Bill grew very still and stared at the wall blindly. “What?”
“A Gestapo agent,” George repeated, raising his voice in attempt to make himself more clear. “He went across the border after your man.”
“He didn’t stop him at the border?” Bill demanded, a scowl on his face. “He let him go into France?”
“That’s what makes it so strange. If the Nazi’s are onto him, you’d think they’d want to keep him in Germany.”
The scowl on Bill’s face grew darker.
“Not if they want to know who he’s passing the information to,” he said grimly. “They may be trying to identify his contacts. Do we have a name?”
“No, nothing like that. Just that he was Gestapo and he followed him across the border into France.”
“Bloody hell.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t you think old Rupert can handle it?” George asked. “He’s a seasoned man. He’ll spot him miles away.”
“No doubt he would,” Bill agreed, “if he were there. But he’s in hospital having his appendix out.”
“What? Then who’s meeting Karl?”
“Someone who’s never done anything like this before.”
“Well what the hell did you go and do that for?” George exploded.
“What else could I do? Karl was already on his way, and who knows when we would have got the chance again. As it turns out, if the Nazis are watching him, this is our last shot to get those scouting reports.” Bill rubbed his forehead tiredly. “This is our only shot.”
George was quiet for a moment and Bill listened to static on the line, his mind spinning. Little Evelyn was going to run right into a Gestapo agent in Strasbourg, and there was no way to warn her. He looked at his watch. Even if there was, it was already too late. She was due to meet Karl ten minutes ago.
“Do you think there’s a chance this new courier will be able to get the package out?” George finally asked.
“Under those circumstances? With a trained Gestapo soldier watching? I have absolutely no idea.”
“Have they at least been briefed on what to do if they’re followed?”
Bill felt a sinking feeling in his gut. “No. It didn’t seem necessary for a simple pickup.”
George let out a curse. “Let’s hope they don’t lead the Germans straight to you, then,” he said. “Ring me as soon as you hear something. If the worst happens, we’ll get you and Marguerite home without delay.”
“I will, but let’s not panic just yet,” he replied. “We may end up being pleasantly surprised.”
“Or we may end up with the first casualty of your shiny new network,” George retorted ruthlessly.
“In Strasbourg?” Bill scoffed. “Even the Nazis wouldn’t dare kill an English national on French soil.”
“I hope you’re right, Bill, otherwise we’re going to have a mess on our hands and no intelligence report to justify it.”
Chapter Five
Hans Voss had sandy-colored hair and deep-set, cold blue eyes. His nose was narrow and his face lean, giving him the air of a sophisticated and patriarchal weasel. Or at least, that was the thought that flitted through Evelyn’s mind as she crossed the road in a break of traffic, her eyes on his.
She must be out of her mind. What did she really think she would accomplish? Swallowing, she admitted to herself that she hadn’t thought this through at all, but he had seen her and now she was committed, for better or worse.
God-willing it wasn’t for worse.
As she approached, Herr Voss tossed his paper onto the table and rose politely to his feet.
“Good day,” Evelyn said with a light cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Herr Voss?”
She spoke in German, her Berlin accent impeccable. He bowed slightly from the waist, his eyes locked on her face in surprise.
“Yes, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Fräulein—”
His voice was smooth and it sent a shiver of warning down her spine clear to her toes.
“Richardson,” Evelyn said, holding out her hand. “Maggie Richardson. I’m with the Evening Standard.”
He shook her hand automatically, staring at her in bemusement. “The Evening Standard?”
“Yes. It’s a newspaper. In London.” Evelyn gave him her best smile, the one that had melted Marc Fournier’s heart along with countless others. “May I join you?”
He seemed to suddenly snap out of his stupor and he motioned to the other seat.
“Of course.” He waited until she was seated before taking his own again. “Are you from Germany?”
“No. I have distant relatives in Berlin,” she said easily. “I spent some time there as a child. It’s a beautiful country.”
“Yes, it is.” Hans crossed his legs. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Fräulein?”
“I’ve been writing a series of articles on the economic growth and development of Germany under the Third Reich,” Evelyn told him, her voice even. “Herr Gerst, across the street there, has been kind enough to help me. He’s been able to give me examples, you see, as a layman source within Munich.”
Hans’ eyes narrowed sharply. “Examples of what?”
Evelyn widened her eyes at his tone.
“Why, of how well business is doing and how the unemployment has plummeted since the Nazis took over. It’s all so impressive! You see, my goal is to illustrate how Adolph Hitler has improved Germany and the quality of life for her people.”
He visibly relaxed and raised an eyebrow in interest.
“Is that so?” he asked, glancing across the road to Karl. “And Karl Gerst is your source?”
“Classified source,” she qualified. “He wishes to remain anonymous. He seems to think he might get in trouble for sharing his observations and experiences, and those of people he knows, with a foreign correspondent. I thought he was being rather silly, but
