancing up into an angular face. “I’m sorry!”

  She spoke in German automatically, reverting to a language that she had learned was more easily understood in Oslo than English.

  “It’s quite all right, Fraulein,” the man said easily, his brown eyes sweeping over her as his hands steadied her. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not at all. Perhaps just my pride,” Evelyn said with a laugh. “I wasn’t paying attention. My apologies.”

  “None are needed, Fraulein...?”

  “Richardson.”

  “I am Herr Renner,” he said, dropping his hands from her arms. “How nice to meet a fellow German! Are you staying at the hotel?”

  “I...no, I’m not.” Evelyn glanced at her watch and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m late for an appointment.”

  Herr Renner bowed his head politely.

  “What a pity, but I understand. Have a nice evening, Fraulein.”

  Evelyn nodded and moved past him to leave the restaurant. As she went through the door, she looked back over her shoulder to find him watching her. She forced a bright smile and continued on her way, emerging onto the street a moment later.

  Turning to walk away from the hotel, Evelyn exhaled. She was seeing nefarious intentions everywhere now. Herr Renner was probably simply another scientist staying at the hotel for the conference. There was no reason for her to think he had any interest in her other than that of a passing curiosity. After all, she had bumped into him, not the other way around.

  Yet, something was sending a warning all through her.

  She shook her head, her heels tapping quickly along the pavement as she headed back towards the boarding house. She must be imagining things, and no wonder! She was being followed by a mysterious Russian agent, and she had met with a member of the Soviet NKVD just that afternoon. It was hardly surprising that she was suspicious of a man who spoke German and wore a long black coat over a dark gray suit. She was seeing shadows everywhere.

  Even so, she was conscious of profound sense of gratitude for every step that put distance between Herr Renner and herself.r />
  The man looked up impatiently at the knock on his door. He wasn’t in a good mood. The Englishwoman hadn’t appeared all day and he had no idea where she was or where she had gone. By the time he realized that she must have slipped out while he was at the embassy that morning, it was too late to hunt her down. Giving up, he returned to his room after a brief supper in the hotel dining room. Now he was pouring over what little information he had on her, which wasn’t much, looking for clues as to where she might go tomorrow. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

  “Come!”

  The door opened and small, slight man slid in.

  “Comrade Grigori,” he wheezed, closing the door silently.

  The man threw down his pen and sat back in his chair, eyeing the newcomer. “Comrade Yakov.”

  “My apologies for disturbing you this late.” Yakov moved further into the room. “You wanted to know if I observed any movement on the agent.”

  “I did.”

  “He is booked onto a train leaving Oslo at two in the morning.”

  “Where is he going?”

  “Stockholm.”

  Comrade Grigori stared at the little man for a moment, then nodded once.

  “Very well. Get yourself on the same train and follow him. Report back with any updates.”

  “Yes, comrade.” Yakov nodded and turned to leave the room. At the door, he paused. “Do you still want to know if he meets with anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  Yakov nodded once more and disappeared silently out the door. Grigori watched him go and lowered his gaze to the papers on the desk before him. He stared at them for a moment, lost in thought, then got up and went over to where his coat was draped over the back of a chair. Reaching into the pocket, he extracted a packet of cigarettes and pulled one out.