by CW Browning
“Do we really? I think the French would beg to differ.”
“That’s because they’re French. They’re all too excitable, and always expect the worst.”
“Panzer divisions have gone through the Ardennes forest, Slippy. They’re heading into Sedan.”
“What?” The other man looked up, startled. “When did that happen?”
“Sometime this morning, I believe. I heard it on the wireless as I came in. They expect them to be in Sedan by nightfall.”
“Well bloody hell.”
“Precisely.” Miles picked up his tea cup and took a sip. “So you see, we don’t have all the time in the world. I’ll be very surprised if we even have a few weeks.”
Somewhere outside Avesnes-sur-Helpe, France
Evelyn watched as Jens unlatched the spare tire and lifted it from its mount. Of all the ridiculous things to have happen, it would have to be a flat.
“Can I help at all?” she asked, getting out of the way as the tire bounced once when he set it down.
“No, it’s all right. It will just take some time.” He glanced up at her as he rolled it to lean against the car near the deflated back tire. “I really do hate changing these.”
“I think everyone does,” she said with a grimace. “Shall I at least pass you your tools? I feel like a complete fool just standing here watching.”
Jens laughed and opened his metal tool box. “You can talk to me while I work,” he told her. “It will distract me from how much I dislike this.”
“If you dislike it so much, why do you keep a car?”
“Changing a tire is the only thing I dislike about driving. I’m happy to do any of the other maintenance and repairs. Tires always frustrate me. I never feel like I have them on tight enough and spend the next week waiting for it to come off while I’m driving.”
“It’s really very difficult for that happen, you know.”
Jens peered up at her. “Do you know cars, then?”
“Yes, a bit. When I learned to drive, my father insisted that I learn to repair the car, and know how to maintain it. He said it was like anything else in life: you must commit to it fully or not at all. And of course, the last thing you want is to be stuck stranded on a road without knowing how to get going again.”
“Wise man, your father.”
She watched him for a minute, then looked around the deserted road. Fields stretched on either side of them and there wasn’t another car in sight.
“I’m glad you had everything you need to fix it,” she said. “I don’t know when we’ll see another car. We seem to be quite in the middle of nowhere.”
“Of course we are. Isn’t that always when these things happen?” he muttered, wrestling with a stiff lug nut.
“I suppose so.”
“How did you and Josephine meet?” he asked a few moments later once he’d got the bad tire off.
“We met in Strasbourg before the war,” Evelyn said easily. “In a library.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “A library?” he repeated, laying the bad tire on the ground and turning to the spare. “I suppose I can picture you in a library, but not her. She really doesn’t seem like the bookish type.”
“And I do?”
“Yes, actually. I imagine you’ve read all the classics.” He glanced at her with a grin. “Am I right?”
She smiled ruefully. “For the most part. I may have missed one or two.”
“That’s what I thought.” He turned his attention back to the tire. “But Josephine seems like more of a cinema girl.”
Evelyn didn’t answer. She had nothing really to say. The truth was that they had met in a library, but neither of them had been looking for reading material.
“When did she get involved with the Deuxième Bureau?” he asked a few minutes later.
“I don’t know really,” she said honestly.
“But you knew what she did when we saw her in the field the other night?”
“Well, yes. “
The look he shot her was as searching as it was brief. As he lowered his head to the tire again, Evelyn exhaled silently. He was beginning to put two and two together, she realized, and was asking questions. All the right questions, unfortunately. She supposed it was inevitable that he would begin to question what it was she did after having spent a day with her and Josephine. It was bound to make him wonder if there was something more about her that he didn’t know. She steeled herself for half an hour of dodging probing questions and comments, mentally readying herself. But no more came. Jens went back to fixing the tire, seemingly dropping the subject.
Checking her watch, Evelyn stifled a sigh. It was getting on for noon already. They wouldn’t reach Marle much before tea time at this rate, and who knew what awaited them there. Josephine and Luc had both vouched for this Marcel, but Evelyn knew how quickly the simplest meeting could turn into a much more complicated affair. With the Wehrmacht bearing down on Sedan, she sincerely hoped that this wouldn’t be one of them.
“Do you think we can trust this Marcel?” Jens asked suddenly, unwittingly echoing her own thoughts.
Evelyn looked at him for a moment before shrugging.
“I hope so,” she replied. “Otherwise, we’ll have to find another way to get your information to the proper people, and I have no idea how we’ll manage it.”
“I wonder if perhaps I should just destroy it and be done with it,” he said slowly, sitting back and wiping his brow. A streak of black dirt appeared on his forehead. “It seems to be causing more trouble than it’s probably worth.”
“The only ones who can know that for sure are the French intelligence ministers,” she said. “You’ve already come this far. It would be a shame to stop now.”
Jens looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then he sighed and turned back to the tire.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“If Josephine and Luc trust this man, then I’m sure we can as well,” she said with more optimism than she felt. “Everything will be fine. Soon we’ll be in Paris and the only thing you’ll be worrying about is where to go first for dinner.”
