Initiation Read online

  Initiation

  A Spy Story

  S C Brown

  Copyright © 2017 S C Brown

  First edition published 2017.

  Revised 2019.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1979992002

  ISBN-13: 978-1979992008

  Cover Photo by Malgorzata Frej on Unsplash

  For Sarah, Mum, Dad and Andy

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  S C Brown is a graduate of the War Studies Department of King’s College, London, and served 25 years in the British Army, including time as an Intelligence Officer, before taking up writing fiction. An avid reader, trekker, battlefield guide and amateur military and intelligence historian, he now lives in Kent.

  Chapter One

  The Netherlands, December 1943

  Holland was as black as a bomb bay.

  Agent Peter Alden, codename Jute, noticed the small light to his side begin to glow red. It was time. As rehearsed, Jute nudged himself further towards the hatchway as the bomber lurched its way further inland. One of the crew helped to open the hatch, inviting in a cold blast of winter air. Both men shuddered noticeably. Jute nudged forward again to dangle his feet out into the open. His ankles felt the bite of the freezing air as it rushed by. Moonlight reflected off the crooked tombstone teeth of the crewman’s nervy smile. Agent Jute didn’t need reassurance – he had been ready for this moment for weeks, though these final waiting moments were by far the worst of it.

  Jute watched Holland rush past some 500 feet below. Erratic crosswinds kept the aircraft tossing and veering unexpectedly. Perched precariously on the edge of an open hatchway, Jute was doing his best to not fall out too early.

  The bomber levelled out quickly and the crewman, responding to something in his earphones, shouted happily, ‘We’ve found it! Two minutes. Stand by!’

  Two minutes. Two very slow minutes to do nothing but stare down at Nazi-occupied Holland and wonder what awaited him there. The seconds ticked by slowly and Jute felt his pulse quicken. He hunched his shoulders, dropped his chin and blew slightly warmer air down into his jump suit. In his head, Jute went through one more time who he was to meet, where he was to be taken and the address that was to become his temporary home whilst he spied on the Germans.

  As the noise of the engines dropped, Jute’s mind instantly cleared. He held his breath. ‘Here we go.’ Jute’s eyes stared intently at the red light glowing above him, knowing what was coming next.

  The light shone green and Agent Jute was through the hatch before the crewman could yell, ‘Go!’

  He caught a glimpse of the aircraft disappearing overhead. Goodbye Britain, he thought. Thanking his parachute for opening, Jute looked down past his shoes to get his bearings. He made out a patchwork of dark blue and grey fields rushing towards him, the silver moonlight flashing its reflection over a stream. Glad to recognise where he was and counting down the 15 seconds he had from leaving the aircraft to landing, he braced his body for the impact. The dark earth raced upwards towards him. Jute pursed his lips and closed his eyes, and his feet crashed into frost-hardened Holland.

  ‘Agh!’ He exhaled loudly as the impact knocked the air out of his lungs. This was his hardest landing yet. Jute was moving, dragged by the wind face down along the field. Old crops scratched at his wrists and face. He felt the wind drop slightly and, clenching his teeth, he raised a knee and got quickly to his feet. Frantically, before the wind picked up again, he grabbed armfuls of rigging lines and parachute silk; with his arms full, he fell down on top of the parachute, knocking the wind out his lungs for the second time in a matter of seconds. Jute tried to listen but his breathing was too loud and too heavy.

  He swallowed down some air and held his breath. Footsteps crackled on the frosty stubble to his right. He turned his head silently to find two men in hats and long coats approaching. Jute was pleased to see them but kept still.

  ‘Peter Alden?’ the shorter of the two asked.

  ‘Use the password.’

  A cloud of breath appeared as the man sighed. ‘Alright then’, he said, annoyed. ‘Something tells me that the cold winter will bring a good harvest.’

  ‘And we shall have plenty, one and all,’ Jute replied, smiling. ‘Excellent,’ he continued, relieved as he rolled onto one side to unfasten his parachute. Standing up, he dusted earth from his knees.

