The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2)

by CW Browning

  Vladimir reached into his suit jacket and pulled a folded piece paper out of the pocket. Leaning forward, he tossed it onto the table between them.

  “Take a look at that, and then tell me if you don’t have enough to bring him in.”

  Grigori frowned and leaned forward to set his drink down and reach for the paper.

  “I retrieved that before it could be destroyed,” Vladimir continued, sitting back in his chair again.

  Grigori unfolded the paper and read the short, handwritten message, his face impassive.

  Instruct agent to meet at Den Gyldene Freden in Gamla Stan at eleven o’clock.

  “As you can see, it is handwritten. I believe you’ll find it matches Comrade Niva’s handwriting perfectly.”

  “Where did you get this?” Grigori finally asked.

  “Where the facilitator left it, in a trash receptacle across from the hotel where Niva is staying.”

  “And the facilitator?”

  “I never saw his face. He had his back to me. Niva passed him the paper in the street and continued into the hotel.” Vladimir shrugged. “I can tell you he is of medium height and was wearing a long, dark coat and a hat.”

  “Which is unhelpful.”

  “Precisely.”

  Grigori folded the paper and slid it into his pocket.

  “Do you know anything about this Englishwoman?” he asked. “Did you see her before this morning?”

  Vladimir sipped his drink, his eyes resting on Grigori’s face thoughtfully.

  “I would think you know more about her than I do at this point,” he said. “It’s unlike you not to observe an enemy agent when you have the chance.”

  Grigori was surprised into a short laugh.

  “You know me well, Vlad.”

  “I should. We’ve known each other for years.”

  “Ah, we’ve seen some things, haven’t we?” Grigori said with smile. “And we’ll see some more before this war is over.”

  “One can only hope.”

  “I have been observing her, yes. I haven’t learned very much, though. She doesn’t go about very much. Only to dinner, really. She seems to enjoy finer foods and wine, but she never indulges beyond what is reasonable. No vices that I’ve been able to ascertain. She keeps herself to herself, for the most part, which confuses me. She doesn’t display any of the usual traits of an agent that we’re used to seeing. It makes it very difficult.”

  “Have you found how she communicates with her contacts?” Vladimir asked after a moment.

  Grigori shook his head.

  “No. If she uses a facilitator, as you suggested, that could be why.”

  “I assumed it was Niva who insisted on that arrangement,” Vladimir said slowly, “but I suppose it could be her way of doing things. I wouldn’t have thought the English were that intelligent.”

  “They were intelligent enough to find and turn Niva,” Grigori muttered, getting up to refill his glass. He motioned to Vladimir’s, who shook his head. “I wish I knew how they did that.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps he approached them.”

  Grigori refilled his glass and turned from the sideboard, sipping it thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps.”

  “How did you find out about the Englishwoman, anyway?” Vladimir asked, tilting his head curiously. “I didn’t know about her until I saw her check into this hotel.”

  “The Nazis were kind enough to share the information,” Grigori said, going back to his chair. “For once, they appear to be right.”

  “The Abwehr?” Vladimir’s eyebrows soared into his forehead. “They’re useless!”

  “Yes, they are,” Grigori agreed with a nod. “It was the SD, I believe. One of Himmler’s black boots. They learned of her last year.”

  “Interesting. I wonder what they know of her.”

  Grigori scoffed. “Not much, I don’t think. They’re here, in Stockholm, and they managed to scare her right off.”

  “What? Here?”

  He nodded glumly. “Yes. They were in the hotel, spread out and watching her room and all the exits. The fools. Did they think she wouldn’t notice?”

  “They’re too arrogant to think anything,” Vladimir muttered. “I assume she’s gone?”

  “Yes, and so is her companion. I followed the other woman to the train station. That’s where I’ve just come from. She’s on her way back to Oslo, but there was no sign of the Englishwoman.”

  “And the Germans?”

  “Missed the train. At least they’re empty-handed as well.”

  Vladimir was quiet for a moment, then he looked over to his old friend and smiled slowly.

  “Ah, but you’re not empty-handed, comrade,” he said. “You have handwritten proof of Niva’s deceit, and you return to Moscow successful. You’ll undoubtedly get a promotion out of this.”

  Grigori grunted and looked across the table at Vladimir.

  “And you? I won’t forget my old comrade. Would you like a promotion?”

  “I’m quite willing to be guided by the ministry. You know I’ve never sought to advance.”

  “And yet you have. Consistently.” Grigori raised his glass to him. “To the future!”

  Vladimir raised his glass.

  “To the future!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ––––––––

  London, England

  November 23, 1939

  Evelyn got out of the taxi and looked up at the familiar facade of the house on Brook Street. She didn’t think there would ever be a time when it looked more welcoming than it did right this minute. It stood tall and elegant over the street, like an old retainer waiting to be of service once again. She found comfort in the knowledge that the house had withstood several wars over the course of the years, and remained stoically solid through them all. With a deep sigh of contentment, she turned to take her bags from the driver as he pulled them out of the boot of the car.

  “ ’Ere ye are, miss,” he said cheerfully, his cockney accent rolling over her. “Do you need me to carry them up?”

