When Wolves Gather (Shadows of War Book 6) Read online

  When Wolves Gather

  CW Browning

  About When Wolves Gather

  While Great Britain stands alone against the might of the Third Reich, an even more sinister threat lurks in the halls of London…

  As Hitler prepares to unleash the full force of his Luftwaffe against England, and the Battle of Britain takes hold of the skies, Evelyn Ainsworth is enjoying a much-needed holiday in London. When a chance conversation reveals the existence of a ruthless group of traitors, the MI6 agent is thrust back into the world of shadows where everyone has something to hide. Determined to expose those who would destroy England from within, Evelyn embarks on a dangerous game that could end her career…

  Or her life.

  In the skies above, the pilots she loves are facing an increasingly determined and deadly enemy. Knowing that invasion is imminent, Flight Lieutenant Miles Lacey and his squadron are busy defending convoys from Göring’s finest. But as war takes its toll, they begin to realize that they may not be enough to stop the onslaught that is coming.

  Surrounded by the enemy, England’s sole defense lies with her RAF pilots, and a young socialite willing to sacrifice everything to save her country.

  Author’s Note:

  On June 14, 1940, Nazi soldiers entered Paris unopposed. The Battle for France had been lost. While pockets of fighting continued in the south of France, the government knew that it was over. On June 22, 1940, in the Compiègne Forest, in the same railway carriage that was used to sign the 1918 Armistice ending World War I, the French surrendered to the Third Reich. Germany allowed the French government to retain an unoccupied zone, but took for themselves the entire western seaboard and north of France. With complete control of all the French ports along the Channel and the Atlantic Ocean, Hitler was in position to attack his last remaining foe.

  In his famous speech given on June 18, “Their Finest Hour,” Churchill said, “It seems quite clear that no invasion on a scale beyond the capacity of our land forces to crush speedily is likely to take place from the air until our Air Force has been definitely overpowered.”

  The Luftwaffe was coming for Great Britain, and only one thing could stop them. The fate of every Briton, spread across the globe, rested squarely on the shoulders of the Royal Air Force pilots. At a severe disadvantage in both airplanes and men, the world watched, and waited, for the inevitable destruction and invasion of the British Isles.

  In loving memory of my faithful, four-legged companion of eighteen years.

  You were my muse and constant friend.

  Until we meet again…

  Table of Contents

  When Wolves Gather

  Author’s Note:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty- Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  About the Author

  Note from Author:

  “But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.”

  ~ Marcus Tullius Cicero, 106-43 BC

  Prologue

  London, England

  June 5, 1940

  A well-dressed man made his way through the crush of people exiting the platform and headed towards the steps up to the street. He’d arrived on a train from Plymouth not half an hour before, and taken the underground to St. James. The journey from France to Plymouth should have been uneventful, but given the state of affairs in both France and the Channel, it had been anything but. While the operation for the evacuation of Dunkirk had officially ended the day before, the Luftwaffe were still taking pot shots at any ships they happened to fly over. While his particular conveyance had arrived in Plymouth unmolested, they’d heard on the radio that another one had not been as fortunate. It had departed from Le Havre not four hours before them, and had been torpedoed by a U-boat. When Henry asked if the U-boats were common in the Channel, the Captain had laughed and asked where he’d been. He was lucky to have left from Bordeaux rather than further north, he was told matter-of-factly. The bloody Germans were trying to stop as many of those poor boys from getting home to England as they could. They weren’t paying any mind yet to the rest of the sea. That would soon change now that they’d got most of their boys home. It was lucky he’d come back when he did.

  Pushing past a heavyset woman with a screaming infant on her hip, Henry started up the steps. The newspaper that he’d picked up in Plymouth was filled with news of Winston Churchill’s latest speech to the House of Commons, made the day before. The new prime minister had been very eloquent, as was his wont, and had sworn that England and her people would continue to fight. They would fight on the beaches, he said, and the landing grounds. They would fight in the fields and the streets, and in the hills. Good old Winston, always the optimist. Did he honestly believe that the country could be defended by the commoners in the streets? Was he really trying to rouse the country to fight against the invaders as if they could win?

  Henry’s lips twisted as he stepped out onto the busy city street. Afternoon sun touched his face, and he took a deep breath, pausing for a moment outside the entrance to the underground. The unavoidable fact was that the German Army would be in London by the end of the summer, and no amount of old men with pitchforks would be able to stop them. It was inevitable, and Winston, of all people, should know that. He’d seen how quickly Europe had fallen, and how quickly France was succumbing. He knew once France fell completely, England would be alone, and there was no possible way they could hold off Hitler and his armies. It was only a matter of time, and then no amount of high endorsements to fight in the streets would make an ounce of difference. The whole speech was ridiculous.

