The Web of Spies
Espionage / Thriller
Date Published: 9/17/24
Publisher: FJK-KW Press
Former SOE operative Luba Haas and MI6 agent Natalie Jenkins secretly enter
Poland in 1948 to meet with a sleeper agent and anti-communist insurgents,
not realizing their mission has been compromised by a mole deep inside
British intelligence. Hunted by both Soviet and Polish security services,
they attempt a harrowing escape, not knowing whom they can trust as they try
to outrun their pursuers.
Inspired by the true events of Poland’s anti-communist insurgency, the
Cambridge Five spy scandal, and a covert British operation to roll back
communism to the borders of the USSR, Operation Nightfall: The Web of Spies
sheds light on a lesser known story of the Cold War and immerses readers
into the shadowy world of spy-versus-spy operations.
EXCERPT
As Lieutenant Colonel Yuri Sokolov’s green Russian staff car moved slowly along the narrow forest road, it came upon a sharp bend, a spot where the road turned back onto itself at a nearly 270-degree angle. He knew immediately this was the spot where the incident occurred. His source described the location to him perfectly and said he should see it for himself. There had been
increasing cases of vandalism. Windows on government buildings had been smashed, and party officials had been harassed and threatened. But this was the first direct attack resulting in loss of life in the Gdansk Pomerania region of Northwest Poland. There had been attacks near Warsaw but that was over four-hundred kilometers to the southeast and Sokolov was troubled that violence was now in the region. But that was the reason why he was here.
His source described an act of violence so brutal it would stoke fear amongst the Polish militia and the security services. Their fear would lead to distrust and anger towards the local population. They would never know whom they could trust, and they’d turn their distrust and anger into retaliation and retribution. It was predictable. In Sokolov’s mind it was a natural human reaction. He had seen it time and time again and had used distrust and anger to his advantage throughout his career.
Sokolov leaned forward from his seat in the rear of the vehicle, motioned to his driver, and said, “Pull over there. Over there on the right, next to that large tree,” pointing to a fir that stood at the edge of the road.
There were two vehicles up ahead blocking the road, and he counted a group of six Polish militiamen moving through the trees on either side. A young officer, who looked not more than a teenager stood in the middle of the road and barked out orders to the men.
“Search among the trees,” the officer yelled. “They can’t have gone far.”
Sokolov’s driver slowly moved the vehicle to the side of the road next to the tree and waited for further instructions. The Russian looked around satisfied, and said to his driver, “I’m going to take a look around. Please turn the car around and wait for me. I won’t be long.”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel,” the driver replied.
Sokolov opened the rear door on the driver’s side and slid out of the vehicle and onto the road. He stood up, adjusted his belt, and pulled down on his uniform tunic, running his hands over it to smooth out any wrinkles. He slid his sidearm holster to a comfortable position on his right hip, and then reached up to adjust the wireframed spectacles that had slipped down his nose. He pulled out his soft field cap tucked into his belt and carefully put it on, cocking it to one side. He glanced down at his watch which bore the slogan, “Death to Spies” on its face. It was seven past nine in the morning. Then he took a deep breath, smelled the scent of pine and fir, and then slowly exhaled as he prepared himself for what he knew he would find.
Shutting the door behind him, he began his walk up the road.
The gravel surface crunched under his heavy boots. The road was deeply rutted from the farm and forestry vehicles that used the road daily, and he had to raise his arms to his side, much like a highwire artist in a circus, in order to balance himself and keep from falling.
He walked past the two militia vehicles and stopped to survey the scene directly ahead of him. Not more than ten meters in front of the vehicles lay the bodies of two militiamen. They were not moving and appeared to be dead.
About the Author
Karl Wegener is a former Russian linguist, intelligence analyst, and combat
interrogator who served in the U.S. Army and within the Intelligence
Community during the Cold War.
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