Night Falls on Norway

by CW Browning

  “Will the people follow him?” Bill asked, going back to his chair and resuming his seat. “I always got the impression he didn’t garner very many followers.”

  “He doesn’t, and I know King Haakon can’t stand the man. The Norwegian military is loyal to the King. Quisling won’t be able to take control of them so easily, not while the King is still alive.”

  Bill looked up sharply. “You think the Germans will try to assassinate him?”

  “They’d be fools if they didn’t,” Jasper replied. “He commands the loyalty of the military and the people. He is a beloved leader. If Hitler wants to control Norway, he needs to remove the king.”

  “Is King Haakon still in Oslo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oslo will be one of the landing points if they do try to invade. If the king is still there...” Bill’s voice trailed off and he shook his head. “I wish I had known all of this yesterday.”

  “Would you have pulled Jian out?” Jasper asked, watching his face.

  Bill was silent for a long time, then he sighed heavily.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “She’s clearly making progress, and in the absence of irrefutable proof of an invasion, it might be premature to pull her out. The ships could be going to Sweden for all we know.”

  “And if they do go to Norway?”

  “Then I’ll contact Carew and have him get a message to her,” Bill said after another long silence. “He’ll know how to find her; one of his translators is working with her.”

  Jasper nodded slowly. “As long as you get her out in time,” he said. “I don’t want to lose her in Norway. We’re going to need her, and more like her. You know that.”

  “Yes.”

  “If she does manage to put some kind of network together, and the Germans do invade, we’ll already have something in place,” Jasper said thoughtfully. “Chamberlain will send troops to support the Norwegians. He won’t have a choice. When he does, we can send in equipment for the people she’s organized. That will go a long way to establishing our seeds.”

  “As long as the Germans don’t get to them first,” Bill said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet. I have every confidence that Evelyn can succeed, but I have less confidence that a sudden invasion won’t make her new recruits scatter. And who would blame them?”

  “Even if they do, you and I both know that when the dust settles, they’ll emerge again. People like that always do. They wouldn’t agree to do it otherwise.”

  Bill nodded slowly.

  “And they would be fighting to get their country back. I can’t think of a better motivation than that,” he agreed. “I’ll keep Jian in place as long as I think it wise, but then I’m pulling her out, whether she’s finished or not. As you said, we’re going to need her. I don’t want to risk losing her in Norway.”

  “Agreed.”

  Moscow, USSR

  Vladimir Lyakhov opened the door of the large, three-story building that occupied half of the section of Ulitsa Bol'shaya Lubyanka and stepped outside onto the pavement. A sharp wind howled down the city street and he fastened his coat before turning to walk towards the corner. It was April, but the wind still carried the bite of winter, and the heavy clouds in the sky threatened an onslaught of rain or snow. Even so, the fresh air was welcome to the NKVD agent, who had spent the last four hours in an interrogation room with a man who reeked of rotting onions.

  Taking a deep breath, Vladimir reached the corner of the building and glanced down the intersecting street to his right. A short man in a dull brown overcoat and hat nodded to him, and Vladimir nodded once in acknowledgment before stepping off the curb and crossing the street. His departure had been noted.

  Reaching the pavement on the other side, he strode along the busy street towards the square. It was nice to stretch his legs and get clean air into his lungs. He would pass the square and then continue to the small restaurant where he preferred to take his solitary meals. Vladimir glanced at his watch. He just had time to eat before going home to pack. He was booked on a train leaving for Poland in three hours, and would not be back in Moscow for at least a week, perhaps longer. He had his new friend who smelled like onions to thank for that.

  He shook his head as he walked. It was amazing what damage a mere ship mechanic could do when given the right amount of incentive. And the Nazis had given him plenty of incentive. Vladimir’s lips tightened. If he hadn’t tracked him down when he did, the damage would have been much worse. At least now, he could contain it. To do so, he would be forced to spend a few unpleasant days hunting down the man’s fellow collaborators in Poland, but then it would be done and he could turn his attention to the more pressing matter that had also come to light during the interrogation.

  It had been a single name, and he was positive that the man had no idea what it meant. But Vladimir did, and he had been shocked to hear it tumble past bloody, cracked lips.

  Eisenjager.

  The German agent had become a legend in the SS and the NKVD alike, and something of a thorn in Vladimir’s side. Each time he came across the name, it inevitably resulted in complications with one of his own investigations, or an investigation in which he had an interest. That the agent really did exist was beyond doubt. This wasn’t just another made-up story that had been blown up beyond the realms of reality. The agent was real, and so were his results. Not only a formidable spy, but trained by the elite Waffen-SS; the agent blended intelligence gathering with more forceful methods. Not very different from what Vladimir did himself, but where he was part of an entire system, the German agent was a lone wolf under the Abwehr umbrella. No one seemed to know how he ended up with the German intelligence agency rather than the notorious SD, but that he had thrived there was an understatement. He was as efficient as he was ruthless. If Eisenjager was looking for you, you would be found. And that would be the last anyone ever heard of you.

