Choices, Part 2
Author's note: This is the second episode in the two-parter titled "Choices". Since I didn't do a "previously on Garrison's Gorillas" segment, you'll need to read Part 1 first.
The sun would have just been brightening the sky as they left Intelligence Headquarters in London, if it hadn't been leaden with storm clouds. But they matched Garrison's mood, heavy and grey. Chief hadn't objected when he said he'd drive, and his scout now slouched in the passenger seat next to him, his eyes closed, his hands seemingly relaxed on his thighs.
After they'd turned over the book containing the encrypted German attack plans, Major Richards had generously offered to postpone the debriefing until the following day, at the mansion. Garrison figured the Major just wanted an excuse to get out of the concrete and crowds of London, but whatever the reason, he'd take it. They hadn't even bothered to change from the damp, dirty clothes they'd been wearing for two days. They'd just climbed into the car and headed for home.
When he pulled into the mansion's courtyard, he had to swerve to keep from running over the parachute silks that were spread out on the cobblestones. Actor and Goniff were wrestling the chute into submission. Casino struggled to untangle the lines, and Sergeant Major Rawlins supervised the procedure from the packing table that had been set up near the steps. Garrison remembered adding parachute packing to their training schedule. A poorly maintained and improperly packed parachute was as dangerous to them as any Kraut patrol. He just wished they'd chosen a different morning to start it.
When he saw Garrison get out of the car, Goniff dropped what he was doing and trotted up to greet them. "Hey, Warden. Chiefy. Have a nice trip to the continent, did ya?"
Casino wasn't far behind, leaving the lines to re-tangle. "Yeah, what was that all about? Couldn't have been much of a mission if just the two of you could handle it, and him still on the disabled list."
Chief climbed from the car and brushed past Casino with a glare, heading silently up the steps.
Casino called after him. "Too hurt to join us on the torture patrol, right? But just fine for traipsin' off to France for a coupla days."
"C'mon, mate, leave off," Goniff admonished. "France ain't exactly a walk in the park."
Ignoring Goniff, Casino turned back to Garrison. "So, did you end the war and save the world?"
"Sorry, we had to leave something for you to do, Casino."
Actor walked up next to him, still holding onto the chute, and watched Chief disappear into the mansion. "Is he alright?"
"Yeah. We're both just tired. What time did you get back yesterday?" The remainder of his team had been on endurance maneuvers, or 'the torture patrol', as Casino had dubbed it, when he and Chief had been sent to Paris.
"Around 6 p.m., I think," Actor said.
They'd had adequate rest. Garrison beckoned his training officer. "Sergeant Major, have them reorganize the small arms arsenal this afternoon and clean some of the older weapons."
"Ah, Warden," Casino whined. "Give us a break. We just spent four days runnin' through mud and sleepin' in the rain."
"It's that or the obstacle course, Casino. Your choice." And he followed Chief up the steps and inside.
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Garrison showered quickly, not long enough for the water to get hot, just to scrub the diesel fumes and brine off of his skin and out of his hair. Then he collapsed onto his bunk in the small bedroom off his office. With the blackout shade pulled, it was almost dark, and the thick stone walls facing north kept it cool, even in the heat of summer.
He lay on his back, feeling the tension drain from his muscles into the firm mattress. After almost two sleepless days, it didn't take much. But he couldn't make his mind shut down as easily. The events of the last two days swirled in his head like leaves in a whirlwind.
What could have possibly gone wrong? Where did the signals get crossed? Who was Augie's contact, and why had he sent orders to pick up the cypher when they'd already been dispatched to do it? Even if Augie had told him his contact's code name, it wouldn't have meant anything to him. Agents didn't know each other's code names, for security reasons. The less you knew, the less you could give up if captured. But you didn't work in Intelligence as long as he had and not pick things up. He thought he knew who Augie's contact was, and he didn't like the implications. Although he wasn't sure he'd get an answer, he'd bring it up with Major Richards.