“Or where we’ll be going to escape the German army.”
“And if that’s the case, we’ll face that when it happens,” she said briskly. “There’s no point in worrying about more than one thing at a time. Let’s get one thing sorted out at a time.”
“I wish this tire would get itself sorted out,” he muttered, reaching for a different tool. “If we ever get back on the road, it will be a miracle.”
“Do you know, I’m beginning to believe in miracles?”
Marle, France
Hans shifted his weight and leaned against the side of a building. He was standing in the shadows of an alley across from Asp’s house, watching. And waiting. He had spoken to the man earlier in the day, showing his identification card and telling him that he was aware of his activities. Asp had been more than impressed. Voss could have asked for the moon and the man would have tried to obtain it. It was only proper, after all. Hans was his superior in every way. When he told him that he wanted to know if a female courier had approached him to pass on a packet of stolen plans, Asp had seemed very disappointed to tell him no. Upon learning that Voss believed the woman was on her way to contact him, he agreed to do whatever it was that Voss required. Now all Hans had to do was wait.
He was just reaching into his coat for his cigarette case when a shiver of awareness streaked down his spine. He started to turn, but froze when he felt the cold press of metal against the back of his neck.
“I could have killed you five different ways before you ever realized I was behind you,” a deep voice spoke in German, rolling over him like smooth silk. “I expected more from an officer in the SS.”
Hans sucked in his breath, his blood running cold at the calm, and yet somehow terrifying, voice. Who was this man? And how did he know who he was? More importantly, who would dare pull a weapon on an officer of the SS?!
/> “I suppose you’re wondering who I am and why I dare to accost you,” the voice continued without emotion. “I am perhaps the one person in all of Germany who does not fear you, or what you can do.”
“Then you do not know me well,” Hans said coldly.
A soft chuckle greeted that and the metal was removed from his neck.
“I know you better than you think. I am Eisenjager.” Hans swung around, staring at him. “Ah. I see my reputation precedes me. Good. Then no further explanation is necessary.”
Eisenjager tucked his pistol back into the holster at his waist and pulled out a slim card wallet, handing it to him. Hans opened it and examined the identification card. It sported a full name that was, no doubt, false, and a photo of the man standing before him. It was signed and stamped by every level of department head through to the Abwehr. Looking up, he encountered a perfectly polite and perfunctory smile as Eisenjager held out his hand to take back the identification. Hans handed it back reluctantly, studying him. He was as tall as Hans was himself, with jet black hair and a perfect pencil mustache. He looked completely unremarkable, forgettable almost, and Hans wondered if this was really the fearsome assassin who had tales whispered about him in the canteens. He looked more like a salesman or businessman than a vicious killer.
“None aside from what you’re doing here,” he finally said, “or why you felt it necessary to pull a gun on your superior.”
The smile Eisenjager gave him was chilling.
“But you’re not my superior,” he said softly. “You are nothing to me. I am not part of your world anymore.”
Hans glowered but couldn’t argue. All of Canaris’s spies were sheltered and exempt from the standard code of hierarchy that governed every other branch of the military.
“What brings you to Marle?” he asked tightly, turning his attention back to the little house across the street.
“I’m looking for someone. I was sent here to consult with Asp. When I saw you here earlier today, I contacted Hamburg. We’ve been instructed to work with each other, as our respective operations have regrettably collided.”
Hans shot him a look over his shoulder. “Work together? I hardly think that’s necessary.”
Eisenjager shrugged. “You may, of course, contact your superiors in Berlin and verify the order.”
Hans pressed his lips together, his eyes narrowing. The assassin was too confident. It had to be true. If he contacted Berlin for confirmation, he would merely be wasting precious time, and possibly miss catching his courier all together.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, turning back to watch the house. “Who is your target?”
“A young Belgian. He fled from Brussels two days ago. I’ve been tracking him ever since. And you?”
“I’m looking for a courier. She took possession of a packet in Antwerp last week and we want it back before it falls into the hands of the English.” Hans flicked him an assessing look. “What is your business with the Belgian?”
Eisenjager didn’t answer but merely looked back, amused. Hans was betrayed into a snort of laughter.
“Of course. Well, if possible, I’d like my courier alive. There are some questions I’d like answered.”
“I don’t see any reason for either of us to get in each other’s way,” Eisenjager said smoothly. “I’ve made arrangements with the agent inside. Hamburg believes that my target is carrying information stolen from the Belgian State Security department. Asp will turn out the lamp in the front window and draw the curtains to signal that my target is inside. I will take it from there.”
Hans was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I will watch and allow my courier to make contact with Asp,” he said, sharing his plan reluctantly. “If she gives him the package, he will let her leave through the front door. If she does not, he will have her leave by the side door, at which point I will then pursue her.”
“Very well. I don’t see any reason we should get in each other’s way. Unless, of course, they arrive at the same time. But that’s unlikely to happen, isn’t it?”
Hans nodded. Both men were silent for a moment, and then Hans glanced at him.
