In the Shadow of Truth Read online

  In the Shadow of Truth

  (Shadow Series Book 3)

  J.E. Leak

  Certifiably Creative LLC

  Copyright © 2023 by J.E. Leak

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-1-955294-05-8 (eBook Edition)

  ISBN 978-1-955294-06-5 (Paperback Edition)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2022918952

  Edited by Pam Greer

  Published by Certifiably Creative LLC

  Ocala, Florida

  [email protected]

  First Printing January 2023

  To my wife.

  Contents

  Sensitive content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Author Notes

  About the Author

  Also by J.E. Leak

  Sensitive content

  This novel contains flashbacks of war experiences. While it is not the central theme of the story, it is woven into the tapestry of the characters’ lives, and I am mindful that for many, such forewarning is appreciated.

  Chapter One

  July 1943: Long Island, New York

  * * *

  As a new field agent trainee, Jenny Ryan didn’t know what to expect when she arrived at the Office of Strategic Services training center on Long Island. A long gravel drive twisted through neglected grounds, now overgrown with wild blueberry bushes, pines, and oaks. The main house had fallen into disrepair and disuse, as the winds of fortune changed and heirs moved on to smaller dwellings, so the OSS used only a small portion of the mansion’s one hundred and ten rooms.

  They had built simple wooden structures as classrooms on the expansive grounds, and this is where Jenny spent her time. She’d come a long way from newspaper columnist, writing human interest stories and movie reviews at her uncle’s newspaper, to OSS field agent, but this is what she wanted—to do something important. Help win the war.

  She was excited, but nervous, knowing this class brought her one step closer to harm’s way. As an added complication, her lover, OSS agent Kathryn Hammond, stood six feet away, at the head of the class, looking disarmingly attractive in her olive drab slacks and matching collared shirt, with the top button modestly undone. She was a civilian, so she didn’t wear a uniform with insignia, but, mercy, it didn’t take away from the hypnotizing effect.

  “Any questions?” Kathryn asked, as she swept her eyes across the serious faces of the nine eager recruits in the class. There were ten in all, the tenth recruit less than serious, and, apparently, completely bored with the whole affair.

  Kathryn was teaching alternative ways to kill without the traditional instruments of death—the knife and the pistol, both of which were sitting on each recruit’s desk. Kathryn had just shown the class how to fold a newspaper into a knife and instructed them on how to stab it into the soft tissue under the chin, effectively dispatching the victim.

  Jenny found it fascinating and disturbing, but she noticed the slumping dope in front of her seemed less than impressed.

  He raised his hand to Kathryn’s query. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  Jenny’s eyes snapped to her classmate in disbelief. She considered whapping the jerk on the back of the head with her OSS weapons catalog but thought that might be too obvious. It was clear he had no respect for Kathryn as an agent or as an instructor. She didn’t know who he was trying to impress, but most of the women in the group were annoyed by his constant badgering, and the three men, while outwardly more tolerant, were looking to Kathryn to see what she would do about it.

  Unfazed, she replied, “Yes, I have.”

  “With your bare hands?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes, I have,” she repeated solemnly.

  Jenny recognized the hard set of Kathryn’s jaw as an attempt to tamp down the horrific memory, and she swore, if the jackass in front of her pushed the issue any further, she, too, could lay claim to killing someone with her bare hands.

  “Hmph,” he muttered, tapping his pencil on the back of his knuckles.

  Kathryn crossed her arms. “Do you have something you’d like to say?”

  He scratched the side of his head with the eraser end of the pencil and looked her up and down. “I’m just not seeing it.”

  The class bristled, and Jenny kicked the back of his chair. When he glanced back, she pretended it was an accident as she crossed her legs.

  She half smiled. “Sorry.”

  Kathryn didn’t seem to mind the man’s attitude, and Jenny imagined he wasn’t the first to doubt her abilities.

  Kathryn raised her chin and addressed the class. “I can appreciate our friend’s skepticism, and so should you. When you were training in D.C. at the Farm, you were taught to question everything and everyone. That hasn’t changed. Don’t assume anything. Don’t assume I have the credentials to teach this class.” She looked at the troublemaker. “Don’t assume I don’t.” She sat on the edge of the desk in the front of the room and rolled up the sleeves on her shirt. She casually crossed her legs and tugged at the crease in her matching pants. “Don’t assume because of my manner of dress that I’m in the military.” She paused. “Don’t assume I’m not. Don’t assume that because I’m a woman I can’t kick your ass—hell, don’t even assume I’m a woman.” That brought a smattering of laughter. Jenny bit her lip, trying to suppress an involuntary guffaw.

