The Iron Storm

by CW Browning

  His lips tightened into a frown. The German agent in the lobby of the hotel hadn’t worried him at all. The man in the street who had followed her from the station was another story altogether. That man worried him greatly. He wasn’t German, of that Vladimir was certain. He looked like a local man. Most likely he was a Belgian agent working for the Germans. They were everywhere now, these double agents. It was one of the reasons he took so many precautions himself. Himmler and Canaris weren’t the only ones turning agents all over the world. His own agency had their fair share as well, and Vladimir had to avoid all of them. There were eyes and ears everywhere now, and that was just part of the war. He was used to it and, if he was honest with himself, thrived on the challenge of smuggling classified information out from the Soviet Union. Evelyn, however, had just had her first taste of the realities of operating on the continent.

  The man she’d met in the station had undoubtedly been another agent. Vladimir had no idea which country he owed his allegiance to, but Evelyn obviously did. She had met with him, accepted a package from him, and the mystery as to why she had gone directly to Antwerp was solved. She was picking up a packet from another agent. Simple enough operation, really, and not very surprising. If MI6 was sending her to Belgium anyway, there was no reason not to have her complete a mission for them at the same time. Nothing complicated, just an easy exchange. At least, it would have been if the other agent hadn’t been followed.

  She had done surprisingly well, all things considered. Vladimir didn’t know when exactly she realized that she was being followed, but she obviously had. She had returned to the hotel and gone through the front doors, only to exit half an hour later as an old woman through the back alley. The frown lightened suddenly into a very faint smile. He had almost missed her himself. If it hadn’t been for her single glance back to the man in the street after bumping into him, Vladimir would never have realized it was her. That was no small feat. There were very few who could get past him. If she hadn’t looked back, she would have joined those few.

  But she had looked back, and if the man in the brown coat had noticed, she would have blown her cover in that second. She had to do better.

  They exited the train station and Evelyn raised her hand to flag down a taxi. He grunted in approval, picking up his pace. Good. She wasn’t taking any chances. She was taking the safe route to a hotel. He raised a hand to get the attention of a taxi himself. He would make sure she arrived at her hotel, and stayed this time, before returning to his own. Tomorrow would be soon enough to proceed.

  At least now he had a very good idea of what kind of agent young Evie was shaping into, and she was coming along much faster than he’d been expecting. She was definitely improving, and she was showing him that he hadn’t been wrong in his initial evaluation of her. Evelyn Ainsworth would make one hell of an agent one day.

  And he had every intention of making sure that day came sooner rather than later.

  Brussels, Belgium

  May 8

  Evelyn stretched and got up from her seat before the writing desk, walking to the window to look out over the city. Early morning sun flooded the streets below and she watched as men and women hurried along the pavement to start their day. After arriving last night, she’d had a late dinner in the restaurant before going to her room and collapsing into bed, falling into a deep sleep. To say that the previous day had been long and exhausting was an understatement. By the time she had finished her very late dinner, her energy had all but deserted her and it was all she could do to make it up to her room.

  She still had no idea just how, exactly, she’d managed to get past the man following her and get to the station in time to catch the last train. She didn’t even really seem to have a clear recollection of gathering her bag and changing into the shapeless dress she’d stolen from the laundry in the basement. The hat and scarf had been pilfered from the laundry room as well, and she remembered that well enough. She had just been slipping out of the massive room when two of the employees came back from their dinner break. They hadn’t seen her, but that had been only due to sheer luck. Everything after that, however, was something of a blur. Thinking about it now, she shook her head in wonder. She had been calm and focused last night when she realized what she needed to do, but now in the bright light of day, she had absolutely no idea how she’d done any of it. So much could have gone wrong! And yet, it hadn’t. She’d made it away and to Brussels before the man following her had any idea she’d left and, more importantly, before he could make any attempt to take the package from her.

  The package. It all came down to that in the end. All the panic, and the flight from Antwerp, was all due to that oilskin-wrapped package. At least now it was safe, concealed in the hidden compartment in her suitcase. That was all that really mattered.

  Evelyn turned away from the window and was moving back to the desk when a knock fell on the door. Her heart thumped in her chest and she glanced at her watch. It was just past eight in the morning and the only person who knew she was here was the night manager who had checked her in. For one panicked moment, she had visions of the man from the street in Antwerp standing outside the door, but she dismissed them a second later. She was being silly. She was perfectly safe now.

  Crossing the room resolutely, she opened the door. A liveried porter stood in the thickly carpeted hallway holding a white envelope.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Fournier,” he said pleasantly. “This was left for you a few moments ago at the front desk.”

  “Merci.”

  Evelyn took the envelope, smiling in thanks, and closed the door. She locked it again and turned away. Relief was flooding through her and she shook her head, annoyed with herself for being so frightened by a simple knock on the door. Ignoring the trembling in her hands, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a plain card.

