by CW Browning
Evelyn raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Sir?”
“It’s why I called you here today.” He got up and went over to a tall filing cabinet against the wall, pulling out a key from his waistcoat pocket. He unlocked a drawer and pulled a file out. “I know Bill usually takes care of these briefings, but this one is a bit sensitive. And there are some aspects with which he is not at all familiar with at the moment. He’s being briefed as well as you. Some of this was just finalized this morning, as a matter of fact.”
He turned from the cabinet and returned to his seat, setting the folder down on his desk.
“I’ve decided to send you back to Oslo because, to be frank, you’re the only agent that Daniel Carew has anything good to say about,” he said, glancing up. “You made quite an impression in November, and I’m told you made solid contacts in the city.”
“I only made one that I’m aware of,” Evelyn said. “He said I made more than one?”
Jasper smiled faintly. “Perhaps you were unaware that the Kolstads are considered agents?”
“The landlords? I knew they were aware of my activities to some extent, but Carew specifically warned me that they lend rooms to agents of other countries as well.”
“Yes they do, under our advisement.” He flipped open the folder. “They keep a close eye on the activity that occurs in Oslo, both ours and others. That activity has increased substantially over the past few months.”
“Isn’t that to be expected?” she asked. “They’re a neutral country. As such, they’re bound to attract everyone. It’s safer to conduct business there than in, say, Finland at the moment.”
Jasper glanced up sharply. “Speaking of Finland, I have some news about your source there. Niva.”
“Oh yes? How is he?”
“We believe he’s dead.” He sat back. “He never returned to Turku after your meeting with him in Sweden.”
Evelyn stared at him, feeling the blood drain from her face. “What?”
He nodded soberly. “He seems to have disappeared. However, and this came from a not very reliable source, someone matching his description was seen being helped onto a ship in Stockholm. He was accompanied by two men, believed to be Soviet NKVD.”
“But...no one knew he was meeting me,” she stammered. “How could he have been caught? The only person who knew was...”
Her voice trailed off suddenly and Jasper nodded.
“Precisely. Shustov was the one who offered to arrange the meeting, correct?”
“But he wouldn’t give up one of his own, would he?” Evelyn asked, looking from Bill to Jasper in consternation. “What would he have to gain by it?”
“We don’t know, and there’s no proof that he did,” Bill said. “Neither of the men seen getting on the ship match the description you gave me of Shustov. I don’t think he was there.”
“That’s if it even was Niva spotted getting on the ship,” Jasper added. “As I said, the source isn’t completely reliable. The ship was bound for Russia, and we’ve confirmed that it did sail on that date from Stockholm to Leningrad.”
“But he definitely didn’t return to Finland?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s all very disconcerting,” she muttered, sitting back in her chair and exhaling. “If he was taken by the Soviets, and Shustov wasn’t involved, he’s at risk as well. Have we heard anything from him?”
Bill shook his head. “No. That’s not unusual, though. Your father would go for months before he was contacted again.”
“So I just wait?”
“Yes. And in the meantime, you go to Oslo,” Jasper said. “I’m getting concerned about the increased activity there, especially from the Germans. The situation is very delicate, though. Norway is officially neutral, and they aren’t happy with us at the moment.”
“Because of the Altmark,” Evelyn said, nodded. “You can’t blame them, really. Not only did we breach their neutrality by engaging the Germans in their waters, but then Germany demanded reparations from them for allowing it to happen.”
“Agreed, but it has put a strain on our relations with them. Furthermore, we will be straining that relationship even more in the coming weeks. With Reynaud taking over in France, there are significant plans being made with regards to Norway.”
“Are we going back to the plan to lay mines in their waters?” Bill asked, startled. “I thought that was abandoned.”
“It was. Reynaud has revived it, and added to it substantially.” Jasper sat back and looked at them both soberly. “The fact is that Hitler gets his iron from the mines in northern Sweden. If we can take away the possibility of the Germans moving that iron through the Norwegian ports, we can cripple their supply lines. I’m sure you understand how vital iron ore is to them. Not only that, but if they gain control of the ports along the western coast of Norway, the German navy will have unrestricted access to the North Atlantic. Given the havoc their submarines are wreaking on our shipping already, that is to be avoided at all costs.”
Evelyn stared at him. “You’re talking about Hitler invading Norway.”
“It’s believed that he will try. Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? He’d be a fool not to.”
“So we’re going to mine the waters to try to disrupt the German naval movements? That will infuriate the Norwegians, and it will force Hitler to retaliate,” Bill pointed out.
“Exactly. That’s why I said that things are about to get even more strained.”
“If Hitler retaliates, we’ll go into Norway,” Evelyn said suddenly. “That’s what they’re thinking, isn’t it? That we’ll go in first.”
Jasper looked at her in surprise. “Very good, Miss Ainsworth.”
“It’s what Hitler and Stalin have both done. They’ve created an incident and then used that to justify taking control of countries. We’re going to do the same thing.”
“Perhaps. Nothing is settled, and a lot can happen before it gets to that point.”
