Read Online A Game of Spies by John Altman - Free Book Online Page A

if he had to, without hesitation. Even better would be a rifle. He had spent many a day during his youth duck hunting in the fens outside of Surrey. With a rifle in his hands, he would feel almost invincible.…
    But for now he was satisfied with the Beretta. It was a silenced version of the standard Italian service pistol used by OVRA, the Italian secret police; the holster had been modified to accept both gun and silencer as a single unit.
    When he was within a block of Eva’s apartment, he leaned against a wall, situating himself so that he was invisible to both watchers. They could not see him, and he could not see them. But he would see Eva, if she followed the route she had followed before—when she reached the corner, before turning to continue around the block.
    He waited, smoking. A light drizzle picked up, sprinkled cool rain, and dissipated.
    Fifteen minutes passed. He began to feel anxious. Perhaps she would not take her walk at all tonight. Then where would he be? He would need to return to the Gehls’ house, to wait for another chance. But he had told the Gehls he was not coming back.
    He lit another cigarette, and held his ground.
    A few minutes later, he saw a Gestapo agent moving down the street. He reached for his cane and prepared to move. He would take a stroll around the block himself, and would take the chance, therefore, of missing Eva. But if there was a better option, he couldn’t see it.
    He was just taking his first step when the Gestapo agent found another man to occupy his attention: a short, swarthy fellow weaving drunkenly down the sidewalk. Hobbs checked himself, watching.
    The men were out of earshot, but he could guess the conversation easily enough. The Gestapo agent was requesting papers. The swarthy fellow patted himself down, found them, and offered them. They were evidently not enough to satisfy the Gestapo man, who then extended an offer to come into Schutzhaft, or protective custody. It was not an invitation that could be refused.
    â€œMacht mit der Hacken,” the man ordered loudly: Make with the heels.
    Hobbs looked away as they moved past.
    After another five minutes, he saw Eva, walking quickly with her head down, wearing her snood and her plain winter coat. He licked his lips, tossed the cigarette aside, planted the cane, and began to shuffle toward her.
    The mustache felt lopsided. Too late to fiddle with it now; he had come into view of the watchers. He kept walking, trying not to overact his role, using the cane sparingly.
    Eva looked distracted. As they drew near to each other, she glanced up. Her eyes landed on his face without a spark of recognition. She looked down again, stepping to one side so they could pass each other. Hobbs waited—and waited—and then misplaced the cane, stumbling into her. At the same time, his free hand dipped into his pocket, withdrawing the letter.
    â€œOh!” she said. “Pardon me.”
    He leaned his full weight against her—an old man who had lost his balance. Her hands moved reflexively to support him. “Danke,” he mumbled, and pressed the letter against her side.
    She looked down at it, frowning.
    â€œTake it,” he hissed.
    She took the letter.
    Then Hobbs was moving away, not looking back. He resisted the temptation to sneak a glance at the watchers. He forced himself to move slowly, evenly.
    She had not recognized him.
    He had thought that she would recognize him, once they were close to each other. But there had been nothing in her eyes except startled irritation. It made him feel disappointed. Was he so far from her mind, these days?
    He kept walking. Now he risked a peek over his shoulder. The man in the doorway was still in the doorway—but watching him. He quickly turned his eyes back to the sidewalk. He was drawing near to the newspaper and book stand. The urge to hurry was strong. He bit it down.
    Her face had looked older, wearier. Yet more beautiful than ever, in its