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

“She gave it to me before continuing on to Northolt. It contained some rather interesting plans for the underground munitions factories that the Germans are building beneath the plants in Stuttgart. I’ve forwarded the information on.”

  “Good!” Jasper nodded in satisfaction. “Very good. And Oscar?”

  “The amount of intelligence he’s managed to gather, as well as the sheer amount of information that he already knew, is staggering. It’s slow going. There is so much!”

  “Will he be willing to go back?”

  Bill let out a bark of laughter. “That’s all he wants to do. He says he won’t rest until the Nazis are out of Prague.”

  Jasper grunted. “I suppose he would feel that way. Is his information good?”

  “The best I’ve seen in quite a while.” Bill leaned forward. “He has intimate knowledge of how the SS work and conduct their business. More than that, he knows exactly what is required for identity papers for the Reich.”

  Jasper looked startled. “Heh?”

  “That’s what he did before leaving Prague and making his way to Holland. He issued papers and credentials for the Reich.”

  “Well, that is helpful! Where in blazes do you find these people, Bill?”

  “Oscar found me. Or at least, he found one of my agents in Amsterdam. They alerted me and, well, now here he is.”

  “Thank God for that. And no one knows who he is?”

  “Jian does, but no one else.”

  “Not the French network?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then he will be the ace up our sleeve.” Jasper cleared his throat. “Once Jian has debriefed, what are your plans?”

  “I don’t have any. I was going to give her some time off. I think she’s earned it.”

  “Don’t do that just yet.”

  Bill raised his eyebrows in question and Jasper took another sip of scotch before setting the glass down on the desk.

  “There’s a new training course that’s being put together,” he said slowly, deliberately. “You know the stock Churchill puts in intelligence, yes? Well, he’s convinced that once France falls, the only way to go is to have people on the ground who will…well, there’s no good way of putting it. He wants to send people to engage in guerilla warfare against the Germans.”

  Bill grinned. “That sounds just like Winston. What does he have in mind?”

  “He wants to train them here, and then parachute them in. They’ll make contact with any French resistance and, well, do their thing.”

  “You don’t sound like you approve.”

  “It is rather underhanded.”

  “Jasper, we deal in intelligence. Our very business is underhanded.”

  “Yes, but that’s different,” Jasper muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “What Churchill is proposing is…well, it’s ungentlemanly.”

  “I can assure you that the Nazis are not being gentlemen themselves,” Bill muttered, recalling some of the accounts from the villages in France. “By all accounts, they’re shooting innocents and bludgeoning their way through France. I’m with Churchill on this one. What will he call it?”

  “Oh, he’s had a few ideas, but I think the current favorite is the Special Operations Executive.”

  Bill waited for a moment and, when nothing more was forthcoming, he frowned.

  “What does this have to do with Jian?” he finally asked.

  “Others in the cabinet aren’t convinced of the need for such a group. The main objection seems to be the amount and intensity of training that the men, and women, would have to undergo. To address that particular obstacle, an experimental training program is being set up in Scotland.”

  “And you want Jian to take it?” Bill asked incredulously. “She’s not a saboteur. She’s a spy!”

  “Yes, and I’m not suggesting that she be moved to this new group, if it ever gets off the ground,” Jasper said hastily. “It’s simply that I saw the training plans, and I think she would benefit greatly from the course.”

  Bill’s brows came together. “Why? What will she be learning that she hasn’t already learned from us?”

  Jasper cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I know her father was a close friend of yours, and I suspect that you think of her almost a daughter.”

  “Yes, I suppose in some ways I do. However, I treat her the same as I treat all my agents.”

  “Yes, yes, I have no doubt of that.” Jasper finally raised his eyes to Bill’s. “She would learn, among many other things, how to kill enemy sentries quickly and, above all, silently. Now, my own personal feelings regarding the role of women in a theatre of war aside, if she is to be sent back into France once it has fallen, then this is a skill that I think will only help her. Don’t you agree?”

  Bill was silent for a long moment, thinking of her proficiency in a martial art which no one knew anything about. Jasper believed Jian needed to learn to kill, but Bill knew she’d already learned that years ago in Hong Kong. Mistaking his silence for reluctance, Jasper exhaled and leaned forward.

  “She would also undergo very strenuous physical training and testing. The men who drew up the training plan have been training the BEF. Have you heard of the Commandos?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “It’s another one of Winston’s ideas. They’re to be a special branch of the army, made up of soldiers who volunteer for special training to carry out raids against the enemy. Small groups of men who will be able to go where a whole battalion cannot. Or, at least, that’s the general idea as far as I can tell. The men who will be training those chaps are the same ones who are undertaking this training, and they have some rather maverick ideas. They are adamant that very specific skills be taught, as well as extreme physical endurance. They don’t expect even half of the trainees to complete the course. Their conservative estimate is twenty percent to complete it and pass. If you don’t think she can do it, then it’s best not to—”

  “I have no doubt that she can do it,” Bill interrupted, swallowing a mouthful of scotch. “You’ve seen all her training reports.”

  “Yes. They’re exemplary, which is precisely why I thought of her this morning when I saw the training outline.”

