The Courier

by CW Browning

  Evelyn laughed.

  “What’s the point in owning a sports car if you don’t really drive it?” she demanded. “It’s such a waste of a powerful engine!”

  “Your father is quite proud of your driving skills.”

  “My father likes to exaggerate at times,” Evelyn said with a smile. “I am no more skilled than he or my brother. I simply have a heavier foot on the accelerator.”

  They walked down the steps and along the crushed gravel driveway towards Gisele’s low-slung Bugatti.

  “I believe you’re something of a maverick, aren’t you, Miss Ainsworth?” he asked, glancing down at her.

  “My father certainly says so,” she said gaily.

  “And what do you say?”

  She hesitated for a moment, then decided on candor.

  “I think I’m very restricted by societal expectations of me. I know I’m capable of far more than what is expected of me.”

  He studied her thoughtfully for a moment.

  “Do you know, I think you are right?” he murmured. “Tell me, are you really fluent in multiple languages?”

  “Yes.”

  “German?”

  Evelyn shot him a look. “Yes.”

  William stopped next to the black sports car and turned to face her.

  “How serious are you in believing that war is coming?” he asked quietly, his eyes boring into hers.

  She met his gaze steadily. “I hope that it doesn’t, but I think we have to be prepared for it.”

  “You said over lunch that you think more should be done to discover what is going on in Germany. Do you stand by that?”

  “I do.”

  “There is something you could do to help, if you’re truly interested in trying to make a difference. It’s not for the faint of heart, but I don’t think that applies to you, does it?”

  “I’d like to think not.” Evelyn studied him, the breeze blowing her hair back from her face. Her host was very serious and she suddenly had the thought that much was riding on her answer. “I would like to do whatever I can, but I don’t see what I can possibly offer.”

  “There’s a man arriving in Strasbourg tomorrow from Munich. He carries with him information that has taken months for him to compile,” William said slowly. “We got word today that he’s finally able to get it out. However, the courier that was supposed to meet him has fallen ill with appendicitis, of all bloody things.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows.

  “This sounds suspiciously like something I shouldn’t be hearing,” she said, her tone indicating that she didn’t mind one bit. “I thought my father said you were attached to Daladier’s office in an advisory capacity?”

  “I am.” William hesitated for a moment, then spoke carefully. “I pass information to MI6 in London when I can. As you said, we need to know more about what exactly is going on in Germany, and they are desperate for information. You were quite right about Hitler and his policies on race. While MI6 does have agents stationed in Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia and Poland, they are there under the guise of Passport Control for Britain. They’re getting inundated with people applying for passports and passage to England. Since Anschluss, those applications have more than tripled. As a result, the agents are being forced to work their cover instead of gathering the information London needs.”

  “The exodus is that bad?” she asked, startled.

  He nodded. “And I fear this is only the beginning. I’ve managed to build a modest intelligence network here, but it’s very difficult to get reliable news from within Germany. The information coming tomorrow is of the utmost importance.”

  Evelyn felt her heart rate quicken in excitement.

  “And you need someone who can speak German to meet this man from Munich,” she said. “Won’t he be expecting someone else? The courier with appendicitis?”

  “He will, but there is a code phrase that will reassure him.”

  She grinned. “How thrilling!”

  “I think it will also be to everyone’s advantage that you’re a fashionable, wealthy young lady,” he continued. “You will be above suspicion. No one will ever suspect a pretty little thing like you of carrying information.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” she said with a laugh. “I’d be happy to go!”

  “It can be very dangerous,” he warned. “Strasbourg is on the Rhine, across from Germany, and there are known Nazi sympathizers swarming the city. Not only would it be fatal for him if anyone suspected he was passing information out of Germany, but it could be extremely unsafe for you.”

  Evelyn waved her hand impatiently.