  “No, that’s quite all right, thank you,” she said with a smile, passing him the fare. “I can manage.”

  She turned to go up the steps to the glossy black door, setting the bags down while she fished in her purse for the key. The taxi pulled away, the driver giving a friendly wave, and she smiled. It was nice to be back in England and to hear the welcoming accent of home. Even if it was from the East End, she thought with a grin.

  Pulling out the key, she unlocked the door and pushed it open, picking up her bags again. The Ainsworth House had been in her family longer than anyone cared to remember. It was their residence when they were in London for the season, and her father had used it during the rest of the year when he was working and couldn’t make the long trip back to Lancashire. Since his death, it had seen much less use, and would probably see even less as the war dragged on. The servants were at Ainsworth Manor with her mother and there were dust covers over the furniture, but she didn’t care. Evelyn closed the door and exhaled in relief.

  She was home.

  She dropped her bags in the long, wide hallway and looked around, an overwhelming sense of calm coming over her. She moved across the hallway to the first door on her left and opened it, stepping into the front drawing room. The chairs and sofas were covered with dust covers, as were the tables and the piano in the corner. Evelyn looked around slowly. She knew Robbie came to stay here when he was in London, but the drawing room looked as if it hadn’t been touched since the house was closed at the end of the summer. She walked over to the front window and opened the thick blackout curtains, staring out at Brook Street. She watched the traffic for a moment, enjoying the familiar sound of the busy London street.

  Her journey through Denmark, while uneventful, had been fraught with an anxious desire to reach home. As she went fr
om train to connecting train, arriving ultimately on the west coast of Denmark, she had stared at the strange countryside and suddenly become very homesick. Her guide, a man by the name of Frederick, had been very friendly and had taken great pleasure in pointing out landmarks and imparting history as they went through his country, but it had done very little to alleviate her longing for home.

  When Pierson, the MI6 contact who had met her off the ship in Copenhagen, told her that he’d arranged for a guide to take her across Denmark, she had protested that it was unnecessary. However, as the journey extended into days, she was very grateful for the company. Frederick was a wealth of interesting information about Denmark and her people. He was also well-versed in European politics, and they spent many hours discussing the events unfolding around them. When they reached Esbjerg, she’d said goodbye with a sense of parting from an old friend.

  Evelyn turned away from the window and went to the door, returning to the hallway and going towards the back of the house. After spending two days in the coastal town of Esbjerg, she had boarded a ship at last, bound for London.

  Even though it was an English ship, she still hadn’t relaxed until they docked in London. The very fact that it was an English ship made crossing the North Sea particularly dangerous. The Germans had mines in the waters, and she had been told by the captain that their U-boats were sinking a growing number of merchant ships both in the North Sea and in the Atlantic. As if realizing that perhaps he shouldn’t have told her that, the captain then hastened to assure her that he had never had any problems yet. It didn’t go very far to alleviating her discomfort, and she spent the voyage in a state of nervous anxiety.

  When the ship sailed up the Thames estuary, Evelyn had never been so pleased to see the London landscape. But even as she stood on the deck to take in her first sight of England after a particularly trying journey, her joy was tempered by the knowledge that this feeling of relief at being home was just the beginning. She had the disquieting feeling that as this war continued, the likelihood of her coming home safely would become less and less.

  Putting the dark thought out of her head, she made her way to the kitchen. While she had no expectation of finding an ounce of food in the house, Evelyn sincerely hoped that Rob had at least stocked the kitchen with tea the last time he was here. Stepping into the large square room, she was pleasantly surprised to find sun streaming through the windows and not a dust cover in sight. At least now she knew where Rob spent most of his time when he did come to stay.

  Crossing the old tiled floor, Evelyn started opening cabinets, looking for tea. On the third try, she found it. And Rob, it seemed, had outdone himself. Not only where there two different types of tea, but there was also a can of coffee. She lifted it out and looked at it curiously. While she drank coffee extensively on the continent, it was rare for it to make an appearance at home. She set it back in the cabinet and reached for the tea. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the foresight that had led Rob to buy the coffee. It would be a welcome treat in the next few days.

  She was just filling the kettle from the faucet in the sink when the bells above the kitchen door chimed. She started, then finished filling the kettle and set it on the stove top. After lighting the burner, she turned to leave the kitchen. Someone was at the front door, and only one person knew that she was in London.

  A moment later she opened the door to find Bill standing on the top step, a large paper bag in his arms.

  “Welcome back,” he said.

  “How on earth did you know I’d arrived?” Evelyn demanded, opening the door wider and motioning him in. “I just got here!”

  “I had someone at the dock watching for the ship. I would’ve gone myself to meet you but we weren’t sure when you were coming in. Here. These are for you. I can’t imagine there’s a thing in the house to eat.”

  Evelyn took the bag from him and looked inside. It was filled with groceries.

  “Oh! This is wonderful! You’re right. There’s absolutely nothing in the way of food. In fact, I was just relieved to find that Robbie left some tea here the last time he stayed.” She turned to lead the way down the hallway to the back of the house. “I’ve put the kettle on, so I can offer you some tea. I’m afraid we’ll have to drink it in the kitchen, though. I haven’t had time to remove the dust covers from any of the other rooms.”