  Someone brushed past him and Henry felt something hard press against his gloved palm. Turning, he began to walk up the street in the opposite direction, glancing down. A small plastic tube was in his hand, and he slid it into his pocket before continuing to the next block, where he stepped into an alcove. Concealed from the street, he pulled out the tube and extracted the slip of paper.

  Instructions received. Meet with contact, codename Mata. Dorchester Hotel. 9pm. Evaluate for possible collaboration.

  Henry scowled and shoved the message and tube back into his pocket before stepping back onto the sidewalk. He didn’t like working with others. He didn’t trust them not to be caught. He had worked too hard to stay above suspicion for over two years now, and he had no desire to see it all go to Hell because of
one slip from someone who hadn’t the faintest idea how to conduct themselves. Yet it appeared that he was going to have to take his chances. He’d been given his instructions, and now had no choice but to follow them. Striding up the road, the scowl deepened. He would have to collaborate with others or risk losing any standing he still had with Berlin.

  After failing once again to recover the package that Robert Ainsworth had hidden before his death, Henry couldn’t afford any more negative marks against him. The lead that he’d thought he had in Bordeaux hadn’t been any lead at all, and by the time he returned to Paris, the trail had been cold. He knew someone had been to the house in Switzerland, but he had no idea who, or what they’d taken away—if anything. He was back to square one, and he knew Berlin was keeping score. He’d have to find that package; that was clear. But in the meantime, his handler was giving him a new assignment.

  He would have to go to The Dorchester at 9pm. If Berlin wanted him to collaborate with others, he had no choice. He would have to meet with this Mata, and he would have to play the game. He was no longer the only spy in London, and he was expected to work with these new recruits.

  Henry’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. He would do as he was told, but he’d be damned if he’d go down with them if they were caught.

  Chapter One

  Sir William Buckley looked up at the knock on his office door. He glanced at his watch and called the command to enter, laying down his pen and sitting back with a sigh. It was getting late. Marguerite would be expecting him for dinner, but there was still so much to be done.

  “I’m sorry to disturb, sir.” His assistant Wesley entered the office carrying a leather portfolio and stack of signals from the radio room in his hands. “I have the latest reports from France, and another batch of communications from our agents there.”

  “What’s left of them,” Bill muttered, holding out a hand for the stack. “Thank you. Anything from the French network?”

  “No, sir.” Wesley cleared his throat. “And nothing from Norway, either.”

  Bill glanced up with a wry smile. “Am I that predictable?”

  “Not at all, sir. I just know that you’re anxious for word from the resistance there.”

  “Well, thank you for these, at least.”

  The telephone on the desk rang, forestalling any response Wesley would have made, and Bill reached for it, waving his assistant away.

  “Yes? Buckley speaking.”

  “Still there, Bill?” a voice demanded. “It’s almost seven!”

  “Yes, sir.” Bill cradled the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he flipped through the messages from France. “There’s quite a bit going on at the moment.”

  “Well, since you are still here, why don’t you come up to my office? Or, better yet, I’ll come down to you. I could use a walk to stretch my legs.”

  Bill snapped his fingers to get Wesley’s attention just as he was reaching for the door handle. When he turned his head questioningly, Bill held up a finger, asking him to wait.

  “Very well. I’ll be here. Shall I have tea sent up?”

  “Have you still got that scotch in your cabinet?”

  Bill grinned. “Yes.”

  “I’ll have that, if you don’t mind. I’m on my way.”

  Bill hung up and looked across his office at Wesley.

  “Montclair is on his way down. I don’t know how long he’ll be in here, but there’s no need for you to wait about until he’s finished. I’ll just scan through these messages now and if there are any that need a response, you can have them sent, and then head home.”

  “I don’t mind staying, sir,” Wesley said. “I know there’s quite a bit happening just now.”

  “My dear Wesley, it won’t improve as the war continues. You must learn to pace yourself. No sense in wasting all your ammunition before the main battle.”

  “And does that apply to you as well, sir?”

  Bill let out a bark of laughter. “It does, indeed, but I’m not very good at following my own words of wisdom, I’m afraid.”

  Wesley grinned and stood quietly while his superior went through the stack of messages before him, scanning each one thoroughly.

  “Is it as bad as they say?” he finally ventured.

  “Just about,” Bill murmured, glancing up. “Your brother…Percy, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s made it back all right from Dunkirk?”