  Bill considered him shrewdly for a moment. “There’s another reason you want her there,” he said bluntly. “Spit it out, Jasper. What is it?”

  Jasper had the grace to look sheepish.

  “I was asked to submit an agent from MI6 to the training. There is some discussion as to the type of person who can excel in such an environment, and I thought perhaps someone like Jian would open a few minds to possibilities that they might not have considered otherwise.”

  “You want someone you think will surprise them.”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  Bill shook his head and finished his drink. “Well, she would certainly do that. Are there any other women going?”

  “Not yet, and to be perfectly frank, I don’t think any others will go on this run. As I said, it’s all rather more of an experiment. If it goes well, then it will be the basis for the training platform for this new project of Winston’s. If not, well, then a few people will come away with very specialized Commando training.” He looked at Bill quizzically. “Will that be a problem for her?”

  “Not having any fellow females about? No, I don’t think so,” Bill said thoughtfully. “I’ll certainly mention it, but I’d be surprised if she balked at that. She’s not one to balk at any challenge.”

  Jasper visibly relaxed. “You’ll arrange it then? Good. I’ll submit her name first thing.”

  “And if she doesn’t complete the training?”

  “Then I’ll lose a rather large wager with the Commando instructor heading up the project,” Jasper said cheerfully, standing.

  Bill laughed, getting to his feet. “Ha! I should have known.”

  “Well, when they implied that our agents weren’t capable of the kind of physical and mental conditioning that they have in mind, what was I supposed to do?”

  “Quite right, Montclair. Quite right. Let’s hope that Jian is up to the task.”

  Chapter Two

  St. James Underground

  June 10

  Evelyn Ainsworth looked at her watch and sighed. She’d just missed the train to Paddington. Bill had wanted to talk to her about Oscar, or Finn as she knew him, delaying her departure from the building on Broadway that was headquarters to MI6. He had some questions about their flight south ahead of the German army, and her impression of the Czech-turned-Nazi-turned-Allied-spy. While Finn was still being held for debriefing, there was some concern that perhaps he was a double agent for the Germans. Or at least, that was what she surmised from Bill during his very careful questioning. It was an understandable suspicion, she supposed, but she would be very surprised to find that it was the case. She didn’t believe a man could fake the hatred she’d glimpsed in Finn’s eyes for the SS soldiers. And so she’d told Bill, but not, apparently, before he’d made her too late to catch her train.

  Turning, she made her way across the platform to a bench. She would have to wait for the next one, and it would mean getting back to RAF Northolt much later than she’d planned. This delay would mean waiting for over an hour at Paddington Station for the train to Northolt, and then she still had to walk to the RAF station where she was ostensibly posted in her position as an Assistant Section Officer in the WAAFs.

  It really was infuriating, she thought as she sank onto the bench and settled her handbag on her lap. She’d been in London for two days, debriefing from her latest romp across Belgium, France, Switzerland, and then France again. At the end of it, she’d returned to Northolt, only to be called back again not twenty-four hours later. This time she’d had to spend two days with the radio group
, learning how to operate the newest model of portable radio. She shook her head now and rubbed her forehead tiredly. It really was ridiculous. They kept teaching her how to use the radios, but they never sent one with her when she went abroad. It seemed to her that it was all rather a waste of time.

  “Evelyn!”

  A voice called across the platform and she looked up in surprise to see Bill’s assistant, Wesley, running towards her, his tie askew and his jacket flapping open.

  “Mr. Fitch!” she exclaimed, standing quickly. “What is it? Is everything all right?”

  “No. Well, yes.” He stopped before her, breathing heavily. “What I mean is, no.”

  Evelyn stared at him in some consternation, a laugh on her lips.

  “It’s not a difficult question, Mr. Fitch,” she said humorously. “Either everything is fine, or it isn’t.”

  “It isn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Sir Buckley just received a call from Northolt. You must get back immediately!”

  “I am trying, but I’ve missed the train to Paddington, in no small part because of Sir Buckley himself.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m to drive you, but we must hurry!”

  Wesley put his hand under her elbow and began to guide her quickly towards the steps leading up to the street.

  “Drive me to Paddington?” she demanded. “Don’t be ridiculous! The train will have me arrive long before you can make it through the traffic.”

  “Not Paddington. Northolt,” he clarified. “Sir Buckley says the train will never get you back in time.”

  “In time for what?” Evelyn pulled away from him in exasperation. “Really, Mr. Fitch, what on earth can be so urgent?”

  Wesley stopped on the bottom step to the street and looked at her.

  “Flight Leader Miles Lacey.”

  Alarm shot through her and Evelyn felt her chest tighten painfully as breath caught in the back of her throat.

  “Miles? Is he hurt?” she asked quickly, her heart pounding. “Has something happened?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. But he’s standing in your office right this minute while a young corporal is supposedly out on the station looking for you!”

  Evelyn gasped. “What?! But I’m not there!”

  “Clearly,” Wesley said dryly, starting up the steps. Evelyn needed no urging to hurry now, and she ran up the steps lightly beside him. “Your assistant didn’t know what to tell him, so she said that you must have stepped out and sent a corporal to locate you. Then she called Sir Buckley to find out when you would be back!”

