THE SNOW GOOSE
Casino stood with his weight on one leg, his other knee bent casually, with the ball held loosely in his right hand, just like he'd seen Red Ruffing do it in the newsreels. He would've been working on a wad of chewing tobacco, too, if it wasn't so disgusting. About 40 feet in front of him, Goniff flailed the bat around several times, as if warming up, then held it straight up in the air and leaned over, wiggling his skinny butt out behind him, in a pretty good imitation of a cartoon baseball player. Probably the only baseball player the limey had ever seen.
Casino wound up and hurled the ball with as much power as he could, and just enough spin to make it curve to the right.
Goniff leapt back out of the path of the speeding ball, and it slapped into Chief's catcher's mitt.
"Hey, watch it, mate! You tryin' to hit me?"
"Nah, I ain't tryin' to hit you. That was a curve ball. I was throwing a strike."
"Damn straight it was a strike. You was tryin' to strike me."
Leaning leisurely against the fence behind Chief, his nose in a magazine, Actor was supposedly playing umpire. "It was a ball," he pronounced absently, without even looking up.
"Yeah, a ball that was gonna strike me."
Chief straightened out of his catcher's crouch and lobbed the ball back to Casino. "Ain't no use, dad. He ain't never gonna get it."
Goniff slammed the bat to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. "If you ain't gonna play fair, I'm callin' it quits. It's a stupid game anyway."
"You're suppose to swing at the ball, dummy, not dodge it," Casino tried to explain.
"I'd rather take a swing at you…"
"Gentlemen, please…" Actor pushed away from the wall. "This is suppose to be a friendly game."
"Friendly my arse. He tried to bean me." Goniff stomped off across the field, muttering under his breath.
Actor shrugged and shook his head. "Oh well, it was a nice try, boys, but he's right. It is a silly game." And he sauntered off after Goniff, back toward the mansion.
That was a pretty good curve ball, Casino thought as he watched the two foreigners retreat toward dinner. Joe DiMaggio probably couldn't have hit it. He tossed the baseball back to Chief in a slow arc, and the Indian caught it easily. "Ya know, I think I'll try out for the Yankees when the war's over. They could always use another good pitcher."
Chief just chuckled and picked up the bat from where Goniff had thrown it. He lofted the ball lightly into the air and swung hard, sending it sailing into the distance.
"Hey, outta the park! Maybe you should try out, too."
But Chief wasn't listening. He was staring off in the direction the ball had disappeared, toward the road leading out through the big iron gates. Casino turned to see what he was looking at - a jeep heading out, with the Warden at the wheel.
"That's the fourth time this week," Casino muttered. "And he don't come back till morning. Wonder what he's up to."
Chief picked up the empty flour sack that had been doubling as home plate and slung it over his shoulder. "Ain't none of our business."
There was only one thing that made sense to Casino. "I bet he's got a dame in town."
"So?"
"Well ain't ya curious? I mean, the man's dedicated to the cause and all, but he ain't no monk. Up for a little field trip?"
The barest smile lifted the corners of Chief's mouth. "What've ya got in mind?"
With a grin, Casino slapped Chief on the arm. "I think it's time we practiced some of our car boostin' and trackin' skills."
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It was always ridiculously easy to "borrow" one of the sedans. They'd been careful over the months not to do it often enough to force Garrison to take drastic measures. He kept the keys locked up in his office, but he certainly must've realized that was not an obstacle when they really wanted to go somewhere without permission. As Chief slipped the key into the ignition, he spared a moment to appreciate all the small ways the Lieutenant demonstrated his growing trust in them. And the small things they did to hold onto that trust. One of them was not pulling stupid stunts like this, but sometimes you just needed to break loose. As long as a mission wasn't compromised and no one got hurt, what was the harm?
On the assumption that Garrison was headed into London, Chief guided the big Packard along the familiar narrow back roads through the English countryside, eventually catching sight of the jeep just as it was turning onto a main road entering the denser suburbs. He then had to be more careful to stay out of sight as he tailed Garrison through the more heavily travelled streets, making strategic moves to stay several cars behind. Or turning onto parallel streets, then picking up the jeep again several blocks along. But it was soon clear exactly where the Lieutenant was going. It was a route they knew well, straight to the well-fortified military compound that was Intelligence Headquarters.
Chief pulled to the curb around the corner from the entrance gate and cut the engine. They watched as Garrison stopped at the guard station and presented his credentials.
"This can't be where he's been comin'," Casino griped. "Maybe he's got a sweetheart on the inside…"
"Yeah, and they do it under a desk in the code room."
Casino snorted in frustration. "Well maybe they just meet up here…"
Garrison took his wallet back from the guard, but instead of driving through the opened gate, he pulled to the side and got out. Dodging traffic as he trotted across the busy street, he headed straight for them. Casino slumped into his seat as if he could disappear. Chief considered high-tailing it out of there, but it was too late. They'd been made. He lowered his window, wondering where he'd made his mistake.
Garrison leaned down, his arms resting on the driver's side window frame. "Have you gentlemen satisfied your curiosity?"
"We were just concerned about you, ya know…" Casino stuttered
"Where'd you spot us?" Chief wanted to know.
"To your credit, not until you made that last turn. You came back in too close behind me."
Casino punched Chief on the arm. "See, I told ya…"
"Have neither of you heard of gas rationing?"