  The two men stepped closer, almost in unison. The slightly shorter of the two had dark hair flecked with silver, and was of a definite military build with an old-fashioned, upright gait. Calmly and with a definite accent, eyes covered by the shadow of the brim of his hat, he began to speak.

  ‘You are Captain Peter Alden – or Jute - of the Special Operations Executive. This is going to surprise you, but I am Major Walter Berner of the Abwehr.’

  Jute exhaled as if punched in the stomach. He didn’t believe for a second what he had just heard. He couldn’t. What were they doing here? The Abwehr - the German Military Intelligence Service?

  Major Berner continued calmly. ‘As a result of your training, you know all about us. Be assured, Peter, we know all about you too. If you’re thinking of doing anything hasty, please remember it’s not just Sergeant Brunswick and me here tonight. You’re surrounded by many more. This was very much a pre-planned and deliberate operation to capture you. You see, we knew you were coming.’

  Jute’s jaw dropped but he remained otherwise utterly still. What scared him was not knowing what to do. His training had not prepared him for indecision. Jute started to pant.

  The Major continued but sounded almost bored, waiting for Jute to catch up with what was happening to him. ‘As I say, this is my second in command, Sergeant Brunswick.’

  Brunswick was gaunt, his moon-silver hair contrasting with the black of his hat. Tall and with a grim, angular face, Brunswick nodded but never once took his eyes off Jute. Brunswick had one hand in his pocket and Jute assumed that was where the pistol was.

  Finally Brunswick spoke, his German accent all too clear. ‘You were expecting to be collected by Agent Halios, supported by Zampa. All named after flowers, I understand?’

  Jute did not respond. To agree would be to give information to the enemy. To refute this was what was expected of him but how? All Jute’s training was coming to nothing, simply because his adversaries knew so much, or at least seemed to. How did they know Halios and Zampa? Did they know everything? Dread was seeping in.

  Clearly unimpressed by Jute’s reactions so far, Berner went on. ‘Halios and Zampa arranged with London for you to be dropped in this location on this night. I know this because Halios and Zampa work for me.’ Major Berner paused for a moment to let that little bombshell sink in.

  Jute gave a long, slow blink of despair, wanting this all to be a bad joke.

  ‘You’re still struggling with what I have just told you, Peter; I am not at all surprised. It’s not every day you find out that the entire network you have been sent to support as an agent has not only been blown wide open, but is in fact a fabrication concocted by your enemy. In my book, that constitutes a bad day.’ Berner and Brunswick glanced at each other in silent agreement before Brunswick’s eyes shot back to Jute.

  Berner continued, his breath pushing out into the bitterly cold night air. ‘I have a total of forty-eight British and Dutch agents working in the Netherlands for me. Don’t shake your head: it’s all true. I will show you tomorrow, assuming you live that long. London has no idea what’s going on, obviously. You, Peter, will be my forty-ninth, assuming of course that you want to stay alive.’

  The realization of what was happening to him descended on Jute like a fog but Berner seemed determined to not give Jute the time to think he needed.

  ‘Peter, you will be taken from here to somewhere where you will
be allowed to spend what is left of tonight to think this all through. You’re in shock at present. I would be the same in your position. I understand your predicament. Let me be clear, my offer to you is very simple: you either agree to work for me, sending false messages back to London, or you will be imprisoned and almost certainly executed.’

  Jute stared straight through Berner, his mouth slightly open. Impulsively, Jute snapped his hand across his body and reached for his pistol.

  Before he knew it, Jute felt Brunswick’s cold Luger against his forehead. Berner’s pistol was drawn but held down by his side.

  That was quick.

  Berner sighed and looked askance. ‘So far, so predictable. You all do the same thing, Peter; we know now when you’re going to reach for the gun. Please raise your hands slowly. That’s it. Now Brunswick will remove your pistol. Good.’

  Jute’s pride stung. Brunswick stepped backwards, the Luger levelled at the sweat on Jute’s forehead.

