The Saboteur

The Saboteur

by Andrew Gross

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Overview

The Saboteur by Andrew Gross

Based on a true story of remarkable heroism, New York Times bestselling author Andrew Gross delivers a stirring, thrill-a-minute read fans of World War II fiction will not soon forget…

February, 1943. Both the Allies and the Nazis are full speed ahead to construct the decisive weapon of the war. Kurt Nordstrum, an engineer in Oslo, puts his life aside to take up arms against the Germans as part of the Norwegian resistance. After the loss of his fiancée, and with his outfit whittled to shreds, Kurt escapes to England to transmit secret evidence that the Nazis are closing in on the atomic bomb. His mission: to disrupt their plans before they advance any further. Parachuted onto the unforgiving terrain in Europe, Kurt must lead the most daring raid of the war. But completing it may come at the cost of the one person he has grown to love.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781250079534
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication date: 06/26/2018
Pages: 464
Sales rank: 112,596
Product dimensions: 4.00(w) x 7.40(h) x 1.10(d)

About the Author

ANDREW GROSS is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of No Way Back, Everything to Lose, and One Mile Under. He is also coauthor of several #1 New York Times bestsellers with James Patterson, including Judge & Jury and Lifeguard. His books have been translated into over 25 languages. He lives in Westchester County, New York, with his wife, Lynn. They have three children.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

March 1942

The old, creaking ferry steamed across the sun-dappled mountain lake. The Telemark Sun was a serviceable ship, built in 1915, coal-fired, and at around 490 tons, it could still make the thirty-kilometer jaunt across Lake Tinnsjo from Tinnoset to Mael in just under an hour and a half. It held about sixty passengers that day, as well as two empty railway wagons in the bow, heading back to the Norsk Hydro plant at Vemork after loading their cargo onto the train to Oslo at the railway depot across the lake.

Kurt Nordstrum had taken the boat across the lake a hundred times, but not in the two years since the Germans had occupied his country.

He had grown up in this region, known as the Telemark, in southeastern Norway — a place of lush, green valleys in summer and endless expanses of snow and ice in winter — between the town of Rjukan and the tiny hamlet of Vigne at the western edge of Lake Mosvatn. Like most Northmen, Nordstrum had learned to ski these mountains before he even rode a bike. He grew up hunting and fishing, in the way boys in other places kicked footballs around. To this day, the network of huts and cabins that dotted the Hardanger vidda were as familiar to him as were the lines on his own hands. His father still lived in Rjukan, though Nordstrum dared not visit him now. At least, not directly. Nordstrum was known to be one of those who had escaped to the hills and continued the fight against the Nazis. It was common knowledge that the Nasjonal Samling police kept an eye on the family members of known resistance fighters in the hope of tracking them down. The Hirden of the NS party were everywhere, as feared in their tactics as the Gestapo. Followers of the puppet dictator Vidkun Quisling, they had forsaken their country and king to do the Nazis' bidding. It had been two years since Nordstrum had seen his father, and it was unlikely he would see him on this trip.

On the aft deck, dressed in workman's clothes and carrying a satchel of carpentry tools, but with a Browning .45 in his belt, Nordstrum sat back as the boat came within sight of the familiar mountains of his youth ringing the Tinnsjo. It felt good to be back in his valley. He let his face soak up the sun. He hadn't seen much of the sun lately. Since April 1940, when he'd left the university in his second year of engineering school to make his way up to Narvik and join the British trying to blockade the Nazi invaders, the blue skies of Norway had seemed under a perpetual leaden cloud. At first they'd managed to hold them off. The Germans focused their blitzkrieg on the cities. First Trondheim, then Bergen and Oslo fell in a week. Then the king took flight, first to Nybergsund, and then on to Elverum, near the Swedish border, and people knelt in the street and wept. Nordstrum had seen his share of fighting — in Honefoss and Klekko and the Gudbrandsdalen valley. A year ago in Tonneson he hooked up with what was left of a militia unit — a small group of men in tattered uniforms who would not give up. "Here," they said, and put a Krag in his hand with only thirty rounds of ammunition. "That's all you get, I'm afraid," the captain said apologetically. "Better make them count." Boys, that was all they were, with rifles and Molotov cocktails to make them men, and down to a single cannon taken out of mothballs from the last war. No one knew how to wage a fight. Still, they'd left their mark on the bastards. They blew up bridges, disrupted supply lines and motorcades, ambushed a couple of high-ranking SS officers; they'd put an end to a few Quisling traitors as well. At Haugsbygda, the fighting became close in. Knives and bayonets when the bullets ran out. Until they were no longer going up against soldiers and machine guns, but tanks and artillery and nose-diving fighters unloading bombs. Fifty-millimeter shells rained in from a mile away and blew their trenches into the sky.

