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

it came away from the coat lining. “I commend you.”

Jens nodded and finished unpinning the last sheets, handing them to Marcel. “That’s all of them.”

Marcel nodded and went over to the writing desk, spreading them out on the surface.

“This will take some time. When are you to be there?”

“I didn’t set a time.”

“Good.” Marcel sat down. “If you go down the corridor, there is food and drink in the kitchen. Help yourself to something while I do this.”

“We’re fine,” Evelyn said with a smile. “Thank you. Marc sent us away with a bag full of bread, cheese, grapes and pastries.”

“Marc?” Marcel looked up. “Oh yes. He’s a friend of Luc’s, isn’t he? I believe he’s their radio operator.”

“That’s right.”

“What’s he like? I’ve heard he’s very rude.”

Jens choked and Evelyn couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped.

“He’s very abrupt, but I didn’t find him rude at all,” she said. “He was nothing but kind to us.”

“Good. I’m glad I’ve been misled. Luc and Josephine are good people, and they deserve to work with the same.” Marcel turned his attention to the papers on the desk. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t always the case for Luc. His first associate turned out to be a traitor, working with a German agent out of Austria.”

“Another one?!”

He looked up from the messages in surprise and looked from one to the other.

“I see Josephine didn’t tell you,” he said after a moment. “Luc’s first assignment was with Asp.”

Evelyn gasped and Jens paled.

“No, she didn’t mention it,” he said. “No wonder she was so certain Luc would help get us here.”

Marcel turned back to the messages and silence fell over the parlor as he went through them and jotted down certain lines onto a separate piece of paper. Jens put the lining of his coat back under his collar and laid the coat over the arm of the couch before sitting down again.

Evelyn watched Marcel while he worked, bent over the pages before him, oblivious to their presence. Who was he? He obviously knew the intelligence network in France well. Josephine had said he worked in Paris most of the year, and she could readily believe it. He spoke with a Parisian accent, and his mannerisms reminded her of Nicolas. He was well-spoken and smart, and she wouldn’t be half surprised to find that he came from similar social circles as herself, despite this unassuming little cottage. Perhaps he worked in the government? That would explain his access to people who could act on the intelligence he passed on.

“I’m sorry. Do you have a bathroom?” Jens asked, breaking the silence some time later.

“Yes. Upstairs. It’s the first door on the right.” Marcel didn’t even look up. “I’m almost finished writing out the messages we’ll give to Asp, then I have to type them up. I have some paper that will do nicely. It won’t be much longer.”

Jens got up and left the room, leaving Evelyn alone on the couch. She got up restlessly and walked over to the bookcase on the opposite wall, reading the titles on faded spines.

“What brings you to Marle?”

Marcel asked the question suddenly, startling her, and she swung around in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“I know why Monsieur Bernard is here, but not why you are.” Marcel laid down his pen and turned to face her. “How did you end up with him?”

“I met him while I was visiting Brussels. When the invasion began, he offered to drive me back to Paris.”

“What were you doing in Brussels? It seems a strange place for a young woman such as yourself to be alone, especially right now.”

“I’m a personal secretary for a man who does quite a lot of business in Belgium. I was there to deliver some papers for him and arrange for a meeting between him and a few of his clients.” Evelyn gave him the standard cover story, but frowned when he simply stared at her. “What?”

Without a word, he picked up Josephine’s letter and held it out to her. Evelyn went over to take it.

“Read it.”

She unfolded the sheet of paper and read it through, her face flushing as she did so. Josephine told Marcel that Evelyn was an agent working with MI6 and that she personally vouched for her discretion and integrity.

“Oh.” She refolded the letter and handed it back to him, offering a sheepish smile. “So you know the truth.”

A smile grazed his lips. “Yes. So let’s try this again. Why are you in Marle?”

“The first part is still true. I did meet Jens in Brussels, and he did offer to get me back to Paris. I’m trying to get back to England.”

“And Bernard? Will he go to England with you?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t planned on it, but if the Nazis get through at Sedan...” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

Marcel’s gray eyes pondered her for a long moment, then he nodded. “I understand. You’re a very good liar, by the way. If I hadn’t read that letter, I would have believed you. You add enough truth to make it real.”

“I add enough truth so I don’t trip up and give myself away,” Evelyn said with a short laugh.

That brought a genuine smile to his lips and he tapped a long finger on the desk thoughtfully.

“My name is Jean-Pierre,” he said suddenly, standing and holding out his hand. “Marcel is my alias. It’s a pleasure to meet you...”

Evelyn swallowed, taking his hand. “Evelyn,” she heard herself saying before she could stop it.

Marcel smiled, shaking her hand, and then released it. He cleared his throat.

“Don’t mention my name to Jens. Only a few know it, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“I agree.”

“I’ve heard that a package was smuggled out of Germany containing blueprints and plans for extensions to the plants in Stuttgart that produce engines and munitions,” he said in a low voice. “That package was passed to a female agent in Antwerp and is believed to be heading for MI6.”

Evelyn looked at him, careful to keep her face emotionless. “Oh?”

He nodded. “I’ve