by CW Browning
“Oh, well, she’d be company for Mum, y’know,” Rob muttered. “Kind of a moral support, if you know what I mean.”
“How will that help against burglars?” Miles demanded bluntly.
The color on Rob’s face increased and he shrugged, still avoiding Miles’ gaze.
“She’s a bloody good shot, you know. Once hit a pheasant at nearly two hundred feet!”
Miles pursed his lips skeptically but let the comment pass. While he had no doubt that Evelyn was a good shot, he had a hard time picturing her roaming the manor house with a rifle tucked under her arm. This was England, not the Wild West of America. But if Rob didn’t want to tell him the real reason Evelyn would be useful against potential burglars, he wouldn’t pry.
Miles felt his lips twitch. He’d just have to discover the truth from Evelyn herself.
“Well, are you coming to London or not? If not, I’m leaving and you can jolly well have beans on toast for your dinner,” he announced, grabbing his hat and standing.
Rob choked back a laugh and turned to lift his coat off the back of his chair.
“I’m coming!” he exclaimed, pulling it on and opening a desk drawer to pull out his wallet. “No need for threats.”
Miles grinned and followed him to the door, noticing that the color in his friend’s face had returned to normal. Evelyn was getting more and more fascinating by the day. What was the big, juicy secret that made her brother turn the color of beets?
And when the bloody hell was she going to answer his letters?
At least now he knew she was as busy as they were. He supposed it stood to reason, especially if she really was training plotters. If he’d had time to think on it properly, he would have realized that himself. Instead, he’d sent off three letters and a gift, and had heard crickets in reply. And that was something he hadn’t been expecting.
Miles Lacey was not used to having to work for his female friends. Yet he had the sneaking suspicion that that was exactly what he was going to have to do with Assistant Section Officer Ainsworth. The prospect didn’t bother him one bit, and he whistled jauntily as they went down the stairs and outside to his low-slung, two-seater Jaguar.
Evelyn Ainsworth didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Eighteen
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Evelyn walked out of her room dressed in wide-legged trousers and a wrap blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders. Now that she’d changed from dinner and had had time to think, she felt calmer and more poised to take on this new challenge. There were ways around having a Soviet agent watch her every move. She just had to find them.
Anna was lounging in one of the chairs, smoking a cigarette and flipping through the pages of a glossy magazine. As Evelyn walked in, she glanced up.
“I wonder if the person who set that bomb in Germany was a communist,” she said. “What do you think?”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”
“The paper said it might have been politically motivated, and I can’t think of any other political party with the nerve to do it.”
Evelyn dropped onto the love seat and thought for a minute.
“It’s possible. If it was a communist, that won’t bode well for continued good relations with the Soviet Union. More than likely, though, it was simply another German who opposes the Führer. I’d imagine there are enough of them about.”
“Do you think so?” Anna laid the magazine in her lap and looked at Evelyn. “I received the impression from those two scientists the other night that most Germans are in agreement with the Nazis.”
“Why? Because they won’t do anything to oppose the unfair treatment of the Jews?” Evelyn shook her head. “I don’t think that necessarily means they’re in agreement. I think they’ve been conditioned against opposing the government, but that doesn’t mean they all truly support it. Rather, I think it’s just like anywhere else. There are those who are Nazis, and there are those who are not.”
“Erik says that to be complacent is to be complicit. I’m starting to wonder if he’s not onto something there.”
“I think we should be careful not to hurry into judgment of people when we aren’t in possession of the full story,” Evelyn said with a frown. “For instance, Herr Mayer gave me the impression the other evening that he was disgusted by some of the things happening in his country. Yet he was frightened enough to cancel our dinner for fear of being caught speaking with a foreign correspondent. Does that make him complicit with what the Nazis are doing? Or does it simply make him fearful for his livelihood? Who are we to judge him?”
“He canceled your dinner?” Anna sat up. “I didn’t know that. What do you mean he was afraid of being caught?”
Evelyn shrugged. “He left a note at the desk. He said that he’d thought about it and decided that it would be unwise for him to meet with me without the approval of the Ministry of Propaganda.”
“How strange! How would they know?”
Evelyn thought of Herr Renner and his presence in Oslo, and the Hotel Bristol in particular.
“Perhaps he thought he was being watched by the Gestapo.”
Anna got up and walked over to the table between them, stubbing out her cigarette in the cut glass ashtray.
“That’s a shame. So you didn’t get any information from the Germans after all.”
Before she could answer, there was single knock on the door and a scraping noise. Both women started and turned to look at the door in surprise.
“Who on earth is that?” Anna wondered as Evelyn got to her feet.
Evelyn didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her heart was pounding too hard in her chest. No one knew they were here, except the man who had crossed the lobby as they came up from dinner.
She walked across the living room towards the door apprehensively, wondering if she should open it. Then her step checked as her eyes fell on a white envelope on the floor. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“What’s that?” Anna asked behind her, pointing to the envelope.