  Reaching the square, Vladimir strode past without sparing a glance for the impressive facade of the Kremlin in the distance. It was a sight that had long ceased to stir any kind of emotion in him other than that of knowing he was home. But home had taken on many meanings over the past few years, and so that word had also ceased to stir an emotion. Perhaps it was just as well. In his life, he had no time for sentiment. In fact, in his experience, sentiment had led directly to the downfall of more than a few good men and women. He had no intention of becoming one of them.

  He was crossing the road to get to the restaurant a few moments later when he caught sight of a tall man out of the corner of his eye. He was getting out of the back of a black car, dressed in the same uniform that Vladimir wore.

  “Comrade!” he called as Vladimir reached the pavement a few yards away.

  Vladimir stopped and turned, watching as the man walked towards him. His coat hung open over his uniform and he carried his gloves in one hand. The sharp wind didn’t appear to bother him, and as he reached Vladimir, he held out his hand with a friendly smile.

  “It’s been a long time, Vlad,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Comrade Grigori.” Vladimir shook his hand and nodded in greeting. “I’m on my way to dinner. Would you care to join me?”

  “Thank you.” Grigori fell into step beside him and they continued to the entrance of the restaurant a few feet away. “Congratulations on your promotion. I’m sorry I missed it. I was in Leningrad at the time.”

  Vladimir nodded. “So I heard. Thank you. You didn’t miss very much.”

  “Just barrels of vodka, or so I’m told. Was Beria really there? He didn’t come to mine in December.”

  “He didn’t stay long,” Vladimir assured him as they walked into the restaurant.

  “So now we are equals again,” Grigori said with a grin. “I’ll have to work harder on the next promotion.”

  “As if you ever stopped,” Vladimir said with a chuckle. “You were always the ambitious one. I’ve
never sought these.”

  “And yet they just keep handing them to you.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  Grigori slapped him on his shoulder. “You are too modest, my old friend. You’ve deserved each and every one. You’re a true Tovarisch.”

  Vladimir grunted and turned to walk towards his usual table at the back of the restaurant. It was unoccupied. It was always unoccupied when he arrived, a reflection of his status in the government hierarchy. He came here when he wanted a good meal. When he wanted anonymity, he went to one of the many crowded canteens in the city.

  “What brings you out today, Grigori?” he asked, unbuttoning his coat and removing it. He hung it on a rack near the table and stripped off his gloves. “It’s not like you to hunt me out.”

  “Can’t an old friend say hello?” Grigori asked, hanging up his own coat and turning to seat himself. “If I waited for you to come find me, I’d wait forever.”

  “I’ve been very busy,” Vladimir said, sitting down. “I’m leaving again tonight and won’t be back for several days. You caught me at a good time.”

  “I know.” Grigori ran his eye over the menu. “You’re going to Poland. Or, rather, what was Poland.”

  “Yes.” Vladimir didn’t question how the other man knew his travel plans. There were eyes and ears all over the city, and nothing was secret anymore. “I don’t know when I will return. Perhaps in a week. Perhaps more.”

  “Lucky you. I’ll be here until the end of the week, and then I’m back to Leningrad.” Grigori set the menu aside and focused his dark gaze on Vladimir. “You’re correct, though. There was a reason I sought you out today, Comrade. Something I thought you would find interesting.”

  “Oh?”

  “I received some information from the Germans the other day. Do you remember the British agent in Oslo last November? Blonde woman?”

  Vladimir raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes. The Germans interfered to such an extent that she got away from you.”

  Grigori scowled at the reminder. “Yes.”

  Vladimir made a slight gesture with his hand and they fell silent as a waiter came over to take their order. Once he’d left again, Grigori looked at Vladimir.

  “We never did pick up her trail again. She disappeared.”

  “I doubt that she disappeared, Grigori,” Vladimir murmured, amused. “She’s not a ghost.”

  “Perhaps not, but we were unable to find any trace of her. Until now. The Germans think they know where she is.”

  Vladimir looked across the table, his face not betraying anything but mild interest. “Really?”

  Grigori nodded. “Yes. They say she is in Norway again.”

  “Why would she go back to Norway? There is nothing there to interest the British.”

  “Why was she there in November?” Grigori retorted. “It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that the Germans have sent Eisenjager.”

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard that name today,” Vladimir said, his brows drawing together.

  “Is it?” Grigori didn’t sound surprised. “I find it interesting that the Abwehr has become involved.”

  “It was the SD that lost her in Stockholm. I would think that didn’t sit very well in Berlin.”

  “Very true.” Grigori nodded and sat back as the waiter returned to set down glasses of clear liquid. “They are obviously serious about apprehending her if they’ve sent Eisenjager,” he continued after the man had gone again. “His reputation doesn’t allow for the kind of sloppy carelessness that happened in Stockholm.”

  “No. It does not.”

  “If the Nazis get her, we will look like fools,” Grigori said after a moment. “I mentioned it this morning in a meeting. I’m pushing for one of us to be given the task of finding her.”