  “Yes, thank you. He arrived back last week. He was brought back by a private yacht, captained by an ex-Navy Lieutenant from the last war. He said there were a few hairy moments, but his captain was cool as a cucumber and got them back. Amazing what some of those ordinary citizens did in the effort.” Wesley cleared his throat. “Percy has a nasty wound in his shoulder, and his leg took a fair beating from shrapnel, but the doc says he’ll be back with his regiment in no time.”

  Bill nodded. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. I’m glad he made it home.”

  “Sir?” Wesley broke the silence again a moment later.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about your agent. The one who made it out of Bordeaux.”

  Bill glanced up. “Yes?”

  “Well, I was just wondering if she’s made it back all right?” Wesley cleared his throat and a faint flush stained his cheeks. “It’s just that we’ve been hearing about ships being sunk by U-boats in the Channel, and I haven’t heard anything more about her since she left Bordeaux.”

  “Ah. Quite right. She made it to Plymouth right enough. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “That’s good news, sir,” Wesley said, a look of relief on his face.

  “Yes.”

  There was a single, brisk knock on the door and Wesley moved to open it, admitting a man who was on the shorter side with a stocky, square frame. Seen in a crowd, one wouldn’t look twice at the man. However, what Jasper Montclair lacked in stature, he more than made up for in personality.

  “You’re still here too, Fitch?” he demanded in a booming voice. “Is everyone working late?”

  “There is a war on, you know,” Bill said, getting out of his chair and coming around the side of his desk. “But I’ve just told Wesley he can go.”

  “I don’t mind staying, sir.”

  “Yes, I know, but none of those messages require a response this evening. Go on and get yourself some dinner.”

  “Very well, sir, if you’re sure.”

  “I am. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  Wesley nodded to Jasper and went out of the office, closing the door quietly.

  “He’s a good man, young Fitch,” Jasper said, crossing the room to seat himself in one of the arm chairs before Bill’s desk. “Not surprising, given his family. His father is a legend in the Houses. You’re lucky to have him.”

  “Yes, I know. He’s a tremendous help.” Bill went over to a tall wooden cabinet and pulled a key from his pocket. “His brother’s just returned from Dunkirk.”

  “Has he? Good show.” Jasper crossed his legs and watched as Bill unlocked the cabinet. “That’s one battle, at least, that’s over. We rescued more men off those beaches than Churchill ever thought possible when he dreamt up the scheme. Not only did we get all our troops off, but that last night they took off twenty-six thousand French troops. A resounding success, it was, thanks in no small part to the armada of private boats that answered the call. They’re calling it the Miracle at Dunkirk.”

  “Yes.” Bill poured two glasses of scotch and turned to carry one over to Jasper. “His brother came back on a private yacht captained by an ex-Naval man.”

  Jasper sipped the scotch appreciatively and watched as Bill took the other arm chair.

  “You’ve heard the news from France about Daladier?” he asked after a moment.

  Bill nodded, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “He’s been removed from his position, and de Gaulle is now the Under-Secretary for Defense.”

&n
bsp; “Know anything about him?”

  “De Gaulle? Not really. Only that he’s an officer in the French army. Tanks, wasn’t it?”

  “Quite right. He was made a Brigadier-General a few weeks ago. He led one of the few successful counterattacks against the invasion, for all the good it did.” Jasper exhaled and shook his head. “The French won’t hold out for much longer. Our forces are being pushed south, and the losses are heavy. I don’t see that there is much hope left for France.”

  “No.”

  “England will be alone.”

  “Yes.”

  Jasper sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes I wonder if perhaps we will be better off.”

  Bill raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, we won’t be committing the defense of England to France, for one thing.” Jasper dropped his hand and sipped his drink. “And Churchill won’t have to fight with Paris on every little thing that he wants to do.”

  “There is that.” Bill was quiet for a moment, then he shook his head. “But how on earth we’re going to keep the Jerries on the other side of the Channel is beyond me.”

  Jasper nodded glumly. “Winston is putting great faith in the radar. Chain Home is the one thing that might save us.”

  “The radar towers are key,” Bill admitted. “They’ll give our pilots advanced warning to intercept the bombers…and fighters.”

  “Let’s hope it’s enough.”

  Both men were silent for a moment, then Jasper cleared his throat.

  “Has Jian returned from France?”

  “Yes, and she brought Oscar with her. He is already in London and is debriefing. She will be here tomorrow.”

  Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Why the delay?”

  “She had to return to Northolt before coming to London. It was only a few days delay, and Oscar has given his account, so I saw no harm in it.”

  “And the package?”