  “I completely understand, Mr. Buckley,” she assured him. “Tell me what to do and I’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”

  Chapter Four

  Evelyn sped along the country road, lush green fields extending on either side for as far as the eye could see. The morning sun was bright and clear, and the air rushing into the car from the open windows was crisp. She had made an early start for the five-hour drive to Strasbourg, taking time only to swallow a cup of coffee and grab a fresh croissant from the kitchen before heading out the door. Gisele had been amenable to lending her car again, accepting Evelyn’s story of delivering a gift basket for a friend of her father’s without question. In actual fact, Gisele didn’t drive very much at all, so she seemed more than happy for Evelyn to take the car whenever she wished, an arrangement that worked out especially well today.

  Pressing the accelerator, she smiled in pure exhilaration as the 175hp motor surged forward effortlessly. Oh, how she loved this car! The lowered Bugatti 57S was less powerful than the Lagonda LG45 that she drove at home, but it had good speed nonetheless. And, she admitted to herself, the styling was completely different. Gisele’s car had a French flair that no car in England possessed. Evelyn felt very cosmopolitan and worldly driving the sleek, eye-catching two-seater, and no amount of difference in speed could alter that.

  The smile faded as she considered her destination. William had given her a photograph of the man she was meeting and told her briefly what to say when she met him. Beyond that, she was essentially in the dark. All she knew was that she would meet Karl Gerst at Café de Toussier on Rue du Bain aux Plantes and he would pass her a packet that she was to bring back to William. It all seemed very straight-forward, and even though William had warned that it was dangerous business, Evelyn really couldn’t see what could possibly go wrong. After all, they were in France. It wasn’t as if she was driving into Germany.

  She glanced at the speedometer and downshifted to take a particularly sharp bend in the road. If the truth were to be known, she was just happy to be doing something worthwhile. She was thoroughly enjoying her month in Paris with her cousins, but finding out that Robbie had gone and joined the RAF had thrown her for a bit of a loop. He was preparing to do his part if Europe did erupt into another war. While he was making plans and learning to fly in defense of his country, she was going to dinner parties and the theatre in Paris, drinking far too much wine, and enjoying a very carefree existence. It seemed a trifle shallow when she considered that her father was traveling to Vienna and Prague on a diplomatic trip and her brother was flying fighter planes.

  There had been some talk of her attending the Sorbonne and studying journalism or economics with a view to do something more constructive with her life. Her mother had objected strenuously on the grounds that there was no reason for her to go out to work. Their family was financially stable and there was no worry of anything changing on that front. Aside from the inherited wealth on both her parents’ sides, her father owned several very lucrative sheep farms in Lancashire, which he kept a close eye on. Neither she nor Robbie had to work.

  Yet they both wanted to work. Robbie had been ready to take over overseeing the farms when he’d obviously decided that flying was his passion. Evelyn frowned and shifted gears again, increasing speed as she drove along a straight stretch of road. She had been aimlessly learning ev
ery language she could, mastering dialects and accents, but none of that was really very useful in a practical sense. Perhaps she should give more serious thought to journalism, if they somehow managed to avoid another war. If they didn’t, then she supposed she would have to help with the women’s institute at home. There was no possibility that she could be a nurse. Evelyn shuddered at the thought. She had never got along well with the sight of blood. No, there was no possibility of nursing at all.

  It all boiled down to the simple fact that she was restless. She had been for over a year now. When they returned from Hong Kong two years ago, she had left behind her Wing Chun and the only true sense of freedom that she had ever really known. In that school, she wasn’t expected to be a lady. There were no social standards that had to be met and adhered to, and no gender expectations. In that school, Sifu only cared about two things: discipline, and teaching his art to students who showed aptitude and wanted to learn. And she had done both, excelling beyond even his older students.