  Berner sounded relieved. ‘Let’s not stand here all night, it’s freezing.’ Berner gestured to Brunswick. ‘Get him back to Purmerend.’

  Brunswick nodded but kept his glare and pistol firmly on the unarmed Jute. As Jute watched, Brunswick’s focus seem to alter a little and then the German Sergeant turned his head a fraction to whistle loudly over his left shoulder. Other men rushed forward.

  ‘How many of there are you?’ Jute whispered, surrounded by men in hats and coats but very, very alone. Jute wasn’t scared any more - he was numb.

  Jute’s attention shifted abruptly when Berner began to rub his own hands. Berner sounded brighter and said: ‘So, Peter, I will see you again in the morning. Sgt Brunswick will go through your options again in slightly more detail but your choice has, I think, been made clear to you already. I do strongly recommend you choose to work with me. Plenty of others have and they’re all alive and well. You will be properly treated.’

  ‘How can I trust you?’ Jute’s spirits seemed to return for a moment.

  Berner chuckled before fixing him with a piercing gaze. ‘My dear Peter, I’m a spy. You can’t trust me with anything. I can’t trust you either. I’d be a fool to. Trusting me is the last thing you want to do but if you want to stay alive, that is exactly what you are going to have to do. Tricky, I know. The only thing I can say to you with absolute certainty is that I personally guarantee your safety if you choose to comply with my wishes. Peter, I think you are a brave man, jumping into enemy territory as you have … but you’ve been caught. Don’t let your pride get the better of you.’

  Jute told Berner where to go.

  Berner smiled kindly. ‘Fair enough, but I won’t take that as your final answer. I never do. Go with Brunswick, get some food inside you and think it over. I bid you good night but I doubt you will sleep much, if at all. They never do on their first night.’

  * * *

  ‘We’re going to be late,’ said one of two British agents lying face down in the wintry litter of an evergreen forest.

  The battledress clothing they wore was proving to be no barrier to the seeping, damp cold of a recent snowmelt. Both agents lay side-by-side flat on the ground, ready to push themselves up for a quick getaway if needed. As they listened intently for anyone that may be following them, the seconds swept by tensely.

  After a while, both agents took a moment from scanning the darkness to cast a quick glance at each other and, in silent agreement, to smile in the moonlight: their pursuers were nowhere to be seen or heard. The man brought a foot up to his waist, raising himself silently to a crouch. The woman gradually did the same, continuing to scan for the first hint of further danger. A re-assuring silence persisted. The man grasped the sleeve of his female companion, tugging gently to convey a silent command – let’s go. Casting a glance over her shoulder, the woman nodded in agreement – OK.

  They both stepped forward to the edge of the wood, flinching at every snapping twig, towards a field that they had both come to know well over the recent months. The clearing in front of them, where the grey ankle-high grass swayed in a slow but chilling midnight breeze, was many hundreds of yards wide. Over to the right, the farm buildings loomed black and silent, smoke no longer rising from the chimney as it had earlier. The man tugged the woman’s sleeve once more and felt the woman go suddenly stock-still. Her eyes were fixed on the far corner of the field, squinting to see through the night.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered the man urgently. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘I … I’m not sure.’

  The man followed her stare into the far corner of the field. The two agents stood perfectly still, the man still lightly grasping her arm. Meredith Robertson, still getting used to her new codename - Eve - could sense her partner’s increasing impatience but she remained unmoved.

  ‘There!’ Eve whispered, ‘There’s something over there in the corner but I can’t make out what’.

  ‘The horses?’

  ‘Cannot tell. I just cannot tell,’ she said, tensely.

  ‘Let’s move on, or we could be standing around all night.’

  ‘Fine. You look out; I will keep an eye on that corner and -’

  From the corner Eve had been staring at, dogs began to bark.

  ‘Split up! We’ll meet by the lake later,’ said the man instantly, setting off.

  Eve looked around, considering her options. She would go left, too, but on a slightly different path to her sprinting colleague. At times like this, Eve was happier on her own.