  “Oh good Lord, what a ninny!” Evelyn muttered under her breath. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “I gather she was rather flustered at him showing up unannounced, seemingly convinced that you were on the station. Why would he think that? Does he know that you’re back?”

  “No. I haven’t spoken to him, or even written to him yet. I haven’t had time. I’ve been running back and forth to London!”

  They emerged onto the street and half ran down the pavement towards Broadway.

  “That’s not all, I’m afraid. There’s also another pilot there, an Officer Fred Durton?”

  “Oh dear! I suppose he’s looking for me as well?”

  “Quite.” They stopped on the curb, waiting for a traffic light to change so they could cross the road. “So you see, Sir Buckley is rather anxious to allay any suspicion on their part.”

  “Yes, I suppose he is. What a muddle!” Evelyn looked at him, a reluctant laugh pulling on her lips. “Things are never easy, are they?”

  He grinned. “Not in this business, or so I’m learning. I’ve had my car pulled around. I can get you back in half an hour. The rest, I’m afraid, is up to you.”

  “What did Bill tell her to say to them? Where am I supposed to have been?”

  “He didn’t. He thought it best for you come up with something that would be likely to be believed by both of them.”

  The light changed and they jogged across the intersection to where a black Vauxhall was pulled up alongside the curb. The driver got out as Wesley approached.

  “Thanks so much, Tommy,” he said with a nod. “I appreciate it.”

  “No problem at all.” The driver nodded and turned to walk back towards the tall, unremarkable building that was the headquarters on Broadway.

  “Wasn’t that Sir Buckley’s driver?” Evelyn asked as Wesley opened the passenger door for her.

  “Yes. He sent him round for my car while I tried to catch up with you.”

  Evelyn got into the car and waited while he ran around the front to climb in behind the wheel.

  “I do appreciate you taking the time to run me back,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “There’s no need to thank me,” he said with a smile, pulling into the flow of traffic. “Let’s just get you back so that we can avoid any unnecessary complications, shall we?”

  RAF Northolt

  Flying Officer Fred Durton whistled cheerfully as he strode down the corridor on his way to Assistant Section Officer Ainsworth’s office. He turned the corner and continued on, wondering as he always did why on earth her office was so far removed from the rest of the WAAF officers. It was almost as if she’d been shoved in the back corner where she was out of sight, and out of mind. The out-of-the-way position of her office probably wasn’t helping her displeasure with the state of the WAAF accommodations on the station, and he couldn’t say he blamed her for that.

  He chuckled to himself. She complained often enough about the lack of proper officer quarters, particularly in relation to the WAAF officers’ mess. On one occasion, that conversation had led to her dressing up as a man in an RAF officer’s uniform and accompanying him to their officers’ mess. The chuckle turned to a laugh at the memory. He’d had to help her out a back window in the end.

  It had been some weeks since he’d seen Evelyn, and he was looking forward to seeing her now. She was away more than she was present on the station, but this time it was his fault. He’d just returned from a glorious seven days of leave, and he couldn’t wait to tell her all about it. He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to finagle the time off, but he’d had a wonderful time. Of course, now he couldn’t wait to get back up in his Hurricane, but first, he had every intentions of dragging the lovely ASO out to dinner. It had been entirely too long since he’d teased her. He needed his semi-regular dose of Evelyn humor to help him carry on, after all. Flying was a dangerous business, and after Dunkirk, they were really in it now.

  He ran a hand carelessly through his hair as he came to her office door and reached out to turn the handle and enter quickly. The cheerful greeting died on his lips when, instead of the fair Evelyn, he found a tall man standing at the window looking out. He turned as he entered and Fred recognized him instantly. He was his friend Barney’s mate, the Spitfire pilot he’d met a few months ago.

  Evelyn’s pilot.

  “Oh!” Fred exclaimed, drawing up short. “I say, aren’t you Miles Lacey?”

  The man nodded with a smile.

  “Flying Officer Durton, isn’t it?” Miles asked, moving forward with his hand outstretched. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you, but where’s Evelyn?” he asked, looking around the office.

  “That seems to be the question of the day,” Miles answered wryly. “I arrived nearly an hour ago. A redheaded sergeant showed me in here, then said she would have someone go and see if they could discover her whereabouts. That was the last I saw of her.”

  “Good Lord, really?” Fred pulled off his hat and tossed it carelessly onto the edge of Evelyn’s desk. “The station isn’t that big. Where on earth has she got to?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Miles pulled out a cigarette case and offered him one. “She isn’t on one of her training sprees. At least, I don’t think she is.”

  “Well, Sergeant Cunningham would have told you if she was,” Fred said logically, selecting a cigarette. “Ta. Anyway, there’s her mac. She takes it with her when she goes away.”

  He nodded to an RAF-issued raincoat hanging on the coat stand in the corner and Miles glanced at it.

  “Then she’s definitely here,” he said, shoving a cigarette between his lips and pulling out his lighter. “I wouldn’t have thought it would take so long to find her.”