  When she returned to England, Evelyn returned to the rigid societal restrictions that came with her status. For the first year, she was happy to be back home with the familiar foods and countryside, and the shift back to a normal way of life didn’t seem so bad. The past year, however, had seen her chaffing more and more under the confinement of what was expected from her. Her lot, it seemed, was to look pretty at parties and discuss fashion, boyfriends, and the house she would keep when she was finally lucky enough to snare herself a husband. Any other topic of conversation was humored in the drawing rooms of Lancashire and looked askance at in the parlors of London. Women of a certain class, it seemed, were not expected to show interest in politics, let alone discuss it with any sort of intelligence. At least, not in public. What was done in private was a different thing altogether. Evelyn had quickly learned that she was not a minority, but her peers had learned to save their intelligent conversations for their inner circles only. It was a double standard that she quickly adjusted to, and became very adept at employing.

  Suppressing a sigh, Evelyn sped along the road towards Strasbourg and Karl Gerst. At least in France, it was much more free and interesting. The French had a completely different outlook on life. They believed it was to be enjoyed to the fullest, in whatever manner best suited the individual. And right now, it best suited her to drive into a city separated from Germany by the Rhine River and meet with a strange man at an outdoor café.

  Her lips curved briefly and she tossed her head, inhaling the heavy scent of the countryside. Her mother would have a heart attack if she knew, and she wasn’t sure her father wouldn’t be a little shocked himself. She didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, Evelyn felt alive again; and she wasn’t about to let that feeling go.

  Evelyn parked the Bugatti and switched off the engine, reaching for her slender shoulder bag on the passenger seat. She opened it and slid out the photo of Karl, studying it again. She had spent quite a bit of time staring at it last night before going to bed. His wide forehead and narrow nose were fairly nondescript, but his eyes had captured her attention. They were very dark and striking, at odds with the otherwise ordinary face.

  Tucking the picture away again, she got out of the car and looked around. After arriving in the city, she had stopped a young policeman and asked for directions to the Café de Toussier. He’d been more than happy to assist. It was his suggestion that she park on Rue de l’Aimant, and she looked around now with a silent sigh of relief. It was somewhat disconcerting to be in a city where one was a stranger and unfamiliar with the area. Thankfully, the neighborhood appeared to be a respectable one. No one looked twice at the Bugatti or at the young woman driving it.

  Turning, she walked along the sidewalk towards the road ahead. That should be Rue du Bain aux Plantes, and the café would be a block or two to the right. The sun shone brightly on the cobblestones and Evelyn took a deep breath, gazing around her in curiosity. Strasbourg had a rich history with many German influences, and the architecture around her reflected that. One day, she would have to come here again and take the time to explore the city properly, when she didn’t have an appointment to keep.

  Evelyn glanced at her wristwatch, noting the hour. She was right on time. Karl should be at the café already. If he wasn’t, William had instructed her to sit at a table and wait for ten minutes. If there was still no sign of Karl after that, she should leave. He wouldn’t be coming.

  Reaching Rue du Bain aux Plantes, she turned right and walked along the sidewalk. Ahead, the sidewalks on both sides were lined with several outdoor cafés just beginning to get busy with the lunchtime rush. Café de Toussier was in the middle of the stretch, a black awning with gold lettering extending over the wide front window. As she drew closer, Evelyn saw a man sitting alone with his back to the café, facing the street. He had his legs crossed and was wearing a dark suit with a hat pulled low over his forehead. As she watched, he pulled out a cigarette case and extracted a cigarette.

  Glancing behind her, Evelyn stepped to the edge of the sidewalk to circumvent the small, round tables that took up most of the available pavement. The smell of fresh baked bread and coffee came from the café she was passing and her stomach rumbled in reaction. She increased her pace, passing the restaurant quickly and coming up to the Café de Toussier. As she approached, the man in the hat turned his head and she felt her pulse quicken. It was the face from the photograph.

  Plastering a bright smile on her face, she approached him, meeting his dark gaze.

  “I'm so sorry I'm late! The train was delayed and the shop was out of cigarettes,” she said, speaking the phrase William had made her memorize in the driveway the afternoon before.

