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

“Oh?” The man looked at him assessingly before moving away from the others. “What’s his name? I’m the landlord here.”

“His name is Jens Bernard. I work with him and he didn’t come in to work this morning.”

“Do you blame him?” The man demanded. “No one is going into work this morning. Everyone is panicking and leaving, if they can.”

“Yes, I know. He’s not in trouble, but our boss wants to make sure he’s all right. Is he here?”

“No. He left early this morning. I saw him go out just as I was getting the milk in.” The man scratched his neck thoughtfully. “He came back again after that. I heard him come in and go up the stairs. I looked out the front window and saw his car stopped at the curb. He left again shortly after that. Likely getting out of the city, if you ask me. Everyone who can is getting out of the city before the Germans come.”

“Did he have luggage with him?” Eisenjager asked, raising his eyebrows. “Is that why you think he’s leaving?”

“Not luggage in the true sense of the word. He had a small overnight bag and a square hard case with him. Not nearly enough to be all his clothes. He’s well-dressed, that one. He certainly didn’t take even half of what he’s got.” The man tilted his head and looked at him quizzically. “You say you work with him?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’d know better than me what the square case is,” he said. “It’s the same one he takes to work with him every day.”

Eisenjager smiled. “Perhaps he went into work after I left. How long ago did he leave?”

“Oh, about three hours ago now, maybe more.”

“Well, I just left half an hour ago, so he must be leaving the city. I wonder where he could be going? Does he have any family outside of Brussels?”

The man shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know anything about him. He’s a good tenant. Pays his rent on time every week and is quiet and respectable. I don’t ask any more than that of my tenants, and I certainly don’t pry. All I know is he’s a good young man who keeps himself to himself.”

Eisenjager sighed and took his hat off to scratch his head. “Well, the old man won’t like this at all. The least he could have done was tell him where he was going. Oh well. At least we know he’s still alive.” He settled his hat back on his head. “I didn’t know Jens had a car.”

“He doesn’t keep it in the city. Too expensive. He keeps it in a garage in the country somewhere. I’ve only ever seen it twice. It’s a good little car. A blue Citroen, I think. An older one, of course.”

“Of course. Lucky Jens.” Eisenjager nodded and held out his hand. “Thank you for your time. I’ll go tell our boss that he’s fine, but in the wind.”

“I think a lot of your coworkers will be gone after today. No one with any sense would stay if they have an alternative.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Eisenjager turned to leave, then hesitated and turned back. “If he happens to come back, don’t mention that I was here. The old man can be funny about some things. He might not want him to know that he was worried.”

The landlord nodded disinterestedly and turned his attention back to the unfolding drama up the street. Eisenjager strode away, the congenial smile fading from his face as he walked. Of all the days and all the cities, Hitler had to launch the attack on the West today. His easy catch and transport target had become a nearly impossible task the moment German forces crossed the border. As the landlord had said, anyone who had the means was fleeing the city, and that apparently included Jens Bernard. The likelihood of him tracking down a Citroen in the middle of a mass exodus out of the city was almost nonexistent. He would do better to contact Hamburg and tell them the target had disappeared, and then go home.

His lips tightened, along with his shoulders. No. That wasn’t an option. Not after Norway. Not after he lost the Englishwoman in Namsos. He had to do everything he could to find this target and take him back to Germany. He couldn’t fail again.

London - 11am

Bill strode into his office and threw a folded newspaper onto the desk before turning to hang his overcoat on the coat rack in the corner. He’d grabbed the morning edition on his way back from an emergency meeting in Whitehall and read it in the cab. It declared to London what he had known since his telephone rang at four-thirty in the morning. The Germans had invaded Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg at dawn. It had begun.

He was just turning back to his desk when his office door was thrown open without warning and Jasper came in, his face settled in the creased scowl that Bill was learning to know well.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Bill said, snorting irreverently. “Is there still no sign of an impending invasion?”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Bill,” Jasper retorted without heat, closing the door behind him. “Go on then. Get it out of your system so that we can get down to business.”

“You’ll admit I was right?”

“And more.” Jasper went over to sit down in one of the chairs before the desk. “It appears that you have a knack for sifting the good intelligence from the bad.”

“I should. It’s what you rely on me to do.” Bill opened the cigarette box on his desk and offered one to Jasper. “But where did it get us? Nowhere.”

“Don’t be too discouraged, Bill,” Jasper said, taking a cigarette. “You’ll be listened to in the future. Mark my words.”

“That won’t do us any good now.” Bill sat in his chair and sighed. “Luxembourg isn’t even putting up