  “He is doing what you were all trained to do,” Kathryn went on. “This will be the most dangerous job of your life. You are never off duty. Here … out there … in your own home. Look. Question. Think. Learn the mindset, because over there, you won’t get the luxury of a slipup.”

  The man looked over his shoulder. “Hear that, you mugs? I’m well trained.”

  Kathryn grinned and softened her voice to a more personable level. “I fear your attitude has more to do with a caustic personality than a genuine ability to comprehend the skills needed to become a good agent.”

  Taunting laughter and a few balls of paper came raining down on the man’s
head.

  Kathryn let the students enjoy the moment of levity, but Jenny could see she didn’t share in it.

  “Killing is serious business,” she continued, in a tone that echoed the weight of her words. “I realize that some of you will be unable to perform that task.”

  Some shifted uncomfortably.

  “Look at the person next to you—your fellow agent—your only friend in the field.”

  The students looked at each other, their connection suddenly dawning on them. They walked into the room individuals proud of their accomplishments and excited to prove that the faith in them was well deserved. But now, face to face, they realized they were a family. They were a special breed, each willing to go above and beyond to win the war. One day, they would turn to each other, or a person just like them, and trust them with their life.

  Kathryn let the bond sink in and then prepared them for the cold reality of their future. “Could you kill them in a tough spot?”

  No one moved.

  “Because you might have to, and believe me, you will be doing them a favor.”

  Faces that only moments before had registered camaraderie and satisfaction now wore pained expressions of disbelief. Some flinched at the answer they found within themselves.

  “If you feel you cannot do that, or you cannot kill yourself should the situation arise, I’m going to ask you to turn in the items on your desk and leave the room.”

  The students sat motionless for a few seconds more and then gradually shifted their focus to those around them, waiting for someone to admit that taking a life was beyond the scope of their humanity.

  “There’s no shame in leaving,” she assured them, “and no shame in staying. Leaving doesn’t mean you’re out of the OSS, just out of this course. We’ll find another place for you.”

  A woman in the front row wiped a tear from her face and stood. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  Kathryn pushed off from the desk and put a hand on her shoulder. “Perfectly understandable.” She eyed the rest of the room. “Anyone else?”

  Jenny knew she had a mortified but determined look on her face and noticed Kathryn avoided looking at her. Another woman stood, and then, reluctantly, one of the men.

  Kathryn nodded. “Thank you for your honesty. Please collect your belongings and report to Building 6, where you will be reassigned.”

  They rose slowly, their eyes fixed on the floor.

  “I meant what I said. There’s no shame in your departure. You know your heart … be proud of that. It will save lives in the long run.”

  The recruits barely acknowledged the compliment as they returned their weapons and shuffled out of the room in silence.

  “Now,” Kathryn began, as she stowed the knives and empty pistols in the box in which they came. “Don’t assume you’re safer or have a better chance of surviving because you have a pistol in your hand.”

  “Tst,” the persistent young man in the front row snorted in disapproval.

  Kathryn stared at him for a moment before holding out her hand. “Would you hand me your pistol, please?”

  He got up and lackadaisically handed it to her grip first and chuckled. “Am I fired?”

  As soon as the grip was in Kathryn’s hand, she moved like lightning, shoving the barrel into his midriff.

  “BANG! You’re dead.”

  Before he had a chance to catch his breath, she had him turned toward the class, with one arm around his throat and the pistol pointed at his head.

  “Or you’re a hostage.”

  He struggled to no avail.

  “BANG! You’re dead if you try to get away.”

  He accepted defeat and stopped struggling. She let him go.

  “Thank you.” She put her arm on his shoulder as she held out his weapon, grip first, just as he had handed it to her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled, as he rubbed his neck in embarrassment. He suddenly made a clumsy move to take the pistol and turn it on her as she had done to him. She was too quick again, as the grip was magically in her hand, and she dragged him by the shoulder into another headlock.

  “Dang!” he squawked, as best he could, with her arm tightly around his windpipe. “Uncle.”