He'd heard the water running upstairs, knowing that Chief was also scrubbing off the residue of the last two days, but he worried that there were things Chief couldn't wash away. He'd not said much after their brief conversation on the sub, slipping into his own thoughts and answering only when spoken to. Garrison had thought all four of them were immune to the violence they'd be facing and inflicting, that they'd all developed their own coping mechanisms in order to survive. It had been one of the criteria he'd been looking for when choosing his team. But this was a trauma he hadn't anticipated...
...a mortar shell exploded next to him, spraying sand in his eyes, flaring the darkness into bright, painful shards...and another one...bang bang bang...someone knocking on the door. His office door. He bolted upright, breathing hard, dizzy, clammy with sweat. He was in his bedroom. The loud knocking came again. He fumbled for his watch on the chest next to his cot. 4:20. It was still light out. Afternoon.
Quickly he pulled on some pants and grabbed a shirt from the wardrobe. The knocking was more insistent. As he headed out into his office, he buttoned the shirt, trying to shake the dark webs of nightmare out of his head. The knock came again. "Come in."
Sergeant Major Rawlins pushed the door open and gave him a cursory salute. "I'm sorry to wake you, sir. But we have a situation."
Garrison finished tucking in his shirt tail, wondering what his team had done now. "What kind of situation?"
"It's Chief, sir. He's gone."
"Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?" His head was still foggy. Gone fishing? Gone to lunch?
"He told Actor he needed a walk, but that was eight hours ago. I've had all the lads looking, sir. He's nowhere on the property."
"Did you check the pub? The village?"
"Of course, sir. No one's seen him."
Chief was a loner. If he wanted to get lost, no one would be able to find him. "Alright. Tell the others to meet me..."
They were already gathering at the door, Goniff and Casino talking over top of each other. Casino pushed past Rawlins. "He didn't run, ya know. Somethin's happened to him."
"Casino's right, Warden. Chiefy'd never take a powder..."
"He's done it before," Garrison reminded them.
"That was different," Goniff and Casino declared in unison.
Garrison leaned back against his desk with a sigh. Maybe not so different. "When did you last see him?"
Actor stepped forward. "Not long after you got back this morning. He'd changed into fatigues and said he needed to take a walk, to clear his head."
"Where does he usually walk?"
"He'll walk around the perimeter sometimes," Casino said.
"Or into the village," Goniff offered.
"Sometimes he goes in the other direction," Actor added. "Toward the countryside."
It was clear that none of them really knew where Chief might have gone. "I'll alert the local constabulary. And the bartender at The Doves."
"What happened in France, Lieutenant?" Actor wanted to know.
Garrison pushed away from his desk and walked around it to his chair. "It's a long story. But we ran into Jeanette."
"Jeanette? That cute little nun?" Goniff asked.
"Alright then, that explains a lot," Casino noted. "Still couldn't talk her into coming back with ya, huh?"
"No." The memory of Jeanette's swollen, battered face tightened a knot in his chest. "Look, Chief can take care of himself. If he needs some space, we can give it to him. He'll turn up when he's ready." He hoped he wasn't lying to them. Or himself.
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First there was just the darkness. Then the pulsing, slow and steady. And then the pain, growing with each pulse, until it dragged him into full consciousness, each throb feeling like it was going to bust his head open. Rough gravel cutting into his cheek, and under his hand. The reek of alcohol, rotting garbage, something dead. Chief's stomach heaved. He fought it down with shallow breaths. Pushing against the rough ground, he turned onto his back. The pain flared white hot, and darkness bled in around the edges. More shallow breaths, until the black receded and he dared to open his eyes. Above him was a slice of the night sky bordered by high stone walls. The last thing he remembered was lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't right, wherever 'this' was.
Slowly, carefully, he sat up, his head and stomach protesting the movement. Then he tried to push to his feet. The ground tilted, and his legs refused to support him. He stumbled against the wall, knocking over a trash can, the reverberating clang reigniting the pounding in his head.
"Hey, soldier! What're you doing back there?"
The blade snapped instantly to his hand and he swung, almost releasing it. An MP. Two of them. Cops.
Their guns appeared from nowhere. "Hold it, soldier. Drop the knife."
