It was a few minutes later that he finally heard the sound of the return code in his headset. Picking up his pencil, he transcribed the code onto the notepad, frowning when the message continued. There was more than just the acknowledgement of his transmission coming through. Much more. They had something more they wanted him to do.
The only sound in the small hotel room for several minutes was the swift, steady scratching of his pencil on the notepad as he copied down and then decoded the message that had come from Hamburg. When he was finished, Eisenjager sat back in his chair and looked at the notepad with a frown.
NEW TARGET. ALREADY IN BRUSSELS. DO NOT TERMINATE. REPEAT DO NOT TERMINATE. BRING TARGET TO BERLIN FOR QUESTIONING. USE ALL AVAILABLE MEANS, BUT DO NOT ALARM. MORE INFORMATION TO FOLLOW.
After waiting for a minute, Eisenjager rubbed his eyes and reached for a glass of water. Who was this new target that they wanted him to take to Berlin? Was he friendly or hostile? They didn’t want him to alarm the man, so he assumed that the target was friendly. At least, he hoped so. It was easy for them to say to bring a man to Berlin. They weren’t the ones who had to travel alone with a potentially hostile passenger. Of course he had drugs that he used to make the subjects so oblivious to what was going on that they were like lambs to their slaughter, but those carried their own complications. And made it impossible for him to leave the passenger for even a minute. A friendly target was, by definition, an easier passenger. Less maintenance and less risk.
He drained his glass of water and set it down, glancing at his watch. He disliked apprehending people and taking them back to the Motherland. He felt it was a waste of his particular skills and talents. But the Reich didn’t care about personal opinion. If this man was wanted in Berlin, then to Berlin he would go, alive and unharmed. For now.
The headset came alive again with the next message and Eisenjager reached for the pencil again. This message was much shorter than the last and, as soon as it decoded, he sent an acknowledgement of the instructions back to Hamburg. Finally, removing the headset, he stifled a yawn and pushed his chair back, standing and looking down at the notepad. He had the name. He would start in the morning.
TARGET NAME JENS BERNARD. EMPLOYED BY BELGIAN STATE SECURITY OFFICE. RESIDENCE UNKNOWN.
Chapter Fourteen
May 10, 1940: 4am
The hotel room was pitch dark when Evelyn shot up in bed, dragged ruthlessly from her slumber when a deafening boom echoed through the streets. Straining to see in the darkness and with her heart near to pounding out of her chest, she clung to the bedcovers as a violent tremor ripped through the building. The big four-poster bed shook and as she sat bolt upright trying to figure out what was happening, her hair brush crashed to the floor, jostled from its place on the dresser. The sound of it hitting the floor broke her half-stunned, half-sleepy stupor and Evelyn threw the bedcovers aside, swinging her legs out of bed. Running to the window, she peered out. No lights were visible and she couldn’t see what could have caused the noise and shaking. It was almost what she imaged an earthquake would feel like, except much louder.
Turning, she grabbed her dressing gown from the foot of the bed and threw it on as she ran to the door. As she undid the lock, Evelyn could hear muffled voices in the hallway outside her room. She opened the door and looked out, then stepped into the hallway, looking around. It looked like most of the guests on her floor were gathered in the thickly carpeted hallway, all dressed in their pajamas and sleeping gowns. They were all looking around in bewilderment.
“What happened?” a heavyset Frenchwoman asked, turning to look at Evelyn. A sleeping cap was askew on her graying curls and she clutched her dressing gown closed over her ample bosom. “Did you feel the hotel shake?”
“Yes, and I heard a loud boom,” Evelyn answered automatically in French. “What on earth is happening?”
“I looked out the window, but there isn’t one light on outside,” a decisively English voice rose from a few feet away. “Honestly, I don’t know how an entire city can turn off all the lights at night! This would never happen in London!”
Evelyn turned in some amusement to see a tall, statuesque woman in a velvet dressing gown looking appropriately disgusted.
“Are you sure all the lights were out?” another guest asked in heavily accented English. “That’s very unusual. I’ve never known the streets to be completely dark.”
“They are. I looked out my window as well and there was no light at all,” Evelyn said with a nod. “It’s most disconcerting. Did anyone else hear a boom?”
A large, brusque gentleman dressed in a tweed dressing gown emerged from the open door behind the Englishwoman. His hair stood up at the back of his head and his ruddy complexion bespoke many hours in the fresh air. He had the unmistakable carriage of a military man, and one used to being in command at that. Evelyn estimated that he was a retired Colonel at the very least.
“Yes indeed! It sounded for all the world like a bloody bomb!” he boomed, his voice echoing the walls. “Felt like I was back in the army.”
“You don’t think it was a bomb, do you?” the Frenchwoman next to Evelyn asked in English anxiously.
“I have absolutely no idea, my good woman,” the Colonel replied. “It certainly sounded like one.”
“What can it mean?” Another woman gasped, clutching her dressing gown to her throat. “Surely we aren’t being bombed!”
While the rest