  Vladimir raised an eyebrow. “I thought they determined that she wasn’t a threat?”

  “Do you really believe Canaris would send Eisenjager if she wasn’t?” Grigori demanded, reaching for his vodka. “I don’t pretend to know why they want her so badly, but if they do, there must be a good reason.”

  He took a drink, then pushed his chair back. “I have to piss. When I come back, we toast to your new rank.”

  Vladimir nodded and watched as his old friend made his way to the door leading to the restrooms. He reached for his glass and took a sip of the vodka, his eyes narrowing. So the Germans were getting close to tracking down Evelyn. How the hell had they found her? What was MI6 doing? Were they really that careless? Didn’t they know what they had in Robert Ainsworth’s daughter?

  His mind went back to the library in Oslo last November. His conversation with the pretty young woman had been brief, but it had been long enough for him to realize that she was following in the steps of her father. And, unless he was mistaken, she would far exceed what her father had been capable of. Jian was a raw talent, but she was one that would learn quickly and become invaluable to whatever government controlled her.

  And clearly the Nazis wanted to be that government.

  Eisenjager was only sent for one of two reasons: to assassinate or to turn. If the Nazis wanted her dead, they would have stuck with the SD. That was what they were trained for, to hunt and kill. No. The very fact that Eisenjager was on Jian’s trail told him that they wanted her alive. If they got their hands on her, there was a very real possibility of them being able to turn her into one of their greatest weapons. It was something his own government excelled at, and Himmler had shown a definite flair for the process. If he had his way, the Nazis would soon be almost as good as the Soviets were at psychological manipulation.

  Vladimir took another drink. It was time for him to begin setting his own plans into motion. He had to take precautions against Jian being captured by either the Nazis or his own agency. She had the potential to be far too valuable to him. He couldn’t risk anyone else gaining control of her.

  It was time to contact her again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ––––––––

  Oslo, Norway

  Evelyn looked up at the tall building skeptically. While it wasn’t shabby, precisely, it was not the type of building that she was used to frequenting. In fact, the whole neighborhood was bordering somewhere between the fading grandeur of times past and the encroaching poverty of a depressed economy. She looked at Anna.

  “This is it?”

  Anna nodded. “Yes. He’s on the fourth floor, according to the letterboxes.”

  She opened the door and Evelyn swallowed a sigh, following her into the apartment building. Inside, the light was dim but the entryway was clean and the paint, while not fresh, wasn’t peeling from the walls. She forced herself to relax. She had no doubt in her ability to defend herself if needed, but she would rather not have Anna see that side of her just yet. She already knew far too much about Evelyn as it was.

  The two women climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. They didn’t pass anyone and the only sound came on the second floor where someone was playing a radio behind one of the doors. When they reached Olav’s floor, Anna looked around before leading the way down the narrow hallway to a door at the end.

  “This is it,” she said, lifting a gloved hand to knock briskly on the door. “Here’s hoping that he’s at home.”

  There was a moment of silence and then they heard a muffled noise on the other side of the door. Footsteps followed and the lock clicked before the door opened partway and a young man with a mustache peered out at them.

  “Ja?”

  “Mr. Larsen?” Anna asked with a smile. “Peder Strand gave us your name and address. He suggested we come see you about some artwork.”

  Olav Larsen raised a thick dark eyebrow and opened the door a little wider.

  “He did, did he?” he asked, looking at both of them more closely. “Then you’d better come in.”

  He swung the door open and stood aside so
they could enter the small apartment. Evelyn swallowed as she stepped inside, but was pleasantly surprised by the neat and tidy living area she found herself in. The furniture was simple, with only a small sofa and two chairs and a long, low table in the center. Late afternoon sun streamed through the window, brightening the room considerably after the dim light in the hallway.

  “Thank you. My name is Anna Salvesen, and this is my friend Marlene. Peder sends his regards and says that you should come by the shop one day.”

  “How is Peder?” Olav asked, moving around them. “I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

  “He’s well.” Anna looked around curiously. “I’m sorry to have come without sending a message first. I hope we aren’t disturbing you.”

  Olav motioned them to the chairs.

  “No. I was just finishing up some work,” he said, waving vaguely in the direction of a door to their left. He sat down on the couch and looked at them expectantly. “Why did Peder send you to me? What can I do for you?”

  “Actually, he wasn’t very clear about what kind of artist you were,” Evelyn said, working her gloves off her fingers. “He seemed to think that I would be interested in your work.”

  Olav studied her for a moment. “And so here you are?”

  “Yes.”

  “You speak Norwegian very well, but I don’t think you’re from Oslo, are you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you German?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God for that,” he said. “I had a German once who didn’t pay me. I haven’t worked with any since.”

  Evelyn smiled faintly. “I can’t say that I blame you.”

  “What kind of artist are you, Mr. Larsen?” Anna asked.

  A faint smile crossed his face. “Portraits, mainly,” he said. “I used to do landscapes, but there was no money in those.”