“It’s unlikely, but if it were to happen, mine must take priority. The package she carries is wanted back by High Command. If it were to fall into the hands of the British, it could have very grave consequences.”
Eisenjager considered him for a moment and Hans had the impression that he was weighing every angle of every scenario behind that expressionless facade. Finally, he nodded curtly.
“Agreed.”
Hans relaxed and turned back to the house. “Good.”
The two men fell silent again and Hans wondered how on earth it had come to be that his operation had coincided with that of an assassin. He may work for Canaris, and he may gather information on occasion, but everyone knew that Eisenjager’s primary responsibility was to dispatch souls to the afterlife, if there was such a thing as an afterlife. In this instance, however, it appeared that Eisenjager was to be both spy and assassin at the same time.
“How do—”
Hans broke off as he looked around. The assassin had disappeared just as silently as he had come. Disconcerted, Hans scowled and turned his gaze back to the house cloaked in long shadows as the sun sank beyond the horizon. He’d never liked Eisenjager, he remembered suddenly, hunching his shoulders and burying his hands deeper into his pockets. It didn’t matter that he’d never met him before this evening. He had never liked the idea of him. He had been trained by the SS, excelling in all areas, but instead of advancing into the SD as Hans had himself, he had gone over to the Abwehr instead. No one knew why, or even when. As far as Hans was concerned, the man had abandoned his family, and that was something the SS just didn’t do.
His personal feelings on the man, however, didn’t matter at the moment. Eisenjager had his mission, and he had his. The assassin was welcome do whatever it was that he did best, just as long as he didn’t interfere with Hans’ courier. The woman was all Hans cared about.
Getting that package back was all that mattered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evelyn and Jens stood before the door of a two-story, stone house at the end of the road. It sat on a corner with a house on one side and an open field across the road on the other. It looked much like every other house around it, with nothing to set it apart aside from the crooked plaque next to the door that looked as though it had seen better days.
“Are you sure this is it?” Jens asked doubtfully.
“It’s what Luc wrote down,” she replied, passing him the slip of paper Luc had handed her the night before. “See for yourself.”
Jens glanced at the paper, then back at the house. Nodding, he raised his hand to knock, but the door opened suddenly before his knuckles could make contact with the heavy wood.
“Yes?”
A man stood before them dressed in gray trousers and a cream shirt with suspenders. His gray eyes pierced into Evelyn’s before shifting to Jens. He looked to be a little older than her brother Robbie, but the lines at the corner of his eyes suggested that his life hadn’t been as carefree as her brother’s, at least recently. He looked very tired, and Evelyn wondered if perhaps it had been a mistake to come here.
“Marcel?” Jens asked.
The man nodded and looked from one to the other.
“We are friends of Luc,” Evelyn said with a smile, glancing at Jens. “I am Marie Fournier, and this is Jens Bernard. He said we should visit you as we were passing Marle on our way to Paris.”
Marcel raised his eyebrows in surprise and his face seemed to soften slightly. “Did he? Then you should come in.”
He stepped back and motioned them into the house, glancing out the door before closing it. The door opened into a small entryway with a corridor ahead of them and a door leading into a parlor to the left. He waved them into the parlor, following them.
“I’m sorry to intrude in this manner,” Jens said, turning to face him. He
pulled the sealed letter from his inside pocket and handed it to Marcel. “I think this will help to explain.”
Marcel nodded and took the envelope, glancing at his name scrawled across the front.
“Please have a seat,” he said, motioning to a small couch placed under the window.
While they moved to sit, he tore open the letter and read it quickly. His face remained neutral, giving no indication of his reaction to what he was reading. When he was finished, he folded it and dropped it on a desk a few feet away.
“So you are escaped from Brussels,” he said, turning to look at them. “How bad is it?”
“It wasn’t when we left, but I understand it’s very bad now,” Jens said. “The Luftwaffe is bombing all the cities heavily.”
“So I’ve heard. I’m sorry. It must be very hard for you to leave your home.” Marcel crossed over to a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. “Josephine writes that you carry information with you. What kind of information?”
Jens hesitated and Marcel smiled faintly. “I need to know, or I cannot help you.”
“I work, or at least I did until the other day, for Belgian State Security,” Jens said slowly. “It seems strange to be telling you this. Please forgive me.”
Marcel waved a hand impatiently. “We all work for somewhere. It’s how we do what we do. Go on.”
“I’m a radio operator. My group worked on intercepting and decoding traffic between the Wehrmacht division command and Berlin.” Jens cleared his throat. “A few months ago I was approached by a man who said he worked for the Deuxième Bureau. He asked me to pass on any information that could help the Allies. I agreed. I’ve been sending information to him ever since.”
“And then the invasion happened.”
“That’s right. In the days leading up to the invasion, I was able to decode and copy several messages, much more than I ever had before, and they detail the command structure and, more importantly, the battle plans for the invasion of England.”
“What?!” Evelyn stiffened and looked at him in shock. “England? But they haven’t even got to France yet!”