  Karl stood up quickly, his eyebrows rising into his forehead.

  “Here. You can have one of mine,” he said, opening his case again and holding it out to her.

  “Thank you, but I’ll wait until after coffee,” she replied dutifully, sinking into the chair across from him.

  Karl nodded, tucking the cigarette case away and seating himself once more. A waiter appeared at Evelyn’s elbow and she glanced up with a smile.

  “Un café, s'il vous plaît, du pain et du fromage,” she told him.

  “Bien sur Mademoiselle,” he nodded and turned to Karl. “Et pour toi?”

  “Je vais avoir la même,” Karl said in halting, heavily accented French.

  The waiter nodded and turned to disappear back into the café.

  “What happened to Rupert?” he asked her in a low voice, switching to German and lighting his cigarette.

  “He’s in hospital with appendicitis,” Evelyn said readily. “I’ve come in his place.”

  He shot her a look of disbelief. “You?”

  Her eyes narrowed but the smile remained planted on her face. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “A problem?” he laughed shortly. “There’s a problem, yes, but it’s not you.”

  The smile faded and her brows came together.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why is there a problem?”

  Karl stared hard at her for a moment, then leaned forward.

  “I was followed from Munich,” he told her, his jaw tightening. “A particularly persistent SS man.”

  “SS man?” Evelyn repeated, her voice dropping to barely a whisper.

  “Yes. Gestapo. He’s been watching me for weeks now. He finally approached me a few days ago to ask about my neighbor, but it was clear it was me that he was interested in.” Karl exhaled and smoke curled around them. “I didn’t think I was going to make it past the border, but I did.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “He came too.” Karl’s eyes met hers and she saw the fear in them. “He’s sitting across the street at the pâtisserie. No, don’t look! He’s watching us.”

  Evelyn resisted the urge to look across the street with difficulty. “Why would he follow you here?”

  “They must have discovered I was smuggling information out,” he said
miserably. “I don’t know how, but that’s the only explanation. The question is why they allowed me to cross the border at all.”

  “Surely they couldn’t stop you without proof?”

  Karl let out a short, bitter laugh.

  “You do not understand the role of the Gestapo, obviously,” he said. “They can do whatever they please, and who will tell them no?”

  Evelyn stared at him, her brows coming together in consternation. “But surely there is someone they must answer to? They can’t just arrest you with no proof…can they?”

  Karl sighed and studied her for a moment, sucking on his cigarette.

  “What do you think the Gestapo is?” he finally asked.

  She shrugged. “They are the Geheime Staatspolizei; the Nazi State Police.”

  “That is true. That is how they began.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Began?”

  “The Gestapo has been absorbed into the Sicherheitspolizei, the Security Police. Now they are both under the authority of Himmler, the Reichsführer, SS. They operate legally without judicial review. They do not answer to the courts. They are above the law, and answer only to Himmler himself, who answers only to Hitler.” Karl stubbed out his cigarette. “The Gestapo is tasked with investigating any reports of treason, espionage, sabotage…any acts that could possibly be considered to be against the Nazi Party or Germany. They don’t need proof. If you simply look disloyal, that is enough for them.”

  Evelyn swallowed with difficulty. “You can’t be serious…”

  Karl looked at her for a long moment, then leaned forward.

  “There is a couple who lives on my street, in Munich. They are a very distinguished family, very loyal to Germany. They had a daughter, Elsa, and she was very beautiful. A few weeks ago, she had a disagreement with her boyfriend, an SS officer. There was talk of a marriage, but after their argument, she made it clear that the relationship was over. Last week, she was arrested on charges of treason and taken to a concentration camp. Her parents were placed on house arrest and are not allowed to leave their property, nor have any visitors. This morning, she was executed by firing squad. That, mademoiselle, is how the Gestapo and SS conduct their business. So you see, they have no need of proof for anything.”