  The Church of St. Michael & St Gudula, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Enter from the side vestibule and go towards the back of the church. Sit near the statue of Saint Simon. ~ Shustov

  A soft gasp escaped her and Evelyn instinctively glanced over her shoulder at the closed and locked door. How did Lyakhov know she was staying in this hotel? He didn’t know what name she was using, and she wasn’t supposed to arrive at all until today. How on earth did he know she was already here? It was impossible! Except it clearly wasn’t. She lowered her eyes to the card in her hand, staring at the printed letters. They were written in a firm, neat hand that was as masculine as it was generic. Her eyes narrowed suddenly and she flipped the card over, exhaling at the sight of the hotel crest. He had used this hotel’s own stationary to write the message. So much for tracking him down with the paper he’d used.

  “How?” she muttered out loud irritably. “How do you always know where I am?”

  She went over to drop the card onto the desk, glaring down at it. In Oslo last November, it had been the same. He had slipped a note into her coat pocket directing her to an open market, but when he’d done it, she had no idea. In November he’d been following her after being alerted that she’d arrived in the city. Now he’d found her again, and she still had no idea how. It was infuriating. In Oslo, she hadn’t known what he looked like, but she did now and still hadn’t seen him. It was like the man was a ghost: a very dangerous, Soviet ghost.

  Evelyn dropped into her chair and picked up the card once more, reading it through again before reaching for the box of matches on the writing desk. She struck a match and held the flame to the corner of the card, watching as the heavy paper caught light. Tomorrow morning she would go to the church and meet with Shustov, although she wasn’t looking forward to it. His longstanding friendship with her father aside, the man was a Soviet agent and therefore couldn’t be trusted. If it weren’t for Bill vouching for the fact that the intelligence Shustov provided was worth it, she wasn’t sure that she would have agreed to continue the relationship with him. It was one thing to do what needed to be done to aid England in Her time of need and war, but it was q
uite another to become chummy with an enemy Soviet officer.

  The flames licked across the card, devouring the paper and ink, turning it all to ash over the heavy, crystal ashtray. Watching it disappear, Evelyn sighed and dropped the last bit into the ashtray before the flames reached her fingers. She was lying to herself, she admitted. She would have continued the relationship for the simple reason that it would be fool-hardy not to. She may not be very experienced yet in this world of espionage and secrets, but she knew that the majority of her success would depend upon the people she knew. If nothing else, Vladimir Lyakhov was certainly someone worth knowing. While she didn’t know what his exact rank was in the Soviet Union, she knew it had to be substantial for MI6 to be pandering to him so shamelessly. And anyone with that kind of clout was always worth knowing.

  And Bill wanted her to spy on him?

  It would be laughable if it weren’t so terrifying. She watched as the last of the flames died in the ashtray and sat back, her brows drawn together. She didn’t know the first thing about spying on an actual person. She knew how to gather information, and how to listen, but how on earth was she going to extract information from a man who was always three steps ahead of her? And what would happen if he realized what she was doing? At the very least, they would lose their source in Moscow, and at the worst...well, she couldn’t even consider that. If she did, there was no way she would go to the church tomorrow morning.

  Evelyn let out an impatient grunt and got up, reaching for her purse. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself. If she continued sitting here worrying about it, she would work herself into a tizzy over something she couldn’t control. For now, she would have breakfast, and then she’d spend the day exploring Brussels. She wasn’t about to let herself waste a whole day worrying.

  As she turned towards the door, her eyes fell on the suitcase sitting next to the bed in the adjoining bedroom. Evelyn hesitated. She was reluctant to leave the oil-skin package in the hotel room, but she wasn’t sure that carrying it with her would be any better. After a moment of indecision, she strode into the bedroom. She would take it with her. If the plans were important enough for the Germans to send men to follow Lars, then they were important enough to keep with her at all times.

  And Evelyn had no intention of losing the package she’d gone through so much the night before to keep safe.

  Liège, Belgium

  Hans Voss strode along the River Meuse, his shoes clicking on the old stones of the walkway. A stiff breeze came off the water, blowing against his long black coat and causing it to flare around his legs, sending a chill through him. He ignored it and looked over the water appreciatively, taking a deep breath. The morning sun was shining brightly and the air was crisp and fresh, not unlike his hometown of Drochtersen on the Elbe River. He hadn’t been back there in over a year now, but the smell of the river and the bite of the breeze revitalized him and made him wonder if perhaps he was beginning to miss the town he grew up in. He’d made his home in Berlin, but he was rarely there anymore. He was travelling more and more, and that would only increase when the Führer finally moved against France. A frown crossed his lips as he watched the sun glisten on the waves, almost blinding him with millions of shards of light. The constant movement and city life was becoming tiresome. Perhaps it was time to move himself into the country, somewhere more quiet and peaceful for those rare times when he was home.

  Shaking his head, Hans turned his gaze back to the river walk. There would be time enough to consider this idea when he was back in Germany. Right now, he was on his way to meet with Frau Lutz, one of his agents. She had news of the missing plans from Stuttgart, and he had never known her information to be inaccurate. His pulse quickened, and then his stride. He was getting closer to recovering the stolen plans. He could feel it. It wouldn’t be long before they had them back, and perhaps even something extra along with them. If he could interrogate the courier as well, it would be an added bonus. With any luck, Hans would not only retrieve the plans but also discover the network that was moving them. Once he had names, it would be a very easy thing to eliminate the agents.

