Camp X (22 page)

She left the room and the door closed behind her.

“Little Bill, what happened?”

“There'll be time to answer all your questions, but first you have to answer this man's questions.” He indicated the man beside him.

“Hello, I'm really a doctor,” he said. “Do you remember anything?”

“Driving the jeep and seeing those people and . . . waking up here.”

“Do you remember the ride to the hospital or talking to me before?” he asked.

“Not really . . . wait . . . did I come here with Bill in the back of a van?”

“Yes, you did,” Little Bill answered.

“That's a good sign. Do you know where you are now?”

“In a hospital.”

“And do you know your name?”

“Of course,” I snorted. What sort of a silly question was that? “I'm George Braun.”

“And who was that woman who just left here?” he asked.

“That was my mother.”

“Good. Now why don't you two talk while I continue my examination.”

“Thanks, Doctor. So, how are you feeling?” Little Bill asked.

“I'm fine . . . I guess . . . but confused.”

“That doesn't surprise me at all. You took quite a hit to the head when you crashed the jeep. What questions can I answer to clear things up?”

“I don't know where to start . . . well, maybe with Mr. Krum. Why does my mother think he was killed?”

“He
was
killed,” Bill said.

“Did I do it? Did I hit him?”

He shook his head, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“He died in the gunfire. He and two of the other German agents were killed. Two others were wounded, and two were captured uninjured.”

“I don't understand. Why did my mother think I was in a car with Mr. Krum?”

“Because that's what we told her,” he said. “We had to come up with a story to explain why you and Jack were missing and then injured. It seemed like a logical one, especially in light of the fact that we also had to explain Mr. Krum's death.”

“So you just made up a story?”

“It's all part of the spy business. It's almost a contest to see who can come up with the best lies.”
The doctor flashed a bright light in my eyes and I recoiled. “Just follow the light,” he said.

It hurt my eyes, but I followed the little beam of light as he waved it back and forth.

“Good,” he said.

“And those agents, the Germans, they were coming there to get you . . . to kill you!”

Little Bill smiled. “It wasn't me they were after. They were coming to kill Winston Churchill.”

“The British Prime Minister was at the camp?” I exclaimed.

“No, but the Germans thought he was.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because that's what we wanted them to believe.”

“I don't understand.”

“We have been aware of Mr. Krum for a considerable length of time.”

“Then why didn't you just arrest him?”

“Ahhh, another espionage trick. We've been feeding him false information for months. We told him what we wanted him to know and he sent back reports that helped us instead of the Nazis.”

“Did you know they were coming to the camp?”

He nodded his head. “And that they were launching simultaneous attacks on the munitions plant and the prisoner-ofwar camp in Bowmanville. We captured or killed all the German agents.” He paused. “It's not difficult when you already know their plans in advance.”

“So . . . so when Jack and I were coming to warn you . . .”

“We already knew everything,” he said quietly. “We'd been aware of them for two full days prior to the attack. We even tailed them to the abandoned farmhouse.”

“The place where they had me and Jack?”

He nodded his head. “If only we'd known you were in there.”

“Mr. Krum kidnapped us at gunpoint and we were on the floor of his car and—”

“I know. Jack told us everything.”

“We almost died there . . . if it hadn't been for Mr. Krum.”

“Jack told us all about that part, too. Poor misguided man, mistaking his loyalty to his homeland for loyalty to the Nazis.”

“I'm confused. If you knew about the Nazis, why didn't you come in and capture them earlier? Why did you wait for the attacks?”

“We needed to know if there were other agents involved. We expected that they would get together all their operatives for the attacks. We wanted to clean out the entire rats' nest.”

“And were there other agents?”

He shook his head. “None that got away. We caught them all.”

“What about Chief Smith?”

Little Bill smiled. “He's of German descent, as are you, but he's as loyal to Canada as anyone. There are very, very few like Krum.” He paused and smiled. “You two certainly confused the Chief when you ran away from him out there on the highway. He's agreed to support our cover story about the car accident.”

“So you had everything planned right from the start.”

“Not everything. We certainly didn't figure on the two of you doing what you did when you came charging into the compound.”

“We had to warn—” I stopped myself. They hadn't needed us to warn them about anything. “We almost screwed things up, didn't we?”

“You were an unexpected complication, but you didn't ‘screw things up.'”

