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

to suppose that she had, but the man tended to be cautious about things like that. While there had been no sign of her panicking or realizing that he was there, it didn’t necessarily follow that she was unaware of his presence. If she was a seasoned courier, she would know to look over her shoulder, and she would have learned to not give herself away. It was much better to be safe, and take every care not to be seen in the lobby of her hotel. Or outside it, for that matter.

He tucked his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the corner. The Dutch agent had been carrying the packet from Germany. They had known as soon as he crossed into Belgium, and he had been followed ever since. The man really hadn’t expected the Dutchman to pass off the package quite so quickly. He’d only just arrived that morning, after all. But there had been no mistaking the exchange at the train station. What was really surprising was that the Dutch agent seemed to have no idea that he was being watched. If he had, he never would have passed the packet to the woman.

The man felt a sense of self-satisfaction. His orders had been to stay with the Dutch agent, but as soon as the packet changed hands, he knew he had to stay with the woman. Now he was in a position to get the package back, and be commended and lauded in the process. The Germans had made it very clear that they wanted the information back, and they were willing to pay handsomely to get it. Not only that, but once he had the packet in his possession, he would be able to demand anything he liked. He would have all the bargaining power, and the Nazis would have to give him what he wanted or risk losing the package again. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully while he debated how much he could get for the information. Perhaps enough to move out of the city and into the country.

But first, he had to get the package away from the woman, and to do that, he had to watch the hotel to make sure she didn’t leave again. He would go to the corner and wait, watching the door until was late. Then he would break into her room and take the package while she was sleeping. It would be quick and easy. He’d done it enough times. She would’t know he was even there. They never did.

The man reached the corner, preoccupied with his plans, and never saw the figure moving up the side street. As he stepped away from the corner of the building, an aging woman in a shapeless work dress bumped into him, hard. He stumbled sideways, turning to gape in astonishment. She glared up at him, a fierce scowl on her lined face. A worn scarf was wrapped around her neck while a tattered hat draped over her head, casting her face into shadows. She carried an immense carpet bag in one hand while the other pulled a chest strapped onto wheels. It looked like an artist’s chest, the kind that they hauled their paints around in, but he very much doubted she was a painter. She looked more like a washwoman.

“Pardon,” he murmured, turning away.

The woman huffed and pulled her chest around him. With one final glare, she crossed the street, muttering something indiscernible under her breath. He watched her go with a shake of his head before taking up position against the streetlamp on the corner. He turned his attention back to the front door of the hotel, smiling in satisfaction at the clear view. No one could enter or leave with him seeing.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, bending his head to light it. By morning, he would have the package and be well on his way to a better life. He just had to be patient and wait.

Evelyn adjusted the hat on her head and studied herself in the small washroom mirror critically. The makeup that had made her face appear lined and haggard had been washed away, leaving her skin smooth and clear again. Thick wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, and her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. The shapeless dress she had worn out of the hotel had been exchanged for a high-necked sweater, matching jacket and modest woolen skirt. Tilting her head, she decided she looked every inch the respectable secretary who was about to board the last train to Brussels, hurrying back to her job after a short few days of holiday.

Turning away from the wash basin, she tossed the tattered old hat and scarf she had worn to the station into the trash can by the door. She pulled her purse out of the old carpet bag before throwing the bag into the trash as well. It had been pure luck that she’d come across the bag and chest on her way out of the hotel. She had snuck out the back entrance into an alleyway and there they were, discarded with other pieces of forgotten trash. Perfect, really. They had enabled her to conceal her suitcase and purse from the man in the street. He’d never even suspected that the strange-looking older woman who plowed into him so unceremoniously was, in fact, the person he’d been following.

A grin pulled at Evelyn’s lips as she squatted down to unlatch the ancient chest and pull out her suitcase. She’d left him leaning against a street light, staring at the entrance to the hotel. He had no idea that she was already gone.

The grin faded just as quickly as it had come, and she lifted her case out of the chest. Now she had to get onto the train without anyone else recognizing her. She’d made it to the bathroom inside the station without