From somewhere in the middle of the pulsing pain, the reality hit him. He'd almost killed a cop. He let the blade fall, and it clattered to the ground. He knew the drill. He dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his head.
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Cranbourne. He'd never heard of the place. And he had no idea how he'd ended up there, in an alley behind a pub. He told the MP's that, but they threw him into a cell anyway. A cramped holding cell, with only a wooden bench. He'd stretched out on it, the plum-sized lump on the back of his head painful against the hard surface. He willed himself into a calmness, but struggled to hold onto it. He felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, like he was sinking beneath the surface of muddy water, unable to breathe.
Morning slowly emerged through the tiny window near the ceiling, and the rectangle of light had crawled halfway across the cell floor by the time Garrison showed up to bail him out.
He slouched back into the car's passenger seat and told the Warden one more time, "The last thing I remember is layin' on my bunk."
"Actor said you told him you were going for a walk."
Chief closed his eyes, the residue of the headache bouncing off the inside of his skull, fogging up his thinking. "I guess so...I couldn't sleep. I don't know."
"Why did you pull your knife on the MP's?"
"It just happened, alright?"
"Take it easy. I'm just asking you the questions Major Richards will ask."
"Richards? What's he got to do with this?"
"He came out to the mansion this morning for our debriefing."
"That's just great. I know what he's probably thinkin'."
"Just tell him the truth. We'll figure this out."
"You believe me, don't you?"
"Right now I'm not sure what to believe."
Chief closed his eyes again. That was not the answer he wanted to hear.
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Major Richards had placed himself in the position of authority, in the chair behind Garrison's desk. Chief knew the Major probably expected him to stand at attention before him, feet apart, hands behind his back, in the pose the Army strangely called 'at ease'. Instead he'd moved to the window and leaned against the sill, needing badly to have his knife in his hand, but knowing that wasn't going to happen. Garrison chose to remain standing too, leaning against a file cabinet, his arms folded across his chest.
For the hundredth time, he told them everything he knew. He'd been in his bunk, trying to sleep, and then he woke up in an alley 50 miles away, with a brutal headache and a bloody lump on the back of his head.
Richards sat quietly for a long minute, leaning on the desk, his hands tented in front of him. Then he swiveled the chair to face Chief. "I know about your prior relationship with Jeanette duPres."
Chief glared at Garrison. Why was that any of Richards' business? But Garrison wouldn't look him in the eye.
"I understand how you feel," the Major continued, not sounding at all like he'd ever understand anything. "Rejection can be a hard thing to accept. But I'm sure the Lieutenant has explained to you what desertion means in your case."
"I didn't run."
"How do you explain the train ticket to Liverpool you had in your pocket?"
"I don't know. It's not mine. Why the hell would I go to Liverpool?"
"Ships leave there every day, headed to the states."
Chief felt the walls closing in. He had to fight back, but he was running out of ammunition. "How do you explain the goose egg on the back of my head? You think I did that to myself?"
"From the smell of you, it's obvious you've been drinking. In your drunken state, you took a bad fall."
He pushed away from the window sill, wanting to throw something. He hadn't been drunk. He wasn't hung over. He knew what that felt like, and this wasn't it. But the Major had already settled on his version of the facts, and Chief realized that no matter what he said, he couldn't change that. The walls moved closer, the air sucked from the room. He needed to be out of here.
Garrison moved away from the file cabinet. "Go get cleaned up. I'll be up later."
Chief tried to read his commander's face, but it was like stone, and that hit him in the gut. At least the others would believe him. He left the office and slammed the door behind him.
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He didn't want to have to explain it all again, but they already knew all the details. Sometimes he wondered if Casino had the Warden's office bugged. The cool shower had felt good, draining some of his heat and helping to clear his head.
"Surely the Lieutenant believes you," Actor said.
"You'd have to ask him," Chief spat, Garrison's lack of support still stinging. He carefully dried his hair around the scabbed-over cut on the back of his head, then tossed the towel onto his bunk and pulled on a clean shirt. Easing into the overstuffed chair, he rubbed at his temples, trying to massage away the persistent ache.
