WOLF ANGEL
Amsterdam Occult Series Book One
Mark Hobson
Copyright © 2020 Mark Hobson
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
ISBN: 9798696036946
Except where actual historical events and characters are being used for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Ken Dawson at Creative Covers
This one is for Bruce, Paul and Zia.
The Three Musketeers.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
KONINGSBOSCH VILLAGE NOVEMBER 1945
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
SCHLOSS HULCHRATH - HITLER YOUTH TRAINING CAMP
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
OPERATION CARNIVAL
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
GRISSLEHAMNS – UPPSALA DISTRICT – SWEDEN.
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
HELSINKI – FINLAND. MAY 2002
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KONINGSBOSCH VILLAGE NOVEMBER 1945
He waited until twilight before making the final scurrying dash across the flat field. It just wasn’t worth the risk, even with the low concealing mist that seemed to always cover the countryside at this time of the year. Not after the long weeks of hiding and scavenging and sleeping out in the open, all through the summer and into the autumn, moving only at night to avoid the patrols that criss-crossed the area. To blow it all now at the last moment would be devastating.
So he remained sheltered in the undergrowth at the edge of the wood, lying on his stomach, watching the grey building through the gloom.
Way back in March and soon after they had left the devastated ruins of the German city of Aachen, he and the other members of the team had split up and gone their separate ways. Initially they had planned to remain together and if possible to make their way back to Schloss Hulchrath. But the stupid girl had triggered a tripwire, badly injuring her leg and blowing away the face of the boy they called Sepp, killing him. So they had left her crying in the mud with barely a glance back as they hurried away.
A mile or so further on he, the leader, told them that from here on it would be best for each of them to travel alone, to try and make their separate ways back to friendly lines. So after quick handshakes and whispered words of good luck, they had each parted company with the knowledge that they would in all likelihood never see one another again.
He had decided to head west. Resorting to PLAN B like this was not necessarily a bad thing, at least not from his point of view, for he had a firm destination in mind, a place that the others were not privy to. A location which might ultimately be his ticket out of the whole mess that Europe had become. With the war all but lost, and with the Reich’s enemies closing in from all sides, he had desperately needed an escape route and as far as he was concerned it was a case of every man for himself.
But what should have been a journey of a few days under normal circumstances had turned into a slow, nerve-wracking trek across war-ravaged Germany of first weeks, and then months. Moving in short stages mostly at night to avoid detection, and scavenging food here and there, stealing from farms or killing the odd rabbit, he had grown physically and mentally exhausted, forever cold even through the summer, and constantly on edge from fear of discovery and most likely death by firing squad. From leaving Aachen in March he had travelled across the border into the southern tip of Holland, taking over eight months to traverse the region. And the war in the meantime had drawn to its final brutal conclusion, with humiliating defeat for the Fatherland giving him added motive to push on. Until finally, on this cold and wet and foggy day in November, he arrived on the outskirts of the small hamlet of Koningsbosch, a dreary and cheerless place in the middle of nowhere, a spot all-but-forgotten by the great events taking place over the last six years. But not forgotten by him.
He’d visited the place on a number of occasions over the years, under orders to carry out periodical checks to make sure that all was in order… just in case it became necessary. His superiors insisted that their plan would be to the benefit of all of Germany, not just during the terrible sacrifices the nation and its people were having to make now, but also for the future generations to come. And knowing what he knew, about the secrets revealed to him during his long stay at Schloss Hulchrath, he knew that this was no idle boast. In fact the responsibilities placed on him, in the event of the war being lost, were both frightening and thrilling.
So he had endured the hardships and dangers of his long journey stoically, feeling no self-pity or anger. Just a determination to see this through, knowing that this clandestine visit – dangerous though it may be – would place him at the centre of this most secret of operations.
Eventually the late afternoon drew in and the light slowly seeped out of the grey sky, until he decided it was safe to leave his hiding place. Rising slowly into a crouch he slung his small knapsack onto his back and pulled his cap down tight over his blond hair, then cautiously moved forward across the large field. Towards the old stone building that marked the edge of the tiny hamlet, its buttressed walls and small spire just a dark shadow in the damp fog.
Carefully he approached the ancient convent.
The Sisters of the Precious Blood was how they referred to
