Read Online In Satan's Shadow by John Anthony Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Anthony Miller
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with a drop in such a public location.
He waited a moment more, contemplating, before walking away. He turned the corner, moving towards the exit, when he saw a woman a few meters ahead of him, blonde, slender and attractive, looking familiar. It was Erika Jaeger.
York was startled, not expecting to see her. His mind raced, recalling the faces he had seen near the tomb where the drop was located. Could she have been there without him noticing? She might have checked the drop just before he got there. Maybe that’s why there weren’t any messages. She was waiting for him to leave one.
He considered calling out to her, but knew it was too risky. He had judged Erika Jaeger and Gerhard Faber as the most dangerous of the quartet. The Gestapo informant might also know about the drop, and maybe that was her. He decided not to approach her, but to follow her instead.
He stayed a discreet distance behind, minimizing his limp but still leaning on his cane, following her to the exit. He passed an elderly couple, the woman’s hand wrapped in her husband’s arm, an empty, saddened glaze on their faces. York thought they might be visiting their son’s grave, probably a soldier. He wondered how many other parents and wives and children made similar visits with the same pained expression and hollow hearts.
He watched Jaeger subtly, maintaining a safe distance, nonchalantly walking to the exit like any other mourner would. She never turned or seemed worried she was being followed. He continued walking behind her, occasionally pausing at a tombstone, or stopping to study a bird that sat on a branch, singing. When she left the cemetery, he too moved to the exit, glancing at his watch as if he were waiting for someone. She walked ten or fifteen meters down the pavement and stopped at a bicycle that was chained and locked to the iron fence.
It wouldn’t be easy to follow her. The cemetery was on the western edge of the city; Erika Jaeger’s house was not nearby. She lived close to Amanda Hamilton, which was four or five kilometers away. But what better way to travel than by bicycle. It was the most popular mode of transportation in the city, if not the entire continent.
He watched her pedal away, knowing the route, ensuring she didn’t divert from it. If she stopped to meet a contact, or even talked briefly to someone, it could be the Gestapo. She could be reporting her progress, or receiving instruction.
She turned down Sensburger Allee, disappearing from sight. York knew it led to Heerstrasse, which was the main road towards the city proper and her home. The route was correct. He just needed to make sure she didn’t deviate along the way.
The taxi was waiting for him. He told the driver he wanted to follow the woman on the bicycle, but without her knowing it. The man listened closely, a sly smile creeping across his face. He probably thought York was a secret admirer.
They let her have a few minutes start and then followed at a distance, maintaining enough space to avoid suspicion. Traffic increased with each kilometer they traveled, making it easier to avoid detection, merge with other vehicles, or pull off to the side of the road and wait if they got too close. Eventually they reached the Ku’damm, passing York’s hotel and the street that led to Amanda Hamilton’s house.
Jaeger turned off the boulevard and onto a residential street several blocks from where she lived. York knew her address, even though he had yet to visit it. The homes were respectable, but not luxurious, more working class than Amanda Hamilton’s neighborhood.
She continued pedaling, traveling the street parallel to hers. The homes were intersected with alleys, each with a few carriage houses designed for wagons but now housing automobiles. Eventually she turned down a dirt lane, stopping behind a paneled truck, the green paint fading, with no lettering on it.
“Go past the alley and park,” York told the driver. “Wait for me. I won’t be
He waited a moment more, contemplating, before walking away. He turned the corner, moving towards the exit, when he saw a woman a few meters ahead of him, blonde, slender and attractive, looking familiar. It was Erika Jaeger.
York was startled, not expecting to see her. His mind raced, recalling the faces he had seen near the tomb where the drop was located. Could she have been there without him noticing? She might have checked the drop just before he got there. Maybe that’s why there weren’t any messages. She was waiting for him to leave one.
He considered calling out to her, but knew it was too risky. He had judged Erika Jaeger and Gerhard Faber as the most dangerous of the quartet. The Gestapo informant might also know about the drop, and maybe that was her. He decided not to approach her, but to follow her instead.
He stayed a discreet distance behind, minimizing his limp but still leaning on his cane, following her to the exit. He passed an elderly couple, the woman’s hand wrapped in her husband’s arm, an empty, saddened glaze on their faces. York thought they might be visiting their son’s grave, probably a soldier. He wondered how many other parents and wives and children made similar visits with the same pained expression and hollow hearts.
He watched Jaeger subtly, maintaining a safe distance, nonchalantly walking to the exit like any other mourner would. She never turned or seemed worried she was being followed. He continued walking behind her, occasionally pausing at a tombstone, or stopping to study a bird that sat on a branch, singing. When she left the cemetery, he too moved to the exit, glancing at his watch as if he were waiting for someone. She walked ten or fifteen meters down the pavement and stopped at a bicycle that was chained and locked to the iron fence.
It wouldn’t be easy to follow her. The cemetery was on the western edge of the city; Erika Jaeger’s house was not nearby. She lived close to Amanda Hamilton, which was four or five kilometers away. But what better way to travel than by bicycle. It was the most popular mode of transportation in the city, if not the entire continent.
He watched her pedal away, knowing the route, ensuring she didn’t divert from it. If she stopped to meet a contact, or even talked briefly to someone, it could be the Gestapo. She could be reporting her progress, or receiving instruction.
She turned down Sensburger Allee, disappearing from sight. York knew it led to Heerstrasse, which was the main road towards the city proper and her home. The route was correct. He just needed to make sure she didn’t deviate along the way.
The taxi was waiting for him. He told the driver he wanted to follow the woman on the bicycle, but without her knowing it. The man listened closely, a sly smile creeping across his face. He probably thought York was a secret admirer.
They let her have a few minutes start and then followed at a distance, maintaining enough space to avoid suspicion. Traffic increased with each kilometer they traveled, making it easier to avoid detection, merge with other vehicles, or pull off to the side of the road and wait if they got too close. Eventually they reached the Ku’damm, passing York’s hotel and the street that led to Amanda Hamilton’s house.
Jaeger turned off the boulevard and onto a residential street several blocks from where she lived. York knew her address, even though he had yet to visit it. The homes were respectable, but not luxurious, more working class than Amanda Hamilton’s neighborhood.
She continued pedaling, traveling the street parallel to hers. The homes were intersected with alleys, each with a few carriage houses designed for wagons but now housing automobiles. Eventually she turned down a dirt lane, stopping behind a paneled truck, the green paint fading, with no lettering on it.
“Go past the alley and park,” York told the driver. “Wait for me. I won’t be
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