Read The Spy for Free Online Page B

mind. “It’s about what happened to me last night....”
    â€œLast night? Indeed!”
    â€œYes, that’s right.” She told him of her encounter with the man in the trench coat, who didn’t seem to have a face, and of the mysterious driver: tall man, dark coat. Her decision not to go home, she saved for last, trying to make light of it. The Commander listened intently. She finished, staring into her cup.
    â€œCan’t recall his face, you say?”
    Sinclair shook her head.
    â€œYou mean, you didn’t see it.”
    â€œNo, I mean, he didn’t have one.”
    She was sticking to it.
    â€œWell now,” the Commander observed, “trench coats are not to be taken lightly, especially in the summertime.” She hadn’t thought of that. As for the man’s face, he concluded, he had probably been backlit, leaving her looking up into a light. A mask ? Her descriptions, sharp as snapshots, clearly identified the man as foreign. Certainly, not one of his. He thought of Parker. Blackstone up to something? Something he didn’t know about? Could that something be a someone? Could that someone be The Spy?
    Something had entered into Hamilton’s thinking ...
    â€œIt’s nothing, I’m sure, but...”
    Commander Hamilton checked his watch and reached for a cigarette. He clicked the lighter, returned it to his pocket, and said simply, “All precautions for your safety must be taken at once. At once,” he emphasized. “I’ll assign a man to your flat.” He called for the check. “In fifteen minutes then.”
    He walked out of the cafe.
    Valerie waited a few moments, then arose and returned to the office. Was she really in for a commission?
    Ruddy luck, what!
    She crossed the yards, sidestepping cable. The sun was blistering; and she made a note to get some Coppertone. She thought hopefully of Blackpool. Battle pay, he had said. Was she really going to war? A trip, he had said. Was she being transferred to Ireland? Were they sending her—but where were they sending her? At least, she gathered, he would follow her to the office in fifteen minutes or so, for security reasons. And then...well, then she would know.
    She would get a tan! Sunglasses, too!
    During lunch, he had asked her to have the detailed French maps available. These would show them where the Allied units were presently fighting. They were certainly not fighting anywhere near Ireland. She unlocked various cabinets, removing secret scrolls. Maybe he would send her to Africa, or Lisbon. Within minutes, what he had asked for was ready.
    Hamilton was coming up the stairs.
    He knocked quietly on the door. Upon entering he put his fingers to his lips; then walked to the windows, near to where Valerie stood. He leaned over, and looked out. He closed them. There was no window immediately above or below them. The Commander felt along all the undersides of the desks, the windowsills, and the mantelpiece. Before the war, Carrington’s office had been part of a suite of a luxury hotel. Joining her on the far side of the room, where the maps were, and where the two of them could not possibly be seen, he said: “You may wonder why I am taking all these precautions, but believe me, sometimes even walls have ears.”
    â€œI understand, sir.” There were placards all over the place. She walked over and looked down into the wastepaper basket. “Bugs, in this office?” She looked up. “I think it safe to say, sir, that one can trust Lieutenant Carrington.”
    â€œUmm.” Hamilton nodded.
    Valerie smiled, she was loyal.
    â€œBut one never knows, what? Well, I am going to put the cards on the table and tell you exactly the problems we have in France.”
    France?
    â€œYes, sir.”
    He cleared his throat.
    â€œThere has been great difficulty keeping in touch with the French Underground—air raids, electronic interference, that sort of