Into the Iron Shadows, page 33
Eisenjager looked up as the young man set his coffee and macaroon down on the table before him.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
The man nodded and turned to go back to the counter. Eisenjager was thankful that he wasn’t a chatty server. He wasn’t in the mood to make pleasantries. He only wanted to enjoy his coffee for the few minutes that he could do nothing else.
After sending his message to his handler, he had waited for an answer, dozing in the car with the headset on. After almost an hour, he’d been startled awake by the sound of the reply. They had determined that the spy called Henry had no business with the target. He was cleared to proceed.
Sipping the strong coffee, Eisenjager looked out of the window, watching the morning traffic along the Rue Josephine absently. He never did catch a name for the man with her, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Whoever he was, he was none of Eisenjager’s concern. His only interest was in the English spy. The man was simply collateral damage. Now if it had been Jens Bernard, that would have been a different story entirely. His lips tightened ever so slightly as his eyes narrowed. That was another one he would have to look for when he was finished here in Bordeaux. But first, Jian.
He felt a strange mix of both relief and melancholy at the prospect of completing his assignment with her. She had the potential to become an incredibly dangerous foe, and it was better to prevent that from happening rather than wait and have a much larger task on their hands. On the other hand, she was also a fascinating nemesis, and one that he would have enjoyed matching wits with over time. Alas, he was a practical man. A threat was a threat, and it must be dealt with.
Jian must be dealt with.
“Here it comes.”
Evelyn turned from the window at Leon’s words, a cigarette in her hand. She watched as he listened intently and began scribbling on a pad of paper. Finn stretched his arms over his head, yawning widely. They had been waiting for over half an hour for a reply to the message Leon had sent to London, and now they exchanged relieved looks with each other. Soon, they would be on their way to England.
Evelyn walked across the room to put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the table. Leon had his head down and his shoulders hunched over the paper, and she turned to cross back to the window, pacing restlessly. She glanced at him a moment later, frowning. It was a long message. He was still listening and writing, his forehead creased in concentration. She resumed pacing.
“You’ve been pacing back and forth since we arrived,” Finn said with another yawn. “You’ll wear a path in the rug.”
“I’m restless.”
“I can see that.” He got up and went over to glance out of the window, then turned to look at her. “We will be on our way soon,” he said, unconsciously echoing her own thoughts.
“Not quite that soon,” Leon said, looking up from his pad and removing his headset. He tore off the paper and held it out to Evelyn. “There’s a problem.”
Evelyn went forward quickly and took the message from him, scanning it.
“It says he can’t send transport for us,” she said in dismay. “They’re all tied up in Dunkirk. We have to wait until something becomes free.”
“What?” Finn scowled. “For how long?”
“It doesn’t say.” Evelyn looked up, meeting his gaze. “We’re to stay in Bordeaux and wait.”
“I can recommend a clean, modest boarding house not far from here,” Leon said, sitting back in his chair. “The woman who runs it is a particular friend of mine.”
“But we cannot wait,” Finn exclaimed. “We must leave France!”
Evelyn stared at him, her eyes narrowing at the vehemence in his voice.
“I agree, but we can’t do that without transportation, which is not forthcoming,” she said logically. “We don’t have any choice but to wait.”
“There must be another way.” Finn looked at Leon. “There must be some way to get to England.”
“Do you dislike Bordeaux so much?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Why are you in such a rush? The German armies are far from here at the moment. There’s no need for panic.”
“The German armies may be, but someone has been following us since we left Reims,” Finn said grimly. “I’m not willing to risk that they might not be the enemy.”
“What?!” Evelyn gasped, staring at him. “What do you mean? I have seen no one!”
“He has been behind us all the way. He is driving a black sedan. He’s a tall man, but I was never able to get a good look at his face.” Finn ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you, and I thought we would be leaving soon enough anyway. But now you must know.”
“How do you know he is following you? You were on a road crowded with people fleeing Paris. He could be just another one, going in the same direction,” Leon pointed out practically.
Evelyn shook her head slowly, her eyes on Finn’s face.
“No. We changed routes several times, trying to find one that was less crowded. If he was just another refugee, he would not have been likely to take all the same routes as we did. That is too much of a coincidence. You say he’s been there since Reims?”
“Yes. I noticed him shortly after we left. He has kept his distance, and appears to simply be following us, but I don’t like it.”
Evelyn took a deep breath, her mind spinning. How had she not noticed a black car following them for days? Then she shook her head. Because they were on crowded roads packed with every type of vehicle imaginable, and that included several black sedans. Even if she had noticed, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Why, then, had Finn?
“Why did he get your attention?” she asked, looking at him. “What made you notice him?”
His eyes met hers. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Something just felt...off.”
“Well,” Leon said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “This changes things. If you are being watched, you must leave Bordeaux as soon as possible. And I must take care myself, for whoever it is now knows that I am an associate.”
