The Hidden Target by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online Page A

from home that had come this morning and lay unopened on the dressing-table. It was addressed in Beryl’s writing—a stepmother just nine years older than she was. (“That’s the good thing,” Francis O’Connell had said cheerfully. “You two can be really close friends.”) Slowly, Nina opened the envelope. Beryl and Francis were leaving for a summer at the Maryland shore. Time to get out of hot Washington. All well. Much love. Hoped to see Nina in September when Francis and Beryl would be in London for a few days. Ever, Beryl. And a postscript from Daddy: See you in September, kitten. Have a splendid summer. Keep us posted. All love always.
    The Maryland shore, easy commuting distance for Francis O’Connell, pleasant house parties for Beryl to arrange. And, thought Nina, not even the smallest hint of an invitation for her. She could hear Beryl saying, “Francis, darling, you know it would be useless. Nina is having much too good a time. We really can’t drag her home just to please us.” At least she hoped her father had to be persuaded about that. She wasn’t sure any more. She tore the letter into small pieces. Would she have gone to Maryland? Perhaps not, to be absolutely honest. But it would have been nice to have been asked.
    Oh, well—tonight could be amusing. She’d better call Barry and warn him to find another girl, unless the prospect of a threesome didn’t bore him and Jack. It wouldn’t. She never had any trouble with two beaux to her string. Safer that way, actually. Less satisfactory for them perhaps, but a respite for her.
    ***
    At the small bar in the Russell Arms, James Kiley sat over a beer and thought about today’s encounter. It had gone well. Tomorrow, a third meeting. And after that, a stepped-up schedule concentrating on Nina O’Connell who had no examinations to keep her occupied: dinners as well as lunches, a movie, a theatre, sightseeing (he was the stranger, wasn’t he?) at Hampton Court or the Tower or what have you; and of course an exchange of life stories, of future hopes as well as of past disappointments. All of it laying a strong foundation for friendship and trust. That’s what she wanted now, he was sure of it: she had too many men chasing after her, too many macho types obsessed by sex. So he’d play the opposite, keep her interested, let her think she made the decisions. It wouldn’t be too difficult. The opportunities were there for him to take; all he was doing was to make the most of them. She liked him. He was sure of that. There was an attraction between them that was hard to explain. But it was there.
    He left the bar, paying scant attention to the clutter of strangers around him. Foolhardy? Scarcely. German Intelligence, far less the Essen police, didn’t know he was in London. His escape had been clean. Amalie had certainly given them the name Erik as well as his description, but now he was unrecognisable: no need to look over his shoulder as he reached the street, no need to avoid brightly lit thoroughfares or crowded restaurants. Even so, he warned himself, don’t let your guard be too far lowered. It’s enough to stay alert, without acting the conspirator. This whole assignment was turning out to be easier, more enjoyable, than he had foreseen. He had even stopped brooding about the Duisburg fiasco. If it ever could be resurrected, that was Theo’s responsibility. His responsibility, too, to have his lawyers win the release of those who had been arrested.
    Theo... Was Theo having him watched right now? Probably, he admitted, and felt a slight chill. It passed. Theo would receive only reports that James Kiley had merged nicely into the London scene. A beginning had been made, no suspicions aroused, progress favourable. Just give me three weeks, perhaps less, he told Theo, and I’ll have these two girls in Amsterdam.

4
    It was a cheerful morning, bright and sparkling, spreading its smile over the waterways of Amsterdam. Robert Renwick had allowed