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

“That’s what I thought.” He turned his attention back to the tire. “But Josephine seems like more of a cinema girl.”

Evelyn didn’t answer. She had nothing really to say. The truth was that they had met in a library, but neither of them had been looking for reading material.

“When did she get involved with the Deuxième Bureau?” he asked a few minutes later.

“I don’t know really,” she said honestly.

“But you knew what she did when we saw her in the field the other night?”

“Well, yes. “

The look he shot her was as searching as it was brief. As he lowered his head to the tire again, Evelyn exhaled silently. He was beginning to put two and two together, she realized, and was asking questions. All the right questions, unfortunately. She supposed it was inevitable that he would begin to question what it was she did after having spent a day with her and Josephine. It was bound to make him wonder if there was something more about her that he didn’t know. She steeled herself for half an hour of dodging probing questions and comments, mentally readying herself. But no more came. Jens went back to fixing the tire, seemingly dropping the subject.

Checking her watch, Evelyn stifled a sigh. It was getting on for noon already. They wouldn’t reach Marle much before tea time at this rate, and who knew what awaited them there. Josephine and Luc had both vouched for this Marcel, but Evelyn knew how quickly the simplest meeting could turn into a much more complicated affair. With the Wehrmacht bearing down on Sedan, she sincerely hoped that this wouldn’t be one of them.

“Do you think we can trust this Marcel?” Jens asked suddenly, unwittingly echoing her own thoughts.

Evelyn looked at him for a moment before shrugging.

“I hope so,” she replied. “Otherwise, we’ll have to find another way to get your information to the proper people, and I have no idea how we’ll manage it.”

“I wonder if perhaps I should just destroy it and be done with it,” he said slowly, sitting back and wiping his brow. A streak of black dirt appeared on his forehead. “It seems to be causing more trouble than it’s probably worth.”

“The only ones who can know that for sure are the French intelligence ministers,” she said. “You’ve already come this far. It would be a shame to stop now.”

Jens looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then he sighed and turned back to the tire.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“If Josephine and Luc trust this man, then I’m sure we can as well,” she said with more optimism than she felt. “Everything will be fine. Soon we’ll be in Paris and the only thing you’ll be worrying about is where to go first for dinner.”

“Or where we’ll be going to escape the German army.”

“And if that’s the case, we’ll face that when it happens,” she said briskly. “There’s no point in worrying about more than one thing at a time. Let’s get one thing sorted out at a time.”

“I wish this tire would get itself sorted out,” he muttered, reaching for a different tool. “If we ever get back on the road, it will be a miracle.”

“Do you know, I’m beginning to believe in miracles?”

Marle, France

Hans shifted his weight and leaned against the side of a building. He was standing in the shadows of an alley across from Asp’s house, watching. And waiting. He had spoken to the man earlier in the day, showing his identification card and telling him that he was aware of his activities. Asp had been more than impressed. Voss could have asked for the moon and the man would have tried to obtain it. It was only proper, after all. Hans was his superior in every way. When he told him that he wanted to know if a female courier had approached him to pass on a packet of stolen plans, Asp had seemed very disappointed to tell him no. Upon learning that Voss believed the woman was on her way to contact him, he agreed to do whatever it was that Voss required. Now all Hans had to do was wait.

He was just reaching into his coat for his cigarette case when a shiver of awareness streaked down his spine. He started to turn, but froze when he felt the cold press of metal against the back of his neck.

“I could have killed you five different ways before you ever realized I was behind you,” a deep voice spoke in German, rolling over him like smooth silk. “I expected more from an officer in the SS.”

Hans sucked in his breath, his blood running cold at the calm, and yet somehow terrifying, voice. Who was this man? And how did he know who he was? More importantly, who would dare pull a weapon on an officer of the SS?!

“I suppose you’re wondering who I am and why I dare to accost you,” the voice continued without emotion. “I am perhaps the one person in all of Germany who does not fear you, or what you can do.”

“Then you do not know me well,” Hans said coldly.

A soft chuckle greeted that and the metal was removed from his neck.

“I know you better than you think. I am Eisenjager.” Hans swung around, staring at him. “Ah. I see my reputation precedes me. Good. Then no further explanation is necessary.”

Eisenjager tucked his pistol back into the holster at his waist and pulled out a slim card wallet, handing it to him. Hans opened it and examined the identification card. It sported a full name that was, no doubt, false, and a photo of the man standing before him. It was signed and stamped by every level of department head through to the Abwehr. Looking up, he encountered a perfectly polite and perfunctory smile as Eisenjager held out his hand to take back the identification. Hans handed it back reluctantly, studying him. He was as tall as