  Ahead, seated on a bench next to a picturesque streetlamp, was a woman dressed in a conservative blue skirt with a matching jacket. She had a large, sensible bag next to her on the bench, and she was looking out over the river. As he approached, she glanced up and her pointed features relaxed into a cordial smile.

  “Guten Morgen, Herr Schmidt,” she greeted him. “It’s a nice morning.”

  “Frau Lutz.” Hans inclined his head and seated himself on the bench. “Guten Morgen.”

  While he knew everything there was to know about Frau Mira Lutz, she knew him only as Herr Schmidt, and always had. Not all of his fellow SD officers were so cautious with their informants, but Hans prided himself on his network security. If Frau Lutz was ever captured, she wasn’t in possession of any information that could possibly put him or his operations at risk. His codename was the only name she knew, and she was aware of little else besides his rank. It was the same with all his people in Belgium and Holland. The less they knew, the better all around. The only aspect that was real for all of them was their very healthy respect and fear of what he was capable of.

  “Do you have any news for me from Berlin?” she asked.

  “They would like you to begin cultivating more contacts in the cities here,” he replied calmly. “The Führer will be moving into Belgium and France soon. The more eyes and ears we have to help identify the enemy, the better.”

  “Yes, of course. Are there any particular sorts of people you’d like me to focus on?”

  “Those in positions of social standing wherever possible. You know which ones have access to the most information. You’re expected to recruit accordingly.”

  “Yes, Herr Schmidt.” She nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “And now I believe your message said that you had information for me regarding the package that was taken from Stuttgart.”

  “I do. One of our agents has been watching a Dutch courier for weeks. We know he passes information along to enemy agents in France, but we’ve been unable to catch him.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t send for me only to tell me what you don’t have,” Hans said softly, his pale blue eyes cold.

  Frau Lutz visibly balked, but recovered quickly. “The agent is known as Lars, and two nights ago he came into possession of a packet that I believe is the package from Stuttgart. It was given to him in Rotterdam. I instructed our agent to attempt to retrieve it, but it proved impossible. He followed him instead. Yesterday, the Dutch agent came into Belgium and met with a woman in Antwerp.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yes. A courier. She was staying in one of the more expensive hotels under the name Marie Fournier.” Frau Lutz cleared her throat. “Our agent saw the package change hands from Lars to the woman, and he followed her from the meeting place back to the hotel.”

  “And the package?”

  “Went into the hotel with her.”

  Hans looked at her sharply when she stopped, his eyes narrowing.

  “And?” His voice was soft and dangerous.

  “The woman never came out of the hotel. When our agent went to retrieve the package in the night, she was gone and her room was empty.”

  Hans swore violently. “Where? Where did she go?”

  “After speaking with the night manager, the agent believes she snuck out and caught the last train to Brussels. He believes the package is still with her.”

  “There is no way for him to know that,” he snapped. “She could have passed it to another courier after she left the hotel. Not only did he lose the package, but he lost the courier as well. As far as I can see, Frau Lutz, you have nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing, Herr Schmidt,” she objected. “We know the woman went to Brussels.”

  “How?” he demanded. “Forgive me if I don’t put much store in the hazy beliefs of an agent who allowed her to disappear right from
under his nose.”

  “According to the hotel manager, she had him reserve a first class compartment on the morning train to Brussels. She must have decided not to wait, and took the night train instead.”

  Hans glared at her for a second, then made an impatient sound in his throat. “Or she could still be in Antwerp.” He fell silent for a moment, thinking. “What is this agents name who followed her to the hotel?”

  “Daan.”

  “Have him go to all the hotels and boarding houses in Antwerp to ensure that the woman didn’t simply change lodging. Report his findings back to me.”

  “Yes, Herr Schmidt.” She watched as he stood up. “I’ll send you a message as soon as I have something.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll contact you.” Hans turned to look down at her coldly. “I’m leaving Liège.”

  She looked startled. “But...where are you going?”

  “To Brussels. Someone has to take the matter in hand, as it appears that competence is suddenly lacking in those who were supposed to be taking care of this problem,” he said scathingly. “Do you have a description of this Marie Fournier?”

  Frau Lutz shook her head, lowering her eyes from his fierce gaze. “No. Daan believes she has light colored hair, but it was dark and he can’t be sure.”

  “Of course not. What you’re saying is that I have a name and nothing else.” Hans lips thinned unpleasantly. “When I catch up to Marie Fournier, you’d do well to hope that she still has the package.”

  Frau Lutz’s face paled considerably and she swallowed. The look of deadly promise in his icy blue eyes was terrifying and she stood up quickly.

  “I wish you God speed,” she said quickly.

  “God will have nothing to do with it, if he knows what’s good for him,” Hans muttered, spinning on his heel. “I want every hotel and boarding house in Antwerp checked before the end of the day,” he added over his shoulder. “See to it.”