"You're a sergeant," they told him. Mainly because Nordstrum, who'd grown up a hunter, could shoot with the best. And because he'd seen his share of bloodshed. He was tall and well built, with a high forehead and short, light hair, and a kind of purposefulness in his gray, deep-set eyes that from his youth people seemed willing to follow. His looks had hardened now. Two years of watching limbs blown in the air and a man next to you dropped by one to the forehead had made him appear ten years older.

But somehow, he was still alive. His ranks had long since splintered; most of his friends were dead. Now it was simply do whatever he could do. The king had made it to London. Nordstrum had heard they were forming some kind of Free Norwegian Army there. England ... Maybe in '40, it might have been possible to find your way there — 250 kilometers across the vidda through blistering storms to Sweden and then hop a neutral ship. Today, it might as well be China. He'd made the trek to Sweden once, after fleeing Narvik, but, finding little support there, came back to resume the fight. And even if you made it all the way to England, and weren't sunk to the bottom of the North Sea or handed back over by the Swedish police to the wrong people, yes, you could join up. And then what ...? Sit the war out and train. The Free Norwegian Army ... He had to admit, it had a nice ring. He knew there'd be a new front one day, the real one. In time, the Allies would invade. With its endless jagged coastline that in all of Europe was the hardest to defend, Norway actually made good military sense. And Nordstrum's only remaining hope was to stick around long enough to be a part of it. To take his country back. In the distance, through the glare of the sun off the water, he spotted the port of Mael. He'd left Rjukan for the university some six years ago, still a boy. He wasn't sure what he had come back as.

"Take a look." Nordstrum elbowed his friend, Jens, a fellow fighter who was from the region as well, pointing toward the ring of familiar mountains. "Like an old friend, no?"

"An old friend if we were actually coming back to live," Jens replied. "Now it's more like some beautiful woman that you can't have, who's teasing us."

He'd known Jens from their days in school. He was from Rauland, just to the north. Their fathers had been friends. As school kids they played football against each other; hunted and skinned deer together. Skied the same mountains.

"You sound like an old man," Nordstrum said reprovingly. "You're twenty-five. Enjoy the view."

"Well, two years of war will do that to you." Though through it all, Jens had somehow maintained his boyish looks. "I look forward to one day coming back here with no one shooting after me and —"

"Jens." Nordstrum cut his friend off in mid-sentence. "Look over there." This time, he indicated an officer in full gray Hirden uniform who had stepped out on deck like some preening rooster, as if the ribbons on his chest came from battlefield valor instead of from some political appointment. The Quislings were in control now, National Socialists who took over after the king had fled, and who happily had become the Nazis' puppets. Traitors, collaborators, they stayed at home, spying on their townsfolk, making secret arrests, spouting propaganda on the radio, while all the brave ones fought in the mountains and died. Enough of Nordstrum's friends had been put up against a wall and shot on information squeezed from informants by the Quisling police to make his stomach tighten in a knot at the sight of the traitor.

The officer sauntered toward them. He had a pinched-in face like an owl and beady, self-important eyes under his peaked officer's cap, his chest puffed out by his meaningless rank. National Unity party, it was called. Unity in hell. Nordstrum would have gladly spit at his feet as he went by, if his journey here didn't have some real importance attached to it.