  “How was your trip through Denmark?” Bill asked, following her into the kitchen. “Did Pierson take care of you?”

  “Yes, he did. Thank you for arranging for him to meet me. I’ll admit I was feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the time we reached Copenhagen.” She set the bag of groceries down on the counter and began to empty it as Bill seated himself at the kitchen table. “All I could think was that I didn’t speak a word of Danish and how on earth was I going to navigate my way to the North Sea,” she added with a laugh.

  “Which is precisely why I arranged for Pierson to meet you,” he said with a smile. “He can be a bit much at times, but I’ve always had the impression that he was a very kind man.”

  Evelyn thought of the eccentric agent with the shocking red hair that had met her off the ship and grinned.

  “He certainly isn’t what I would have expected,” she admitted. “But he was very helpful, and yes, he was very kind. He showed me to a good, clean hotel and then met me the next morning with a guide to escort me through Denmark.”

  “And the journey was uneventful?”

  “Very much so.”

  Evelyn finished emptying the bag and surveyed the goodies that Bill had picked up. There was a loaf bread, cheese, a bottle of milk, some eggs, and a pack of sausages. He’d also included some tea and a package of biscuits.

  “This is lovely, Bill. Thank you!”

  “It will do for a day or two,” he said with a nod. “Tomorrow you’ll come to Broadway for a full debriefing. Montclair wants to have dinner with you tomorrow night. You should be able to return to your station in Scotland the following day, barring any unforeseen delays. I thought this would be enough to get you through, but of course if you need anything else, you can go out to the shops. I thought you’d be tired today.”

  Evelyn turned to look at him. “You’re a good man, Mr. Buckley. I am tired, and this just what I needed.”

  He smiled faintly. “I can hardly let one of my best agents go hungry on her first night back in London, can I?” he asked, sitting back and crossing his legs. “Marguerite would have my head!”

  “How is she?” She turned to get a teapot and two cups and saucers as the kettle began to whistle. “Is she still in France?”

  “Yes. She’s getting the house ready to close. She’s decided to come back to England next month for Christmas and, given the increased tensions, she’ll be remaining in England. If it is still safe to travel, she may go back to Paris for a short trip in the spring, but I don’t think it will remain safe for long. The Germans will make a move towards France soon.”

  “Will she stay in London or go to your estate? It’s in Hertfordshire, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. She’ll go to the estate, although how long I can keep her there, I don’t know,” he said with a short laugh. “You know how restless she gets.”

  “My mother would enjoy seeing her,” Evelyn said over her shoulder as she fixed the tea. “She’s welcome to visit Ainsworth Manor at any time, I’m sure.”

  “And she will. We’re coming for Christmas, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh good! I was hoping that would be the case.” Evelyn lifted the kettle with a towel and poured boiling water into the teapot. “This first Christmas without Dad will be hard. I think it will help to retain as many of the traditions as we can.”

  “That’s what your mother said,” Bill said, amused. “I’ve arranged for you take two-days leave. You’ll have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I couldn’t do more, I’m afraid.”

  Evelyn turned to carry the teapot over to the table.<
br />
  “I understand. Thank you! I hope Rob can get away, and...” She stopped abruptly and turned to get the cups.

  “And?” Bill prompted when she didn’t continue.

  “It’s nothing.” She set the cups down and turned to grab the packet of biscuits off the counter. “Just someone Rob flies with. There was talk that he might join us for Christmas.”

  Bill raised an eyebrow and watched as she set a bowl of sugar on table.

  “Oh? Does this someone have a name?”

  Evelyn grabbed the bottle of milk and turned to seat herself across from him.

  “Lacey,” she said, reaching for his cup. “Miles Lacey. Do you take milk?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Bill studied her face interestedly. “You look rather flushed. Are you quite all right?”

  She poured milk into his cup and handed it to him. “Do I? How strange. It must be the heat from the water. I’m fine.”

  Bill spooned some sugar into his cup, his lips twitching.

  “You know, for someone who just recently learned to lie, you’re developing a real talent for it,” he murmured. Then, after a second, “Tell me about Vladimir Lyakhov,” he said, changing the subject. “Did you meet with him?”

  “Yes.” Evelyn poured tea into his cup then her own. “He’s not what I expected. He’s really quite interesting, if a little brusque. I’m still not sure why he refuses to deal with anyone but myself, but he gave me the microfilm. I haven’t looked to see what’s on it.”

  She got up and left the kitchen, coming back a moment later with a small traveling case. Bill watched as she opened it and lifted out the insert.

  “That’s how you carried it back?” he asked, leaning forward to examine the case more closely. “That’s very good. Did you make this yourself, or did they give it to you in Scotland?”

  “A bit of both, actually. The case is mine. One of the instructors there was able to show me how to modify it.” Evelyn lifted out the microfilm and the tightly wound roll of paper that Risto Niva had handed over. “This is the microfilm from Shustov,” she said, handing it to him. “And this is from the other Soviet agent, Risto Niva. He said that they are copies of transmissions.”