"It is a rather bizarre story," Actor noted. "But someone is going to a great deal of trouble to make it appear that you were deserting."
"Blimey, why would anyone wanna do that?" Goniff jumped up from his bunk and joined the other two at the table, helping himself to one of Casino's cigarettes.
"C'mon, it's a classic frame-up." Casino dropped his chair back onto four legs and snatched the pack away from Goniff. "The mob does it all the time to get rid of the competition. Does a lot more damage than just puttin' a hit out on a guy. A good frame job can discredit a whole organization."
Actor smiled. "Very true. I've used the technique myself a few times."
But Goniff still wasn't buying it. "Competition? Who's Chiefy competin' against besides the ruddy Gerries?"
"That is a good question." Actor thoughtfully tapped his pipe against the table. "Who would benefit from Chief, or our whole team, being out of the picture?"
"That is a very good question." Garrison closed the large door behind him and walked over to the table. Taking the remaining chair, he swung it around and straddled it, leaning his arms across the back. He looked as tired as he had when they'd gotten off the sub yesterday morning.
"So what's the verdict?" Casino wanted to know.
Garrison took a deep breath. "Major Richards has ordered all of you into detention at Headquarters, pending further investigation."
"Detention?" Casino sat up straight. "You mean a cell? We're gonna get locked up because of somethin' he did?"
"I didn't do nothin'."
"Knock it off." Garrison was on the edge of losing his patience.
But Chief had to know for sure. "You believe me, right, Warden?"
"Of course I do. If you'd wanted to take off, you'd be on a steamer to the states by now." Garrison lit a cigarette and took a drag. "Look, I know you didn't run. But you have to admit your story is a little implausible in light of the evidence."
Casino was still angry. "Yeah, and what does he mean by 'further investigation'? You know Richards. He ain't gonna investigate any further than the end of his nose. He's got all the evidence he needs."
"I ain't goin' back."
"Ya don't have to worry about goin' back, babe. They're gonna shoot you."
"No one's getting shot, Casino. We'll work this out."
Chief had noticed Actor watching him from his seat at the table. Now Actor rose and approached his chair, reaching down to push the hair off the right side of his neck. Chief swatted his hand away.
"Hold still." Actor gently pushed his head to the side. "You've been scratching at this spot the whole time you've been back."
"Yeah, a mosquito bite or somethin'."
"That's not a mosquito bite. That's a needle puncture."
Actor and Garrison exchanged troubled looks, and Garrison walked over, also reaching down to inspect his neck. Chief pulled away from both of them, feeling like a kid being inspected for lice.
"You was doped, mate," Goniff said. "You don't remember gettin' stabbed in the neck with a needle?"
"How many times I gotta tell ya. I don't remember nothin'." But that explained why it felt like his thoughts were wading through mud. It wasn't the result of a drunken binge or a blow to the head.
"So what do we do now, Warden?" Casino asked. "A little pin prick ain't gonna change Richards' mind. Any idea who's settin' Chief up?"
Garrison chewed on his lower lip. "My gut's telling me this is connected to the screw-up in Paris. I just don't know how. The detention at headquarters could work to our advantage."
"Advantage? How can bein' locked in a cell be an advantage?"
"Richards was ready to scrub this whole program and send you all back to prison. I convinced him you still had valuable skills to contribute. He agreed to let you continue with the Resistance training as long as you were confined at headquarters. You'll only have to spend the night in a cell."
Casino rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Because that's so much better."
"Meanwhile I'll be asking some questions."
"Do you even know where to start?" Actor asked.
Chief knew where he'd start. "I bet that Captain Beal has his mitts all over this."
"Who's Captain Beal?" Goniff wanted to know.
"He leads one of the other intelligence teams," Garrison explained. "We've butted heads a few times. But he's a good soldier, a good intelligence agent. I can't figure what his motive would be."
Chief knew. He'd felt it oozing from the man's pores. He met Garrison's eyes. "Power, greed, hate. Same as everybody else."
Garrison just shook his head. "Get your gear together. We'll leave for London in an hour."