Evelyn pressed her lips together. The thought of using their own tactics against them didn’t disturb her as much as the thought of Norway paying the price for it. Norway was a country filled with thousands of innocent people. Jasper was discussing forcing war onto those people without any emotion, as if they wouldn’t be the ones to pay the price for it.
“Now that you’re aware of the situation,” he continued, oblivious to her simmering discomfort, “let’s discuss what you’ll be doing in Oslo. With all of this up in the air, we have to think about what happens if the Germans get to Norway first. As it stands right now, if Hitler invades Norway, we have no one there to get information out.”
“You want to build a network in Norway?” Bill asked incredulously.
“I want to gauge what the response would be if we tried. Things are shaky between our governments, but I want to know how that translates into the people themselves. If we can build even a small group to pass information, it will be critical in the event that Hitler does invade.”
“And you want me to do this?” Evelyn asked, staring at him in astonishment. “I don’t know the first thing about gauging people’s interest or building networks!”
“You know much more than you think,” he said dryly. “According to Carew, you have a willing disciple in the translator you worked with in November. You also managed to cultivate a new and unknown asset in the NKVD. He’s since disappeared, but the fact remains that you gained his trust. Bill says that your French associate spoke very highly of you after meeting you in ΄38, and it doesn’t appear that that opinion has changed since. That isn’t something that can be learned, my dear. We can teach you how to recognize possible recruits and how to approach them, but that’s where it ends. Gaining their trust and respect is something that can’t be taught. And you appear to have that rather invaluable skill.”
“But...I wouldn’t even know where to begin!”
“Which is why you
will begin a crash course training tomorrow morning. Bill will give you directions and the appropriate credentials to access the facility. It’s not far, only about an hour’s drive.”
“And when do I leave?” she asked, resigned. There was no arguing with them. That much was clear.
“You’ll have three days of intensive training, then you’ll be on your way. We’ve arranged for you to leave from London. You should be on your way by Sunday at the latest. Time is of the utmost importance.”
“I understand.”
He nodded and his face relaxed into a small smile.
“Good. Then Bill will take care of the rest.”
Chapter Eight
Zurich, Switzerland
“Here you are, Herr Pemberton,” the concierge said with a smile, handing over a room key. “Please enjoy your stay. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to inquire.”
“Thank you.” The man took the key and picked up his suitcase, turning away from the desk. He went a few steps, then paused and turned back. “Actually, there is something. I need to send a telegram. Do you have that ability here?”
“Yes, of course.” The concierge reached under the counter, producing a pad. “If you fill out the form, we can send it directly from the hotel.”
Mr. Pemberton went back to the desk. “Thank you. I’ll take it to my room and drop it off when I go out for dinner.”
“Very good, sir.”
He took the slip of paper from the concierge and turned away again, moving towards the lift, waving away the services of a porter. A short time later, he unlocked the door to his room and went inside. The hotel was one of the best in the city, and the room was large and comfortable. After a cursory look around, he set down his suitcase and crossed over to the window.
The sun was setting, casting the mountains in the distance in varying shades of pink and orange. He stared at the breathtaking sight for a moment, then turned to drop the slip of paper on a desk positioned near the window. He had to compose a message to Berlin, but it could wait a few minutes.
Crossing back to his suitcase, he lifted it onto the bed and undid the leather clasps. The journey from London had been long and he was tired, but he had to meet the Swiss attaché for dinner in an hour. That meant changing into dinner clothes. He glanced at his watch and opened the case.
This was his first official trip to Zurich. He’d been twice before, but both times were for skiing and relaxation. This was his first time being sent by London on official business. His lips twisted faintly. If nothing else, war was good for advancement, at least in Whitehall. Zurich had always been Robert Ainsworth’s domain, but his death had left a void that few expected would ever be filled. He was hoping to change that way of thinking.
Fifteen minutes later saw the man dressed impeccably in a black formal suit. He adjusted his cuffs and looked at himself critically in the full length mirror. It would do. Percy Pemberton, as he was known to the hotel, was a traveling salesman from London and, as such, would have to wine and dine his clients. If the suit made him look more like the upper-class English politician that he was he doubted that anyone in the hotel would notice. Perhaps in the restaurant someone would recognize the cut of the suit as that of an English tailor, but in the restaurant he would be known by his real name; no one would question him.
He turned and went back to the desk, seating himself and picking up a pencil. This Zurich trip had turned out to be rather perfect timing, really. Not only would he have the opportunity to meet with his German handler in person, but he could also assure them of his eventual success in making good on his promise to retrieve what Robert Ainsworth had stolen. Unfortunately, he had been unable to do so as of yet. They were getting impatient in Berlin, and who could blame them? He’d said he could deliver, and then he hadn’t. The only thing saving him right now was the obvious fact that while he had been unable to locate the missing package, so had everyone else. The secrets were still safe, for the time being.
But that wouldn’t last for long.
The man thought for a moment, staring sightlessly across the room. How to word the telegram? He wanted to make sure that the information reached Berlin immediately, before he met with his handler the following day. He wanted no surprises here in Switzerland. More than one agent had died here recently, and he had no wish to join them.