Finn looked at him, startled. “My God, you’re right. I should have thought of that before coming here. My sincere apologies.”
Leon waved his apology away. “It will be fine. I will think of a perfectly reasonable excuse to have had such a long visit with you. But we must think! You cannot stay and wait for Bill to send transportation. We don’t know who this person is, or what they want. They may be dangerous.”
“If he was, wouldn’t he have done something on the road?” Evelyn asked.
“Not necessarily,” Finn said. “He may have been waiting to see where we were going, and who we were meeting.”
“And now that you’re here, he may make his move,” Leon finished. “Yes. You must leave Bordeaux with all possible speed.”
“Yes, but how?” Evelyn looked from one man to the other. “We don’t have a boat.”
Leon looked up at that. “What did you say?”
“That we don’t have a boat,” she repeated. “Why? What are you thinking?”
“That we may have something after all,” he said slowly. “There is a man, a captain of a large fishing trawler, who might be persuaded to help. He has been in port for over a week now. Provided that he hasn’t left again, he may be willing to take you to England.”
“Who is he?” Finn asked.
“Oh, he’s someone of very questionable character,” Leon said cheerfully. “His family has been smuggling for generations. There isn’t much he doesn’t know about how to get things in and out of France undetected.”
“A smuggler!”
Leon nodded. “Yes. Are you shocked? You really shouldn’t be. It is a very lucrative and exciting means of making a living.”
“Can he be trusted?” Finn demanded.
“Of course he can, for a price. He is a good man, but he won’t do anything for free.”
Finn and Evelyn looked at each other, then Evelyn slowly nodded.
“Try to reach him,” she said. “If he can get us to England, I’ll pay him whatever he asks.”
“I told you another would be along shortly.”
Miles looked at Bernard and managed a tired smile. After the Stukas had disappeared into the horizon, HMS Grafton had cast off. Miles had watched her go with a sense of forlorn helplessness until his new friend had cheerfully told him that another ship would come. It was how it had been all morning. And he had been correct. Not long after the Grafton had headed into the channel, another destroyer sailed up.
“So you did,” he murmured now, moving along the pier as the ship began loading the column of soldiers.
“We just might make it away before more Jerries come,” Bernard said, glancing up into the sky as he shuffled alongside Miles. “I know you said your boys are up there, but where were your mates when those Stukas came diving down?”
Miles glanced at him. “Probably keeping fifty more away,” he said shortly.
Bernard caught the edge in his voice and peered at him for a minute, then wisely dropped the subject. Miles looked at the destroyer just ahead of them, watching as the soldiers were loaded on and directed along the deck. It was afternoon now, and he was starving. The worst of his thirst had been appeased by Bernard and his canteen, which he offered willingly when he realized Miles didn’t have anything, but there was nothing he could do about the hunger gnawing at his insides. Yet neither the rumbling of his stomach nor his pure exhaustion could dampen his joy at realizing that in a few minutes, he would be aboard a destroyer in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, going home to rejoin his squadron. As much as this would never rate as one of his better days, Miles was acutely aware of just how lucky he was to be yards away from going home.
“If I don’t see you again, best of luck to you,” he said suddenly, turning to hold his hand out to Bernard as they reached the gang plank. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Bernard asked, shaking his hand.
“For the water, and the conversation.”
Bernard grinned. “Aw, that was nothing. You saved me life by getting me down in the sand, so that makes us even.”
Miles smiled tiredly and turned to go up the gangway to the ship. At the end, an officer was waiting with a clipboard in his hand, a nurse by his side. Seeing his uniform and wings, the man motioned to him.
“Officers are in the ward room,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Flying Officer Miles Lacey, 66 Squadron, RAF Horsham. Well, I suppose it’s Coltishall now. We’re moving today.”
He wrote on his sheet and nodded, looking up. “Shot down, were you?”
“Yes. Early this morning.”
“Well, welcome aboard, Flying Officer. We’ll send a signal to Fighter Command and let them know you’re aboard. Don’t worry. We’ll get you back to your squadron.” He motioned to a different direction from where they were sending all the non-officers. “Go along that way and someone will direct you.”
“Thank you.”
Miles went along the narrow deck, suddenly feeling almost weepy. The sway of the ship on the water was comforting, and he allowed himself the luxury of knowing that he would be on his way back to England soon. He’d survived getting shot and crashing, and then had survived a bloody Stuka attack. He was lucky to be alive, and even luckier to have made it not only to Dunkirk, but off the beach as well.
A petty officer stood ahead, watching him come along the deck. When he reached him, the young man directed him down a narrow flight of metal steps, telling him to turn left at the bottom. Miles did as he was told, the sun disappearing as he descended below decks. A few minutes later, after another sailor’s directions and several more turns, he ended up being shown into the ship’s wardroom.