"I see him," said Jens. The Hird had a pistol in his belt, but they had a Bren at the bottom of their tool bag, and the will to use it. They'd taken care of many such traitors over the past year. "Just give me the word."

"Why do you need my word?" Nordstrum said under his breath, nodding pleasantly to the officer as he approached. "Good day to you, sir."

"Good day to you. Heil Hitler." The Quisling raised his hand and nodded back.

Jens, who looked like he barely shaved, but had killed as many Germans as Nordstrum, merely shrugged as the man strode by. "Because you're the sergeant."

Sergeant ... Nordstrum laughed to himself. Anyway, their outfit was now dispersed. His rank was meaningless, though Jens never failed to bring it up every chance he could. "Because we promised to meet up with Einar," Nordstrum said. "There's a reason, if we're looking for one." He held back his friend's arm.

"You're right, that is a reason," Jens acknowledged with a sigh of disappointment. "Though not much of one." They followed the Quisling as he made his way down the deck. "There'll be other times."

Einar Skinnarland had gotten word to Nordstrum in the mountains near Lillehammer that he needed to see him on a matter of the highest urgency. He couldn't tell Nordstrum just what it was, but Nordstrum's friend was not one to trifle with when he claimed something was urgent. Nordstrum had known him from youth as well, and they both had gone on to engineering school in Oslo, though Einar, two years older, had graduated before the war and now had a good job on the Mosvatn Dam, as well as a wife and son. Please come, the message read, so Nordstrum did. No questions asked. At considerable risk. They were to meet at a café on the wharf in Mael on the east end of the Tinnsjo, near where the ferry docked.

From there he and Jens had no idea where they would head. Likely search for some unit up in the mountains to join up with. He had some names to contact. One had to be very careful today about what one did. The Nazis had adopted a forty-to-one policy for all acts of sabotage, rounding up and shooting forty innocent townsfolk for every German killed. Protecting the home folk was vital to Nordstrum, as to all true Norwegians. What else were they fighting for? What did it really matter if it was forty soldiers killed in an effort to retake their country or forty innocents lined up against a wall and shot? Forty dead was forty dead. Nordstrum had seen this policy carried out firsthand, and still carried around the pain in his heart. He didn't want to be the cause of it to others. It didn't put them out of business; it only changed the rules a bit. And it made him loathe the bastards even more. They just had to be careful about what they did.

Farther down the deck, the Quisling came up to a young woman with a child by her side. She had dark hair and a swarthy complexion, and hid her eyes as the officer went by, which was like milk to a cat to these weasels.

"May I see your papers, please?" The officer stopped at her, putting out his hand.

"Sir?"

"Your papers," the Hird said again, his fingers beckoning impatiently.

Frightened, the woman held the child with one arm while she fumbled through her bag with the other, finally producing her ID card.

"Kominic ..." The Quisling looked at the picture on it and then back at her. "What kind of a name is that? Gypsy? Jewish?"

"It is Slav," the woman declared in Norwegian. "But you can see, I'm from Oslo. I'm just taking my son to his father, who's been working in Rauland."

"Your Norwegian is quite good, madame," the Quisling said. "But it is clear you are not of Norwegian blood. So what is it then?"

"It should be good, sir, I've lived in Norway my whole life," she replied, an edge of nerves in her voice. "I'm as Norwegian as you, I swear."

"Yes, well, we will have to verify this when we get to Mael." The Quisling looked again at her ID card. "Do not disembark until you see me, madame. Otherwise I have no choice but to turn you and your child over to the authorities there."

Fear sprang up in her eyes. Her boy, sensing his mother's agitation, began to whimper. "Please, sir, we're not meaning anyone harm. I only beg you to —"

"Your child appears sick, madame. Perhaps you should keep him separate from the other passengers."

"He's fine. You're just scaring him, that's all."