“I don’t know.” Evelyn bent to pick it up. “It must have been shoved under the door.”
She turned it over to see two initials scrawled across the front: M.R.
“Well, it’s for you, whatever it is,” Anna said, looking over her shoulder. “How strange. Why didn’t they leave it at the front desk?”
Evelyn turned to carry the envelope over to the love seat, sinking down with it in her hands. Her heard was still beating fast and she wasn’t sure she wanted to open it, but she resolutely turned it over to slide her finger under the sealed flap.
“Wait!” Anna went over to the desk and returned a moment later with a long letter opener. “You’ll cut yourself.”
Evelyn took the opener with an amused glance at her friend. “I tend not to worry about paper cuts, to be honest.”
She used the letter opener anyway, sliding the blade under the flap and slicing the envelope open in one smooth motion. She handed the blade back to Anna and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Den Gyldene Freden. Österlånggatan, Gamla Stan. 11:00 am.
Evelyn’s brows came together as she stared at the message.
“Well?” Anna asked impatiently, perching on the arm of the love seat. “What does it say?”
“I think it might be a location, but I’m not sure. I don’t understand it,” Evelyn said, looking up at her. “Can you read it?”
Anna all but snatched the paper out of her hand, her excitement palpable.
“Den Gyldene Freden. Well, that translates into...golden peace. Can that be right?” she frowned, staring at the message. “It looks like an address, but I don’t understand the bit about golden peace. What does that mean?”
Evelyn shrugged. “I have no idea!”
Anna studied the sheet for a long moment. “I really do think it’s an address,” she finally said.
“I suppose it could be,” Anna said, passing the sheet back. “The one thing we can be sure of is the time. There’s no doubt about that.”
Evelyn nodded and slipped the paper back into the envelope, standing up.
“I’ll ask at the desk in the morning. If it’s an address, they should be able to point me in the right direction. Do you have a lighter?”
“On the table. Why?”
Evelyn walked over to the table and picked up the lighter. She lit the corner of the envelope and watched as flames licked along the edge hungrily before making their way along the paper, turning the envelope and its contents into charred ash. After tilting it to ensure that the flames were well and truly destroying the note, she dropped it into the ash tray and watched as what remained of the envelope curled and sizzled, devoured by the fire.
“Are you sure you should have done that?” Anna asked, breaking the silence once the envelope had disappeared completely. “What if you don’t remember the name?”
“I’ll remember.”
Anna stood and came over to stand beside her, staring down at the ash tray.
“This is all terribly exciting, isn’t it?” she asked. “Secret messages pushed under doors, strange addresses, and destroying the evidence. How thrilling!”
Evelyn looked at her, a slow grin curving her lips. “You’re not afraid?”
“Not in the least! I wish I could go with you! I suppose there’s no possibility of that, is there?”
“I’m afraid not,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “It’s far too dangerous. I have no idea what I’ll be walking into.”
Anna sighed. “Very well. I’ll want to know absolutely everything when you get back!”
Evelyn laughed and turned to go to her room.
“I doubt it will make as exciting listening as you think,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be surprised if they even show up. Good night!”
She went into her room and closed the door, leaning on it for a moment. Contrary to what she’d just said, Evelyn had no doubt that Risto would be there at eleven in the morning. The question was why? And would her Soviet comrade from Oslo also be in attendance?
Evelyn moved away from the door and began to get ready for bed, trying to calm her jittery nerves. This was what she had been trained to do. There was no point in lamenting the fact now. She had to go tomorrow and meet this soviet agent and find out what he knew about Stalin’s intentions towards Finland. It didn’t matter that another agent had followed her to Stockholm, just as it didn’t matter that she had absolutely no idea where Lyakhov was or whether or not he had been the one to slip the note under the door. All that mattered was that she get as much information as she could and get back to England, uncompromised. If she could do it without sacrificing Anna’s safety, all the better, but her first priority was the meeting at eleven o’clock.
And the second was avoiding her old Soviet friend.
A tall man dressed in a dark suit and darker coat walked into the lobby of The Strand Hotel and looked around. It was late and the only guest traffic was on the side where the entrance to the restaurant was located. He glanced at his watch and turned to walk across the tiled floor towards the concierge desk. A single suitcase was the only luggage he carried, clasped in a leather-gloved hand. The concierge looked up as he approached and smiled politely.
“Good evening, sir,” he greeted him.
“Good evening,” the man said, setting his case down and removing his hat. “Pratar du tyska?” he asked in heavily accented Swedish.
“Of course,” the concierge replied in German. “How may I assist you?”
“I’d like a room, please.”
“Of course. Will it be only you?”
“Yes.” The man pulled a long passport case out of the inside pocket of his coat and extracted his passport. “If you have something overlooking the harbor, that would be preferred.”
The concierge took the offered identification and opened the registry book, turning it around to face the man.
“I think I have something that will fit your needs,” he said, opening the passport and glancing down at it. “And how long will you be with us, Herr Renner?”