Lowering his eyes to the paper, he wrote quickly, filling out the spaces.
ARRIVED IN ZURICH. EVERYTHING ON SCHEDULE. PRODUCT STILL IN PRODUCTION. RÄTSEL MODEL ADVANCING QUICKLY. KNOWN AS JIAN BY THE WORKERS. NEXT PLANNED STOP IS OSLO.
When he had finished, he sat back and set the pencil down. There. That would buy him time with Berlin. His current standing would be assured as long he continued to provide information that would aid with Operation Nightshade. And, lucky for him, he had access to information that would prove useful.
It wasn’t as easy as it had been five months ago. They had shut down access to that entire section of the security service in November, followed closely by several others. It was difficult now, but not impossible. The spy the Germans called Rätsel was still active and, as such, information could be found.
One just had to know where to look.
Dorchester Hotel, London
March 31, 1940
Evelyn looked across the table at Miles and smiled. He was dressed in his uniform, which was impressive in its own right, but his careless elegance seemed more apparent than ever this evening. From the time they’d arrived at the exclusive restaurant and he’d given his name to the maître d', he’d done nothing but play the gentleman to her and everyone around them. It was a strange shift from the laughing, carefree man she was getting to know, but it was a shift that seemed to be just as much a part of him as the reckless pilot. This was Miles Lacey of the Yorkshire Laceys.
“That dress is far from RAF issue,” he said with a grin. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you!”
“I came to London on Friday for a meeting with the solicitors,” she said easily, reaching for her glass of wine. “I could hardly wear my uniform all weekend. They’re dreadfully uncomfortable, you know.”
“Do you think so? They seem fine to me.”
“Of course they do. You’re used to wearing a tie!” she retorted. “Although, more often than not, you’re not wearing it when I see you. Why do you wear a silk neckerchief?”
“It’s a sight more comfortable, for one thing,” he said. “I’ve also learned, as did most of the other pilots who went before me, that turning your head constantly in the cockpit tends to rub your neck raw. One of the chaps who trained us flew in Spain. He gave us the tip about the silk scarves or neckerchiefs.”
“I would never have thought of that on my own,” Evelyn admitted, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “It makes perfect sense, though.”
“They also make us look dashing and set us apart from everyone else,” he added with a wink.
She laughed. “So they do.”
“How is Fred Durton? Are they flying patrols now as well?”
“Yes. He’s just like a schoolboy, all giddy with excitement.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “I can’t imagine you like that, but I suppose you must be happy to be doing something other than fly training sorties.”
“I am,” he admitted. “I think we’re all glad that the waiting seems to be almost over. But I’m also a bit more pragmatic than some of the others. I don’t think it will be quite what we’re all expecting. How can it be? The Luftwaffe pilots are much more experienced than we are. They’ve already seen battle in Spain and Poland. All we’ve done is hours of formation flying.”
“Not all the Luftwaffe pilots have seen battle,” she said. “I’m sure there are just as many who haven’t yet.”
Miles shrugged and let out a noise suspiciously like a grunt. “Perhaps.”
“Do you believe in luck?” she asked suddenly. “I mean, like lucky charms and t
hat sort of thing?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You mean like a lucky rabbits foot?”
“Yes. Fred does. He wears a chain round his neck when he flies with a medal on it. St. Christopher, I think. Says it was his fathers. He won’t go up without it, apparently.”
“I never have before,” he said slowly, “but I don’t suppose I ever gave it much thought. Slippy, one of the other pilots in my flight, has a lucky sharks tooth that he takes up with him.”
“And you don’t have anything?”
Miles winked. “I don’t need luck, m’dear. I’m a fantastic flier.”
Evelyn laughed. “Of course you are.”
“What do you think about the situation in France?” he asked after a moment.
“You mean with the prime minister?” When he nodded, she shrugged. “I think people were fed up with Daladier. My uncle says that more should have been done to help Finland, but that Daladier didn’t have the courage to do it.”
“And Reynaud does?”
Evelyn couldn’t help but think of Reynaud’s immediate push to maneuver into Norway before Hitler did and her lips tightened imperceptibly.
“I think so,” she said slowly. “I think he’s more in line with what people like my uncle want in a leader. He’s keeping Daladier on in his cabinet, so he’s being sure to appease everyone.”
“I can’t help but wonder if the same thing will happen here,” Miles said unexpectedly. “There is a very large portion of the House that doesn’t think Chamberlain’s the man to lead us in this war. After all, he did everything in his power to prevent it, and now he hasn’t done anything really to show that we’re serious.”
“I know you don’t like him,” she said with a quick smile. “I don’t much, either, but Lord Halifax would replace him and I don’t know that that’s any better. At least we know what we have with Chamberlain.”
“Yes. We have our bombers flying over Poland dropping pamphlets instead of bombs.” He reached for his whiskey and soda. “It’s ridiculous. We’re at war and we’re bombing them with paper! I can guarantee that any fighters that come across our bombers won’t be shooting spitballs. The crews are risking their lives, and for what?”