"If you have nothing to hide, then there is nothing to be afraid of, I assure you." The Hird handed her back the card. "We are only interested that the law is followed and all Jews and non-purebloods must be registered as such with the state. Now, I insist you take your son and wait for me inside. We'll settle this little matter in Mael."

Clearly upset, the woman struggled to pick up her belongings, and, grabbing her son's hand, led him to the third-class seating. A nearby man got up and helped her gather her things. But it was hard not to notice the agitation that had taken over her face. Her papers were likely correct. She could be a Jew or a Gypsy. Nordstrum had heard they'd begun to round up those people and send them to places like Grini, a guarded camp outside Oslo, and some of them shipped even farther to places in Europe, to who knows where? Maybe she was fleeing into the mountains with her son to hide. Maybe she had someone there to take them in. Whatever, they were no bother to anyone. Nordstrum looked toward the shoreline. They were about three-quarters through the crossing. Another half hour or so to go. The tiny ferry stop at Mael, tucked underneath the mountains, was now visible in the distance off the port side.

"Fucker." Jens gritted his teeth in disgust. "Using his power to terrorize an innocent woman." He looked toward Nordstrum with a kind of conspiratorial gleam in his eye, a silent communication they both instantly understood. Are you up for it?

And Nordstrum, angered by the Quisling as well, looked back with resignation, as if unable to stop what would happen next. "Why not? Let's go."

Jens grinned. "Now you're talking."

Nordstrum stood up. He got the officer's attention with a wave, motioning the man toward him.

He and Jens stepped back toward the stern, where there were no passengers around.

The Hird came up to him. "Yes?"

"You were asking about that woman?" Nordstrum said. "I know her. If you want, I can fill you in."

"There are rewards for good citizens as yourselves." The Quisling's eyes grew bright, likely thinking of the favor he would receive for uncovering and turning in an escaped Gypsy or Jew.

"Over here, then." Nordstrum motioned him to the railing, Jens a step behind. "Not everyone feels the same way. I don't want anyone to hear."

The breeze whipped off the lake, sharp and chilling. Most passengers were either inside having a coffee or lining the deck amidships in the sun. One couple was having a cigarette on the second deck by the rear smokestack, the gusting wind flapping their hair.

"We're workmen. We've seen her in Oslo, as she says." Nordstrum leaned close.

The Quisling sidled up to him. "Go on ..."

The two on the second deck had now turned and were pointing toward the mountains. Nordstrum caught Jens's eye, and then leaned close to the Quisling. "Well, you see, it's like this ..."

From behind, Jens lifted the officer in the air. There was barely time for him to realize what was happening. "What the hell —"

"Here's your reward," Nordstrum said, seizing the man's legs. "Enjoy your swim."

They carried him to the rail, the Hird kicking against them now with a shout that was muffled by the whipping wind, and then hoisted him, his arms cycling frantically and his face twisted in shock and fear, over the side and into the icy lake.

The Quisling's scream was drowned out by the heavily churning engines as the Telemark Sun, chugging at ten knots per hour, pulled farther away.

"Heil Hitler to you, as well!" Jens called after him, extending his arm.

There was barely a noise as he hit the water.

But someone must have seen him from the decks. Suddenly there were shouts. "Man overboard! Someone in the water!"

On the top deck, people ran to the railing, pointing. The alarm began to sound, a big booming whorl, whorl. Passengers rushed out to see what was happening.

The frigid March waters were probably no more than thirty-five or -six degrees, Nordstrum figured, and, coupled with the weight of the Quisling's now water-sodden coat dragging the struggling man down, even the strongest of swimmers wouldn't last more than a couple of minutes before he succumbed.

People were shouting now, gesturing toward the water. "Save him!" Two of the crew ran to the stern, one of them holding a life preserver and untying a coil of rope. Bravely, he climbed onto the rail, readying himself to throw it. "Hold on!" he called to the drowning man. But it was pointless to hurl it now; they were too far away.

