D-Notice by Bill Walker (books to read for self improvement txt) 📕

on the east side,” Mueller said. “Turn left there. The cottage is half a kilometer further on.”

The driver glanced into the rearview and gave his superior a curt nod, then returned his attention to the road. Mueller turned to the Stasi man, who folded the map and slipped it into the pouch on the seat in front of him.

“I don’t want her harmed in any way, Franz. She is our lure to bring Thorley back to us. Do you understand?”

“Jawohl, Comrade General.”

Mueller grunted and swung his eyes back to that imaginary point in front of the car.

Soon.... Very soon....

Half an hour later, the Daimler coasted to a stop a hundred yards from Woodhaven Cottage, its lights extinguished. The cottage was dark, save for one dim light that burned in one of the windows. All three men watched for signs of life, then Franz unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door. Mueller grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Wait,” he said sharply.

Franz shot him a puzzled frown and Mueller nodded toward the cottage. The Stasi man followed his gaze, his expression turning from bewilderment to eagerness.

Lillian Thorley stepped from the cottage and strode quickly to her motorcar, a white Ford Escort with a scrape in the right front fender. She climbed in and the tiny four-cylinder whined to life. A second later the lights snapped on and the car reversed down the narrow gravel drive.

“Back up!” Mueller shouted. “Schnell!”

The driver slapped the shift lever into reverse and twisted in his seat, his eyes squinting to see the road behind them. Then he punched the accelerator and the Daimler shot backwards, weaving back and forth. The driver spotted another driveway and turned into it just when Lillian Thorley’s car reached the road. The little Ford bulleted past them, exuding a cloud of blue-white exhaust.

Mueller clapped the driver on the shoulder. “Follow her. And leave the lights off until we reach the main road. I have a feeling I know where she’s going.”

With her running lights extinguished, Molly’s Revenge bobbed in the swell a mile outside Calais harbor like a child’s tub toy. Captain Nye stood braced against the wheel, staring through a battered pair of Zeiss binoculars, his tobacco-stained lips moving his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. He lowered them and turned to Erika his expression grim.

“I’m assumin’ you wish to avoid any contact with Customs and the like?”

She nodded. “You know this harbor well?”

“Like the back of me hand.”

“Then where would you suggest.”

Nye cracked a lopsided grin, the pipe still clenched in his teeth. “Well, now, Missy.... If I was not wanting any unexpected greetings, as it were, I would pull in over beyond that quay.” He pointed to an area of warehouses swathed in shadow. “Not likely to be seen there. And if you were, it’ll be by the sort who know to keep their bleedin’ holes shut.”

The old man was right. There was no way they could approach the ferry pier without being seen and apprehended. And even with passports, they couldn’t risk being detained or spotted by someone with a darker agenda. The choice was clear.

“All right, then,” Michael said. “Let’s do it.”

The old captain’s eyes gleamed as he put the engine in gear and goosed the throttle forward. Molly’s Revenge nosed into the swell and chugged toward the darkened warehouses.

The Daimler kept its distance from the little Ford Escort with ease, but Mueller had to admire the old girl’s nerve behind the wheel. She not only didn’t drive like an old lady, but took risks, swerving around slower drivers in a fashion that would have given younger drivers pause. He smiled, noticing the beads of sweat on the back of his driver’s neck. For once the fat slob was earning his meager pay. He was about to make a comment when his portable phone chirped.

Made from microelectronics years ahead of the consumer markets in the West, it operated on a new “cellular” principle, and also included a scrambler chip that could be coded to match an identically coded mate. Mueller pulled it out from his coat and flipped it open, turning it on.

“Ja,” he said, his eyes narrowing as Karl’s voice buzzed in his ear. His mouth curled into a cold smile. “I know, they took some fishing boat to Ostend.”

“That’s the problem,” Karl said, sounding tired and frustrated. “I just received a call from one of our French people. Thorley and the girl were seen getting off at Calais.”

“Calais?”

“Ja. I believe they will be headed for Bonn—to the university.”

Mueller drew in a sharp breath. “Jarmann.”

“Ja. He’s the most logical one to reach.”

“Ausgezeichnet! For once I am glad the old fool insisted on staying put in that decadent institution. What’s the situation with the others on the list?”

Momentary static blocked out part of what Karl was saying. “...and the verdammt Russians found von Arnwolf.”

Icy fingers gripped Mueller’s heart. “What happened?”

“The safe house was raided. He tried to run—”

Mueller dropped the phone into his lap and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his entire body trembling with rage. Karl’s voice continued to buzz through the earpiece, but he didn’t need to hear any more. He could visualize the entire scene in his mind. The old man tottering down the cobbled street, his arms outstretched in panic, the staccato rattle of machine gunfire, the blood pooling in the gutter, eyes glazed by death. Another opportunity gone forever.

Mueller snatched up the phone, his lips curling in contempt. “Karl, I want you to listen to me very carefully. You are to make sure that Thorley makes it to Jarmann. Use whatever means necessary to get there ahead of them.