“You must think that we're a couple of fools,” I said, staring down at my bed.

“I was thinking more like a couple of heroes.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Let's see. You uncovered a Nazi plot, you escaped capture and, despite injuries, you risked your lives to warn us, somehow again getting by two of my sentries. You were also the first to respond to the alarm and get to the compound to help capture the agents.”

“But you didn't need us to warn you,” I protested.

“That's not the point. It's what you did and why you did it that makes you both heroes.”

I didn't know what to say, but I suddenly felt better . . . a whole lot better.

“So, Doctor, is he going to be okay?” Little Bill asked.

“We'll want him to stay here for a day or so for observation, but he's going to be just fine.”

“That's wonderful news, isn't it, George!”

“Yeah, that is good.”

“My only regret about this whole matter,” Little Bill said, “is that, because of the oath you signed under the Secrecy Act, nobody can know about what you and Jack accomplished. As far as the outside world is concerned, you two were nothing more than survivors of a very bad car accident.”

“That's okay. At least we did survive.”

“That is a very wise answer.”

He came over and reached out his hand to shake mine.

“George, it was an honour to serve with you.”

“Um . . . thanks . . . you too,” I stuttered.

“Now I think I'd better get your mother and let her know that you're going to be just fine.”

He pulled the door open and then paused. “You know, I don't think the Secrecy Act says anything about us telling mothers. We could let her in on some of what happened. What do you think?”

“I think that wouldn't be such a good idea,” I said.

He gave me a questioning look.

“If she ever found out what Jack and I have been up to, she'd kill us herself!”

Little Bill burst into laughter. “Not just a hero, but a smart hero. Someday, however, when this is long over, it will be only fitting that people know about what you and your brother did.”

“Maybe they should know what everybody did.”

He smiled. “Many, many years from now, perhaps. But for now it's enough that
we
know.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” I called out, and he turned back around.

“Will we see you again?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “You have to remember that you've been sworn in as operatives. You must remain ready in the event that your services are ever required again.”

“We'll be ready . . . just call.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

ON DECEMBER 6, 1941
, situated on 110 hectares in what is now Whitby, Ontario, a “spy school” was created. This camp, while identified under many names by different authorities, came to be known as Camp X. Established under the direction of the head of British Security Co-ordination (BSC), Sir William Stephenson, this facility was created to train Allied agents in sabotage, subversion, intelligence, communications and counter-intelligence. Over the course of the Second World War, hundreds of agents were trained and then sent on the most dangerous of assignments to defeat the Nazis. For the most part, the exploits of these agents remain unknown. But their actions were critical in the final victories of the Allied Forces.

Sir William Stephenson was born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba. As head of the BSC, he played a vital role in the entire war effort. He was a quiet, unassuming man in charge of a hidden army of thousands of men and women. He was
known as “the Quiet Canadian,” “Intrepid” and “Little Bill.” The character Little Bill in my novel is a portrayal of Stephenson. He was a truly remarkable individual who was an engineer by training, a successful businessman, a First World War hero, a world amateur lightweight boxing champion and a brilliant espionage agent. One of the men he trained, Ian Fleming, went on to create the character James Bond, and it is rumoured that much of what Fleming created was based on both Stephenson himself and the training he provided to Fleming.

In writing this book I hope to make the reader more aware of Sir William Stephenson and other Canadians who made sacrifices—including the ultimate sacrifice, their lives—to protect our way of life and the freedom we enjoy.

For further information concerning Camp X and William Stephenson, the following sources are highly recommended:

Lynn-Philip Hodgson.
Inside Camp X.
Port Perry, Ontario: Blake Book Distribution, 1999.

H. Montgomery Hyde.
The Quiet Canadian: The Secret Service Story of Sir William Stephenson.
London: Hamish Hamilton, 1962.

William Stevenson,
A Man Called Intrepid: The Secret War.
New York: Lyons Press, 2000.

In addition, the wonderful book
TooYoung to Fight,
edited by Priscilla Galloway, is highly recommended in setting the context for characters such as my two protagonists. The book is a collection of short stories, written by many of Canada's finest writers, describing their real experiences during the Second World War.

The characters of Jack and George are fictional creations of the author and are not meant to represent any real people or reflect actual events that took place at Camp X.