The Iron Storm by CW Browning (classic literature books TXT) 📕

four o’clock precisely, but now she understood. The sheer number of people thronging the entrance made the possibility of anyone noticing two strangers meeting very low. In fact, she wondered if she would even be able to find the Dutch agent in the crowds of people. Aside from the fact that he would be wearing a red scarf and carrying an umbrella, she didn’t have the faintest idea what he looked like. She didn’t know if she was looking for a tall man, a short man, or even a man at all!

She bit her bottom lip at that thought. There was no reason that Lars couldn’t be a codename for a woman, after all, and in that case, her possibilities just doubled. Evelyn exhaled and looked at her watch. It was almost four o’clock, and Bill had been adamant about precise timing. She had to locate Lars and approach him at exactly the right moment. She lifted her eyes again as she moved with the flow of pedestrians towards the entrance. A flash of red caught her attention, but she shifted her gaze away from a red beret, losing interest. It was a scarf she needed, not a hat.

A woman toting two large bags bumped into her, turning to apologize profusely. As she did so, one of the bags slipped and fell open, spilling children’s toys onto the pavement. Evelyn smiled and bent down as the woman exclaimed, picking up a wooden car and a doll before the car could roll away. The woman was speaking quickly in what Evelyn could only imagine was Dutch, and as she straightened up with the toys in her hands, she smiled helplessly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dutch,” she said in French, handing the woman the toys.

The woman looked startled, then broke into a wide smile.

“I speak a little French,” she announced, shoving the toys back into her bag. “Thank you very much. So kind of you.”

“Not at all,” Evelyn assured her with a smile. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, I think so. Thank you!”

The woman turned to continue hurrying towards the entrance. Evelyn couldn’t stop the chuckle when the hapless woman bumped into yet another person, apologizing profusely once again. Turning her head, Evelyn caught sight of a dark red scarf to her left and she inhaled sharply. A tall, lean man was leaning against the side of the building smoking. He had an umbrella in his left hand, and the blood red scarf hung carelessly around his neck. Dark hair fell in thick waves almost to his shoulders, giving him a distinctly bohemian look. Dressed in varying shades of grey and brown, she would have missed him entirely if it hadn’t been for the flash of color.

Her heart thumped in her chest and Evelyn looked at his face, startled to find dark gray eyes watching her with an unnerving intensity. She swallowed and moved through the crowds towards him, reaching into her purse to pull out a cigarette case. She pulled her eyes away from his face, glancing around her as she walked. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the man smoking, and she felt her shoulders relax. She extracted a cigarette from her case and slid the case back into her purse, making a show of searching through her purse for something. Finally, she looked up and walked towards him, a cigarette between her long fingers.

“Forgive me, but would you have a match? I seem to have mislaid mine,” she said in French, stopping before him.

The man straightened up from the wall and pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, his dark eyes never leaving hers. They betrayed no emotion or surprise, only polite curiosity.

“Of course, mademoiselle,” he said, lighting a match. “Are you catching the train to Brussels?”

“Yes.” Evelyn bent her head towards the flame. “Merci.”

He waited until she had lit her cigarette, then blew out the match. “You’re not what I was expecting,” he said in a low voice.

“No? What were you expecting?”

Lars looked amused at the faint edge to her voice. “Someone infinitely less attractive,” he replied.

Evelyn was betrayed into a smile, and she met his gaze again with a small laugh.

“Perhaps next time I will wear a false nose and some spectacles.”

“That would be a pity,” he said with a flash of even teeth. “I’m Lars. You must be Marie. If you like, I will show you the way to the platform. I’m sure you’re anxious to catch your train.”

Evelyn smiled and turned to walk with him towards the entrance. “Thank you again.”

They were silent as they went into the crowded train station. Once inside, he steered her through the crowds, placing a hand on her elbow.

“The package is quite large. Where will you conceal it?” he asked in a low voice.

“I have a large pocket sewn into the lining of my coat. It will be safe there.”

“Good.” He was quiet for a moment, then he glanced down at her. “I’ve heard that the Luftwaffe sank two destroyers off the coast of Norway. The Afridi and Bison. They were part of an evacuation at Namsos.”

“When was this?” she asked, glancing at him sharply.

“A few days ago. The rest of the ships escaped harm. It’s only a matter of time before you will have to withdraw from Norway. The soldiers will be needed to defend France.”

“I know.” Evelyn thought of Anna and Erik and felt her stomach clench. “Have you heard anything else about Norway?”

“Only that the Germans have complete control of the south and are pushing north. Some say arrests are already being made of people who are believed to be part of a fledgling resistance.” Lars glanced down at her. “Do you know people in Norway?”

“I...yes.”

His eyes met hers and were surprisingly gentle. “Then may God be with them.”

She swallowed again, and smiled briskly. “I’m sure He will be,” she said. “What have you heard regarding France?”

He shook his head. “Not as much as I would like,” he admitted. “The Germans will move, but