It was a large room already partially filled with several army officers. The tables had been moved to make room for more seating and, as Miles entered, all the officers already present looked up to see who the newcomer was. At the sight of his uniform, the room fell silent, and Miles was conscious of several stony looks of dislike.
He cleared his throat and moved through the room to a place in the corner, feeling their eyes on him as he went. The silence was thick and Miles suddenly wished he were back on deck, away from the hostile looks he was receiving now. You wouldn’t even know they were all on the same side, he reflected, seating himself. As he settled onto a chair, his feet and legs throbbed in relief. He’d been standing in line for over six hours in flight boots that were not made for it, and he couldn’t stop the silent exhale of relief.
“Looks like the RAF finally decided to show up,” someone said, breaking the silence. “Nice of them to join us.”
Miles felt his mouth tighten, but chose to ignore the remark and instead reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for his cigarette case.
“Where the bloody hell have they been? That’s what I want to know,” another voice said.
“Having tea,” quipped another.
“That’s enough of that, lads.” An older man barked from the opposite corner. He was sitting with two others, and Miles heard the authority in his voice. He was obviously the ranking officer in the room. “We’ve had enough fighting as it is. Give the lad a break.”
There was an unintelligible mumble, but the comments stopped and the low-voiced conversations that had been happening when he first walked in continued.
Pulling out his cigarettes, Miles was suddenly and irrevocably exhausted. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of image he presented with his bloody forehead, dirt-streaked uniform, and the bloody Mae West still hanging around his neck. Yet he was too tired to even care. The moment he sat down, it was as if his body had given up carrying him and was checking out for the day. Any adrenaline that had kept him going was long gone. He was weary, hungry, thirsty, and now he was irritated by the attitude in the room.
They thought the RAF weren’t doing anything to protect them, but how the bloody hell did they think he ended up in here with them? Did they think he was out for a pleasure flight?
Miles suddenly wished he was in the recreation room back at Horsham, sitting with Chris and Rob. Amusement went through him at the thought and, as he lit his cigarette, Miles reflected on just what the Yank would have said a moment ago if he’d been on hand to hear the comments. Good Lord, a second Revolutionary War would have commenced right here on a royal ship, and Miles wasn’t sure that Chris wouldn’t have won that particular fight.
The amusement faded just as quickly as it had come and he blew smoke out, wondering if Rob, Chris and the others had made it through the day. Were they back up there now? They had been flying multiple sorties over the patrol line the past two days, trying to keep the bombers away from Dunkirk. He looked at his watch. This was about the time that his flight would have been back over the Channel. Had anyone else been hit? He thought of Rob, disappearing into the clouds with two 109s on his tail. Had he got either of them? Or had they got him?
Had 66 Squadron done anything at all today to help protect the columns of troops on that beach? Suddenly, Miles wasn’t so sure that any of it was worth it. They were so desperately outnumbered up there, by nearly four to one at his calculation, and the blokes on the ground obviously thought they weren’t doing enough. Perhaps they weren’t, but they were bloody well doing the best they could.
He just hoped it would be enough.
Chapter Thirty-One
Evelyn lay awkwardly on her side in the backseat of Leon’s Citroen, wondering what on earth Miles would say if he could see her. She had never been so exceedingly glad that the likelihood of running into him was nonexistent. Finn was behind her, laying in the opposite direction, doing his best to give her enough room on the narrow seat to be respectable. It was a losing battle, however, and as the car went around the corner, he grabbed her around her waist to keep her from tumbling onto the floor.
“Is this all really necessary?” she asked in exasperation. “We must be away from the café by now!”
“Yes, but there are three black sedans behind us,” Leon said from the driver’s seat. “Without knowing if one of them is your friend, it’s best for you to stay hidden.”
“Ooof!” Finn grunted as they went over a bump in the road.
“Almost there. Just one more turn,” Leon assured them cheerfully.
The turn nearly sent Evelyn flying again and Finn hauled her back with an arm around her waist.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I assure you this is just as awkward for me.”
Evelyn was betrayed in a laugh. “At least there are only the two of us. Imagine if Josephine was here as well!”
“She wouldn’t fit.”
“Ah! Here we are!” Leon announced a few minutes later before coming to a stop. “Stay down another minute while I ensure all black sedans have passed.”
He got out of the car and Evelyn lifted her head to look at Finn. He shrugged.
“He’s conscientious,” he said. “I’ll give him that.”
A moment later Leon tapped on the glass of the back window, grinning. He motioned them out and Evelyn sat up thankfully, straightening her jacket and smoothing her skirt back down over her knees. Leon opened the door for her and she accepted his offered hand to help her climb out.
“We are quite safe from curious eyes,” he told her. “There is only one way back here and I have closed the gate.”
They were in a large enclosed area that looked as if it may have once been the courtyard of an inn. A stone building ran along two sides of the square, and on the third was what looked to be a stable that had been converted into parking for automobiles.