(Continues…)



Excerpted from "The Saboteur"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Andrew Gross.
Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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The Saboteur 4.1 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
Anonymous 7 months ago
Couldn't put it down. Read it in one day! Highly recommend.
insanepoet65 More than 1 year ago
TITLE: The Saboteur AUTHOR: Andrew Gross GENRE: Historical Thriller PAGES: 416 Growing up in the 1970’s, I must have watched every World War II movie that came on TV, and even saw a few in the movie theater (A Bridge Too Far…3 hours of WWII Greatness). I even devoured television shows like Hogan’s Heroes and Black Sheep Squadron. The reason I mention this is because Andrew Gross hit all of the nostalgia buttons with his book The Saboteur. For starters, The Saboteur is based on actual events, and it brought to light a little know and long forgotten fact of World War II, the Nazi occupation of Norway. The fact that this book gave me something new to think about gets high marks in my book. Seriously, think about it for a moment. When was the last time you heard about the Nazi occupation of Norway. NOW, if you are asking why you should care that Norway was occupied, then you really need to read this book! It will give you the reason to care. The pacing of the book is steady and fast. It is not necessarily a guns blazing from cover to cover, but it does pay attention to the details of the missions undertaken by the hero, and why he needs to accomplish them. The sense of urgency for accomplishing the missions is steady and taught. The hero of the book, Kurt Nordstrum, is likeable and relatable. He is the everyday man, not a bulletproof action hero in any sense of the word. His patriotism and sense of duty drive him to do what must be done even when he feels a little less than hopeful of a positive outcome. If I had any problem with this book, it was in how quickly the hero formed attachments to members of the opposite sex. Especially the final one. That was just too quick, especially when that attachment threatened the final mission of the book. It felt just a little too unrealistic to me, but it did not destroy my overall enjoyment of the book. All in all I give it 4 ½ bookmarks our of 5!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Another great read by a great author. Story moves fast. Recommend. About 403 pages.
GratefulGrandma More than 1 year ago
This story was billed as a thrilling historical fiction story, but I did not feel that is was really a thriller. I loved "The One Man", but this book does not measure up to that one. The book is a fictionalized version of the blowing up of the Vemork Hydroelectric Plant. The main character Kurt Nordstrum, joined the resistance when the Nazis took over Norway. He lost his family, his life as he knew it, and his fiancee when she was killed in retribution for a resistance attack. He was a brave and courageous man, who risked his life to lead an extremely high-risk sabotage during WWII. When he gets a piece of intelligence he needs to get to Britain to turn it over to the Norwegian Free Army. With a couple of friends, he hijacks a commuter ferry and makes a mad dash for Scotland. It's the beginning of a crucial covert mission to destroy whatever mysterious substance the Nazis are making at the Vemork Hydroelectric Plant. This heavy water plant is the base of their experiments with the atomic bomb. Some of the problems I had with this story dealt with the characters. There were several and I found myself confused between characters more than a couple times. I also did not connect with the characters, they seemed flat and did not show much emotion. While it was an interesting story I found that it dragged at times. I found I really had to focus and pay attention to follow the story. On the whole, this is good historical fiction story that covers a topic that I was unaware of and is a nice reminder that WWII existed outside Germany, France, and the Blitz. Just don't expect it to be an action packed thriller. The publisher generously provided me a copy of this book via Netgalley.
auditor2 More than 1 year ago
I really did want to like this book,. But alas, I thought it was boring. I even hoped that I could draw enjoyment from revisiting some of the places I had been to in Norway. But the book did not lend itself to that either. I did not sense the same level of suspense that existed in the previous book. It did give a good description of the Second World War in Norway. I was not aware of what happended in Norway until I visited the country and I think there are a lot of people my age or younger who have no idea of the impact of the war on Norway. About all I can say about the characters is that there really wasn’t much about them to make me care about each one. They were pretty blah. And I suppose there isn’t all that much you can do with Winter landscape in Norway. It is snow. The review comments are my own
Jaruwa More than 1 year ago