  Eve could hear the footsteps of the man to her front, off to the right. She veered increasing left and sprinted across a wide-open track before darting back into the cover of the woods again, thorns snagging at her trousers. Behind her, the dogs barked quickly, the noise accompanied with the occasional shout from men puffing as they tried to keep up.

  Eve’s colleague disappeared into the darkness; he had timed it well, making the split as they approached a five-way junction of forest tracks. By the sounds of it, thought Eve as she raced on, the pursuers had not realized that the two agents had split. The ruse was working, for now.

  Rushing headlong through the trees, swiping branches out of the way, Eve noticed the dog’s barking move in an arc behind and away from her, stretching off to the right. The dogs were tracking him, not her. Eve kept running, her fitness and her desperation to escape forcing her legs and arm to pump, her mouth wide open, her lungs gasping wildly. The rough battledress trousers rubbed against her knees. As the trees began to thin out, the moon emerged from behind cloud and Eve’s long legs picked up more speed.

  Not daring to look behind - to do that would slow her down - Eve ran on to the bank of the lake, which stood so still that it looked like a solid, vast, mirror. The perfect reflection of the moon and a few wisps of cloud would at any other time been a sight of pure beauty but tonight, thought Eve, the lake’s stillness could be her undoing.

  After a quick glance around, she sucked in a lungful of air, knowing she had no real alternative. Slowly, Eve stepped forward and out into the lake. God, it’s cold. The freezing water flooded her boots before creeping painfully up her legs as she waded forward. Eve pushed out beyond waist height; as the water hit her ribs an icy fist squeezed the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping in short, panicky bursts. She couldn’t hear a thing over the noise of her own gulping and the rippling of the water.

  Desperate to know where her pursuers were, Eve took in as much air as her shrinking lungs could take, held her breath and listened. She gradually moved her head to peer over her shoulder. Eve could hear voices and a lorry in the distance but that was all. They were some way off. Had her pursuers given up the chase or was she listening to the arrest of her colleague? Not knowing made her feel vulnerable and alone. It was the one kind of loneliness that Eve didn’t enjoy.

  Knowing her lungs could take no more, she sighed out heavily but the cold forced her to suck in little rasps of air in uncontrollable spasms. Using her hands as oars, she propelled herself forwards. The cold bit in
to her knuckles. Eve cringed at how the rippling water amplified her presence. She waded to the cover of some drooping willow branches. A fish broke the surface of the lake; startled, Eve let out a small cry but everything else seemed still.

  Her breathing steadied gradually as the stabs of cold wore off. Using the willows as cover, she pushed on through the water, following the edge of the lake, deliberately making her movements as even and as constant as possible to minimise noise. She strained to pull her boots free of the sucking mud, weakening fast. Her knuckles felt like someone was forcing a burning needle into them – a cruel trick of the cold.

  The cover of the willows filtered to an end, replaced by thick, overhanging rhododendron bushes that formed an impenetrable barrier between Eve and dry land. She was trapped: she knew she couldn’t go back and she couldn’t get ashore. Her teeth began to chatter, and she could feel the cold beginning to take her over.

  ‘One last effort,’ she told herself, refusing flatly to die in this lake. She gritted her teeth and, with eyes focussed on a clearing ahead, she ploughed on, caring less about how much noise she made cutting through the water.

  Slower and slower she went. Her eyes widened with desperation. She found herself holding her breath with every forward stretch of a leg as if to push all her remaining energy into the movement. Slowly, the little beach she was aiming for got closer. The floor of the lake gave way under her left foot and down she went, her head plunging beneath the surface. Frantically, she thrashed with her hands and feet for purchase. At one point, mud oozed between her fingers. Her left foot made contact with the lake bottom again and she thrust herself upwards and then just forced her way forward, determined to end this now.

  At last she reached the beach, saying a silent prayer of thankfulness as she emerged from the clinging cold of the lake. As Eve’s ankles broke free of the water, something in her snapped and she collapsed onto all fours, utterly drained, gasping. All thoughts of the pursuing dogs were lost as she fought a battle for survival against the biting cold breeze.