Dreschler chuckled. “You’re always so modest and humble, Obersturmbannführer Voss!”
Hans was betrayed into a quick smile. “The Führer values confidence, does he not?”
“Indeed he does,” Dreschler acknowledged, “as do I. And you certainly do not lack it.” He tilted his head and grew serious. “But all the confidence in the world won’t save you if this operation fails. You understand? I won’t be able to shield you from Himmler’s wrath.”
Hans nodded. “I understand, Standartenführer.”
Dreschler studied him intently for a long moment, then nodded once and sat forward. He picked up a pen and scrawled his signature on the bottom of the single sheet.
“Your operation is approved, Obersturmbannführer Voss,” he said, setting the pen down. “Operation Nightshade will commence immediately. There will be no record of it anywhere.” He picked up the sheet of paper and got up, walking around the desk to hand it to Hans. “Read it carefully. This is the only copy of the order. I want to be very clear about what is expected.”
Hans took the paper and read it through silently. After a moment, he nodded and handed it back.
“I understand completely, Standartenführer.”
“Good.” Dreschler crossed the room to a large painting of Adolf Hitler and touched an invisible clasp on the edge. The painting clicked and he pulled it away from the wall, revealing a hidden safe. “Should the operation fail, this order will be destroyed and no one will ever know of its existence. If you succeed, the Führer himself will know of your accomplishment, and you will be rewarded accordingly.”
Hans watched as the order was locked away in the safe, a deep sense of satisfaction going through him. When he succeeded, his rise into the senior command would be assured.
And the British agent they knew only as Rätsel would be crushed.
Chapter One
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RAF Northolt, England
January, 1940
Evelyn Ainsworth watched with a grimace as the latest WAAF recruits piled out of a bus in front of the dormitories. The chattering group of women was loud, and they were dressed in a variety of clothing, all wholly inappropriate for an RAF base boasting fighter squadrons. For that matter, some of the frocks were inappropriate for any military base, and most London nightclubs as well.
“Inspecting your new fledgling chicks?”
Evelyn started when a male voice spoke behind her and she turned with a laugh. Before her stood a young man dressed in uniform with a leather pilots jacket slung carelessly over his shoulders, his sparkling blue eyes dancing with unbridled amusement as he peered into the distance.
“They’re not mine, thank heavens,” she said. “I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d deal with that.”
“They’re a jolly lot, aren’t they?” he asked, grinning at the group in the distance. “Good Lord, is that one wearing high heeled sandals?”
Evelyn bit back a gurgle of laughter. The day she met Flying Officer Fred Durton, he’d almost run her over on a bicycle. As an apology, he’d taken her out for a drink at the local pub. That was almost two weeks ago now, and she hadn’t been rid of him since. Looking up at him now, she shook her head. In truth, she’d grown quite fond of the Hurricane pilot.
“Yes, and they won’t last five minutes.”
Fred grinned down at her. “More’s the pity. Where are you off too?”
“I’m on my way to my office to collect my post,” she said, turning to continue towards the short, squat building that housed her office. “Then I’m going to the mess for dinner.”
Fred fell into step beside her.
“Come out to dinner with me instead,” he said. “I’ve discovered a delightful little pub about twenty minutes from here. We’ll go there.”
Evelyn glanced at him. “I have a meeting at seven.”
He waved the comment away. “Don’t worry, Assistant Section Officer. I’ll have you back in time. I’ll pick you up out front here in ten minutes.”
Evelyn started up the shallow steps to the door of the building, then paused and turned to look at him.
“Have you fixed the door on your car yet?” she asked suspiciously.
He grinned and winked. “’Course I have.”
Turning, he strode off, whistling cheerfully. Fred drove a beaten up mass of metal, rubber and glass that had been, at one time, a Vauxhall. On the occasion of her last outing in the car, the passenger side door had fallen off when she opened it at the end of the night. After they had finished laughing, Fred had gone off to snatch some heavy twine used on the airplanes from the supply hut. Ten minutes later, the door was tied back on and he had continued on to his bachelor quarters on the other side of the base.
She continued up the steps now, shaking her head with a reluctant chuckle. Fred Durton was a rascal and playboy, but she really did thoroughly enjoy his company.
And if he had fixed his door, she’d eat her hat.
Evelyn sat across from Fred at a small corner table in a crowded and noisy pub. They’d arrived ahead of the evening rush and Fred had snagged the table before she could blink. All the rest of the tables filled up within minutes of them sitting down, making her very grateful for his speed and foresight.
Lifting a gin and tonic to her lips, she smiled as she looked at him. He was attracting quite a bit of attention from the local women in his uniform with the wings sewn above the breast pocket. Then again, he always did. Evelyn had wondered more than once why he kept asking her out when he knew full well that she wasn’t interested in any kind of romantic relationship, but he did. And she enjoyed herself too much to decline.
Fred finished lighting his cigarette and tucked his lighter into his breast pocket, smiling at her.
“Do you know what I’ve been trying to figure out?” he asked, reaching for his pint. “What do you do, actually?”
Evelyn shrugged. “I’ve told you. I train WAAFs.”
“Yes, but I never see