The Saboteur is an engrossing adventure story, set in Norway and Great Britain during World War Two. Although it is fictional, it is based on the reality of two astounding military operations carried out by courageous civilians who risked their lives in order to change the course of the war. The two main acts of sabotage are, according to the author, historically accurate, although other parts of the book are semi-fictional. The courage and ingenuity of the Norwegian resistance in planning and implementing these acts are mind boggling. Germany was racing to invent an atomic weapon in order to defeat the Allies, who were also scrambling to beat the Germans. Both sides realized it was a race against time, and the first to produce an atomic weapon would likely win the war. These acts of sabotage were intended to slow the progress of the Germans, and may well have been a major factor in the Allies winning the war. In order to create the atomic bomb, the Germans needed heavy water, which was essential, but difficult to produce. They took over a factory in the hinterlands of Norway and refitted it to produce this heavy water. It was located on a shelf in a deep gorge that was difficult to access and easy to defend. The two main acts of sabotage were intended to destroy the heavy water already produced, and slow down production in the future. Although I have mixed feelings about intertwining historical facts with fiction, I thought the author handled this well for the most part. In the epilogue, the author explains that he that he was careful to keep facts about the two main acts of sabotage as close as possible to historic records, although some of the other events and characters were imagined, or loosely based on real people, in order to create an entertaining story. Some names were also changed for various reasons. My main problem was the addition of fanciful subplots that in my opinion were unnecessary, and detracted from the serious nature of the main story. I understand these were meant to be entertaining, but I think the extraordinary historical facts alone were entertaining enough. I also think it would have been a better book with some tightening up and editing out of unnecessary elements. Overall, I thought this was an intriguing and memorable read. I was engrossed throughout the book. It would be a great action movie. It reminded me of a James Bond film. The setting in the icy wilds of Norway was exotic and exciting. I recommend this book to those who are interested in WWII, the terrain and culture of Norway, or those who just want something exciting and informative to read.
357800 More than 1 year ago
"A true man is a man who goes on till he can go no farther, and then goes twice as far." February 1943 - Norway - THE SABOTEUR is a novel based on true events. It is a story of heroic men putting their lives on the line to stop the Germans from producing a devastating weapon of mass destruction....from taking over their homeland. Andrew Gross brings to life historic figures and recreates not one, but two actual military events of the time; one (OMGOSH) death defying raid on the Norsk Hydro Factory and the second; sabotage of the Hydro Ferry. With insurmountable odds, unpredictable snow storms and below freezing temperatures, a group of nine brave men first endure intensive training and practice drills, then pack suicide pills and skis, and head off to do the impossible....at the cost of putting loved ones in harms way....to wipe out the threat....to save their country. Filled with intensity and intrigue, traitors and a revengeful, jealous foe, our protagonist, a dedicated and ruggedly handsome Norwegian man (great character) and true leader never stops...all the way to the explosive end! GREAT READ!
Dawnrights More than 1 year ago
The Saboteur is not just your average World War II novel. It is filled with rich and heart-touching relationships. I'm not a person to normally change my genre, so I'll admit I was a little nervous about reading The One Man, but it turned out to be outstanding. Author Andrew Gross never lets his readers down. The Saboteur is a novel based on some true events in history regarding a group of very brave Norwegians and one American. These men were enlisted to try and perform a nearly impossible feat. The Nazis were processing heavy water to aid in the making of an atomic bomb. Kurt Nordstrom and his crew were given instructions to find their way into the highly guarded heavy water facility and shut it down. We follow this group of extraordinary men as they risk their lives trying to avoid being discovered-while encountering extreme weather conditions and rough terrain. The action is breathtaking. I also enjoyed the relationships between the saboteurs and was pleasantly surprised when Nordstrum, who has suffered the loss of his fiancee - acquires some lady friends along the way. The Saboteur was well thought out. Mr. Gross brings the history of these brave heroes to life in an intense and touching way. This is a very rewarding and brilliant follow up to The One Man. I highly recommend it.
18348835 More than 1 year ago