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

convince herself that meeting with a Soviet agent was in any way not dangerous. Despite the fact that he had seemed pleasant enough in Oslo in November, the fact still remained that he was a Soviet spy, and as such, she had to be prepared for anything. However, if she were completely honest with herself, if anything was going to go wrong, she would have thought it would have been during the meeting with Lars. Hopefully, the entire trip would continue to be smooth and uneventful, and she would be able to make arrangements with Shustov that would be amenable to them both.

Evelyn was just crossing the street a few moments later when a strange chill went down her spine. It was a familiar feeling, one she’d felt before when she was in a strange city. She glanced behind her and her breath caught in her throat. There, half a block behind her, was a man in a long brown coat. The same man had been there the past three times she had looked behind her before crossing a side street. That in itself wasn’t unusual. She was on a very busy thoroughfare cutting through the heart of the city. What had the hair on the back of her neck standing up in warning was the fact that he was the same exact distance behind her as he had been for the past ten minutes. He was neither gaining ground nor falling behind.

Pressing her lips together, Evelyn pulled her hands out of her pockets and moved her purse to her other shoulder, freeing up her dominant hand. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t been walking at a steady pace for ten minutes. Lost in thought, she’d been looking in shop windows and weaving around other pedestrians. The man, if he really was just another pedestrian, would surely have closed the distance between them. Yet he had not. There was only one reason she could think of for that, and it wasn’t a pleasant one.

She was being followed.

Who was he? And how on earth did he even know who she was? It was impossible! Even Henry couldn’t have found out where she was this quickly, and even if she’d been spotted at the station when she arrived earlier, they certainly wouldn't have expected her to go back to the station within an hour of her arrival. There was no way that anyone could possibly know she’d be walking from the station to the hotel.

Her heart pounding, she increased her pace, moving through the light crowds on the pavements quickly. Lars!

The thought came suddenly and Evelyn sucked in her breath. They must have been watching Lars. That was the only reasonable explanation. Had they seen her take the package? Or was she simply being watched because of her apparent association with a Dutch agent? Did they know who she was? Evelyn had no way of knowing if her likeness had been circulated outside of the SD. If he was a German agent, he may very well have recognized her. If he wasn’t, then she was in a much better situation. But either way, she was going to have to lose him, and the sooner the better.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and think. She would go back to the hotel, she decided. There was a certain amount of safety in the expensive hotel, and she had to retrieve her bag from her room. She would be safer there than on the unfamiliar streets of Antwerp. She would lead the man back there, collect her bag, and then disappear. If she was very careful, it would be easy enough to slip out without him seeing.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten, and Evelyn sighed tiredly. It would be a few hours now before she could remedy that, thanks to her uninvited guest. There was no help for it. She had to ensure that the package in her coat remained safe and secure, and she could only do that by getting out of the city as soon as possible. There was no time for dinner. Not now.

Evelyn paused next to the glass window of a shop selling hats, examining the display. She looked out of the corner of her eye, gauging the distance between her and the man in the brown coat. He walked with his hands in his pockets and his head down, the brim of his hat pulled over his forehead to cast his face into shadows. She got the impression of a narrow, pointed face, but that was all. Nothing that would allow her to recognize him without the brown coat and hat.

Turning, she continued walking, her lips in a thin line. The coat and hat weren’t German; of that she was certain. Nor were they French. If she had to venture a guess, she’d say that he was a local man. But how did a local man know about Lars? Did he know about the stolen packet in her coat?

Another chill streaked down her spine and Evelyn’s hands grew cold in her gloves as she considered one other possibility. Had Eisenjager found her?

The German assassin was a ghost. She had no idea what he looked like because no one knew what he looked like. Bill had given her all the information they had on the assassin-turned-spy, and it wasn’t much at all. Could the man be Eisenjager? The man was a master of blending in. He would dress in the clothes of the country he was in to avoid unwanted attention. Could the man following her be the mysterious ghost who had chased her across Norway?

No sooner had she considered the possibility than she dismissed it. They may not know much about the elusive assassin, but they knew he was skilled enough not to be spotted by his target. If he was following her, she was fairly certain that she would know nothing about it. Besides that, how could he possibly know