“I’m not sure yet. Perhaps a few nights.” Renner signed the registry and set the pen down. “I’m meeting a colleague. Could you tell me if she’s arrived?”
The concierge finished copying the details from his passport onto his registry card and passed the identification back to him.
“Certainly. What’s the name?”
“Richardson,” Renner said, tucking the passport back into his holder and sliding it into his coat pocket again. “Margaret Richardson. She’s a journalist for The Daily Mail in London.”
The concierge nodded and turned to go to a drawer on the back wall. While he was looking, Renner turned to survey the lobby. He was tired and hungry and his patience was running thin.
When he arrived this afternoon, he’d been met at the station by one of their men from the embassy. In the car on the way to the embassy, he’d been informed that new orders had come in from Berlin. He was no longer simply to observe Fraulein Richardson. He was instructed to detain her for questioning. Someone in the Abwehr, the Wehrmacht’s intelligence service, wanted to know everything she knew. They already had a location, he was told. Or at least, they believed they did. One of their plants in the British embassy reported that a message was hand delivered to Mr. Horace Manchester, a man known to be British Intelligence. The message had been delivered this afternoon from this hotel.
“Yes indeed, Herr Renner.” The concierge was back and Renner turned back to the counter with a smile. “Miss Richardson arrived this afternoon. Would you like to leave a message for her?”
“No, that’s quite all right. I’ll undoubtedly see her tomorrow. I just wanted to know if I was the first one here.”
“Very good, sir. Here is your room key. You’re in room 305, on the third floor. I think you’ll enjoy it. It has a beautiful view of the harbor and the palace.”
“Thank you. Is the restaurant still open?” Renner accepted the key and picked up his hat.
“Yes.” The concierge checked his watch. “We will be serving for another hour yet.”
Renner nodded and picked up his case, turning away from the desk and walking towards the lift. He would go to his room and leave his case and his coat, then come back down for something to eat. He hadn’t eaten since noon and he knew food would go a long way to improving his temper.
Then he could determine the best way to find and detain Fraulein Richardson.
When Evelyn emerged from the lift the following morning, there was no sign of her friend from Oslo. The lobby was busy with guests checking out and both managers behind the front desk were occupied. Instead of going over to wait, she looked around the lobby for a porter or other employee. Everyone appeared to engaged.
Biting her lip, she gave an internal shrug and crossed the lobby to leave through the front doors. If she couldn’t find anyone in the hotel who could point her in the right direction for her meeting with Risto Niva, she would simply ask a vendor or shop keeper in the city. Someone would be able to assist her.
Stepping into the brisk morning air, Evelyn shivered and turned to go towards the news vendor where Anna had purchased her paper yesterday. The morning had dawned overcast, but the clouds were dispersing now, sliced apart by the sunlight. If the sun had its way, it would turn into a beautiful day.
She approached the news vendor, catching him without any customers, and smiled. He nodded respectfully and said something in Swedish. With an inward sigh, she shook her head and spoke in German. She wasn’t sure how prevalent English would be in the streets, but German seemed to be more common as a second language. At least, she’d found that to be th
e case in Norway.
“Sprichen sie Deutsch?” she asked.
“Ja.” He nodded and smiled widely.
“Oh good! I’m wondering if you can help me. I’m looking for something called Den Gyldene Freden? I believe it’s located in Gamla Stan, is that right?”
He nodded and stroked his chin, staring at her consideringly.
“It is. It’s a tavern in the old city. On Österlånggatan.” He lowered his hand and shook his head. “Not a good neighborhood, Fraulein. Are you meeting someone there?”
“Yes.” Evelyn frowned and bit her lip. “Is it very bad?”
“It’s not terrible, but it’s not for the likes of you,” he said, scratching his wiry gray hair. “You’ll attract a fair bit of notice, if you don’t mind my saying.”
She glanced down at her clothes and nodded in sudden understanding. “Would it help if I wore something different?”
“That might do it,” he agreed. “And if you’re meeting someone, you won’t be completely alone. You’ll want to be careful, though. As I said, it’s not terrible, but it’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure.”
“Thank you. I’ll be very careful.”
“Well then, you want to go along here,” he said, turning and pointing in the direction she had been walking. “When you get up to that road there, you’ll go straight and follow this until you reach the bridge. It crosses over the water. When you get to the other side, follow the road around to the left and take it down to Slottsbacken.” Here he paused and frowned, then shook his head. “It will be easier with a map,” he decided, bending down and rummaging behind the table of his booth. He straightened up with a folded map in his hands. “I’ll mark it out for you on this.”
“Thank you so much,” Evelyn said, watching as he pulled out a pencil and opened the map of the city. “I’ll pay for the map, of course.”
He nodded and proceeded to draw a heavy line on the map, marking out exactly where she had to go.
“It’s not far. Only about a fifteen-minute walk,” he said, looking up from his task. “Quite pleasant, actually, until you reach the inner roads in Gamla Stan.”