  She smiled and let him go. “Good idea … poor execution.” She slapped him on the back. “You’ll get better.” He sat down. She kept his pistol.

  “Never, never give your weapon away … to anyone. Ever. You never know when it will be used against you.”

  Kathryn avoided looking at her, and Jenny realized what a big deal it had been for Kathryn to relinquish her gun to her so soon after they had met. She cringed at the memory of Kathryn’s arrest because of it and was glad Kathryn had forgiven her for turning the gun over to the police when she suspected she was a murderer.

  So much had happened since then, and Jenny was thankful they’d moved beyond misunderstanding and mistrust.

  Jenny noticed the trainee in front of her was no longer unruly. Kathryn had picked up a knife, and it was obvious the fellow had no interest in testing her skill with it. Kathryn used herself as the victim this time, pointing out the most vulnerable arteries in the human body and pantomiming how to inflict a mortal wound in each.

  The lesson hit home, as Jenny glanced down at her catalog. The page with the small fighting knife came complete with illustrations of a soldier disposing of his German counterpart. On the next page was an anatomical diagram of the arteries that Kathryn was so deftly pretending to sever and a corresponding chart relating the effectiveness of each wound by approximating the number of seconds to unconsciousness and the number of minutes to death after infliction.

  Jenny swallowed reflexively as she imagined herself in such a situation. Only moments before, she was convinced she could kill if necessary, but faced with the reality of the act shown on the page before her, she wondered if that was true. Could she really kill someone? Or was she fooling herself for the sake of stubborn pride, or a desire to impress Kathryn?

  She stared at the illustration of the German soldier grimacing in pain as the knife was mercilessly thrust into his carotid artery. She imagined the sharp metal blade piercing delicate skin—the sound muted, stealthy, deceptively inane—like a shovel plunged into a soft snow bank. She imagined the muffled scream of pain through a hand over the mouth, and if there was enough time, a desperate moan, as the victim realized it was the last sound he would make. All that accompanied by the sickening gurgle of a life draining away.

  She didn’t want to imagine how it would feel to have someone’s life expire under her hand—by her hand. She closed her eyes and swallowed again as breakfast threatened to make an appearance.

  “Any questions?” she heard Kathryn say. She opened her eyes to see Kathryn staring at her, her expression one of detached interest, like the professional she was. Mumbles of no and numbly shaken heads surrounded her, and Jenny added hers to the group, which seemed to satisfy Kathryn, who went on to give a quick summary of the rest of the tools and weapons found in the catalog.

  Day one was over, and they were dismissed with instructions to become familiar with the catalog and to learn the manual inside and out. Jenny didn’t give Kathryn any undue attention as she followed the others out of the room, but she knew Kathryn had felt her doubt and her horror, and she was sure she would be questioned about it later.

  “Would you stay, please?” she heard Kathryn say.

  Jenny turned, surprised Kathryn singled her out when she had been so careful to appear unbiased while in class. Surprise turned to disappointment when Jenny discovered the invitation was directed at the cocky young man from the seat in front of her. She didn’t envy the conversation he was about to have. Come to think of it, she didn’t envy the conversation she was going to have later either.

  * * *

  Kathryn crossed her arms at the smirking recruit before her. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanna kill Krauts,” he answered defiantly, mirroring her stance.

 
“Then you shouldn’t have gotten yourself thrown out of the army, Hendricks.” She paused while he absorbed the fact that she knew his sordid record. “Killing is not really our main objective here,” she went on, “but I suspect you know that.”

  He was silent and serious for the first time, as he pursed his lips and stared at his shoes.

  “Whatever you think you’re going to accomplish by being troublesome, it won’t bring your sister back.”

  His eyes snapped up, suddenly filled with anger. “What do you know about it? You and most of this class are part of the problem. Women shouldn’t do this kind of work!”

  “Your sister volunteered,” Kathryn said calmly.

  “She was grief stricken after those bastards killed her husband. The government took advantage of her!”

  Kathryn let him see that she understood his anger, but everyone handled tragedy differently, or in the case of the Hendricks family, in the same way.

  “You’re grief stricken,” she said. “Is the government taking advantage of you? Should I wash you out right now?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Kathryn raised her brow and waited until he got her point and reeled in his emotions.