Casino made another attempt at explaining. "We just thought…"
"I know what you thought. I should be so lucky." Garrison sighed and straightened. "Well, now that you're here, you might as well stay. Follow me inside. I'll leave the jeep with the motor pool, and you can drive me back to the mansion in the morning."
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How many times had they sat in this conference room, wasting more than an hour waiting for Major Richards to see fit to join them? The Major seemed to have some kind of grudging admiration for their talents, Chief thought, but he was still an officer, and liked to use every trick at his command to prove he was in charge. It was a comfortable enough place to kill time, though, with large cushioned chairs around the dark oak table. Churchill and the King scowled at each other from their respective portraits on opposing walls. There were even muffins and coffee on the credenza, left over from some earlier meeting. The muffins were too stale to eat, but the coffee was still warm.
"So that's all it is? You've been comin' in here almost every night this week just to wait for a message from some agent in France?"
"Not just 'some agent', Casino. The Snow Goose."
Casino snorted a laugh. "The Snow Goose? Who makes up these code names, anyway?"
"He's been on a deep cover assignment inside the SS for two years. Last week he sent out a message saying he has something big, and he wants out." Garrison looked at his watch for the third time, then got up and paced to the credenza, refilling his coffee cup. "We've been waiting for his go-ahead."
Chief didn't see the problem. "Why don't we just go get him?"
"We don't know where he is. Or even who he is."
Casino sounded skeptical. "Whadda ya mean you don't know who he is? Somebody's gotta know who he is."
"Somebody with a higher pay grade than mine. Or Major Richards'." Garrison turned and leaned back against the credenza, taking a sip of his coffee. "His mission has been so top-secret that only the most senior officers know who he is."
When the door pushed open, Garrison set his cup down and straightened.
Major Richards paused and frowned at them before closing the door behind him. "Aren't the two of you suppose to be confined when you're not on a mission?"
"Time off for good behavior." Garrison gave them a sideways frown before turning back to Richards. "It won't happen again, sir. Any news yet?"
"Yes, late this morning. We've just finished decoding it." Richards took the chair at the head of the table and motioned Garrison back to his seat next to Casino, sliding a sheet of paper across the table to him. "You'll go to Paris and wait for contact at this drop point. Snow Goose will have more details for you at that time. Your assignment is to set up a route out, make the extraction, and provide protection along the way. We're putting together the credentials you'll need, and I'll have them to you before you leave. Get the rest of your team here, and bring them up to speed. Captain Jenkins will be ready to take you out of Portsmouth tomorrow at 0600."
As Garrison studied the scribbled notes, his eyes narrowed. "There's not much here, sir. There's no more you can tell us about the Snow Goose?"
"You know everything I know, Lieutenant. But I hope you understand the critical importance of the information he may have."
"Yes, sir. Of course."
With a curt nod, Richards stood and tugged the wrinkles out of his jacket. "I trust you and your men will do your usual capable, efficient job. Good luck, gentlemen." He was out the door before Garrison could say another word.
"Paris, huh?" Casino crushed out his cigarette in the dregs of his coffee. "Well at least it'll be entertaining."
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Garrison tightened the knot in his tie and checked his appearance in the mirror over the dresser. The light gray three-piece suit had become a little loose on him over the months, but he could still pass as a respectable business man. A quick comb through his hair tamed the cow lick, and he was ready for breakfast.
His stomach grumbled at the thought of Madame Chaumont's biscuits and eggs. Somehow the frail little bird of a woman was able to work around the rationing and shortages of wartime Paris and serve her boarding house guests a half-decent meal to start their day. Whenever he had the opportunity to use her services, he paid her well. She had proven herself to be loyal to de Gaulle and the Free French government in exile, but the extra incentive never hurt. This time her only other guest was an elderly widower, so he, Chief, and Casino were able to share two connected rooms, each with comfortable beds and windows opening onto the narrow street below. The Sorbonne district had survived most of the damage that had devastated the rest of Paris, but it was not the colorful, exuberant community he remembered from his visit here with his mother in '27. Back then its vibrance had awakened in him a dream of being a student here, studying under Europe's most talented historians and mathematicians. But his life, and the world, had taken an entirely different path.
They'd flipped to see who got the single room, and knowing Casino's penchant for cheating, Garrison had been surprised when he won. Although he never knocked before entering their quarters back at the mansion, he somehow felt it was appropriate now. In response to his quiet rap on the connecting door, Casino called, "C'mon in. We're decent."
As Garrison entered, he closed the door behind him. "I seriously doubt that."
Casino shrugged into his jacket. "Well at least we're dressed."
His safecracker also wore a good business suit, although he had yet to put on a tie. Chief almost never wore a tie, but the white turtle-neck under his blue blazer was suitable attire for the day's activities.
"Same routine?" the Indian asked from where he lay fully dressed, stretched out on his bed, his arms folded behind his head.
"Same routine," he confirmed.
"We've been here for five days now and still no contact." Casino whipped a red tie from the back of the desk chair and threw it around his neck. "Are ya sure you ain't missed something somewhere?"
Garrison had asked himself the same question numerous times, but always came to the same conclusion. "I'm sure. I called Actor last night. He and Goniff have the escape route set up between here and Tours, and then to the coast. So at least we're ready whenever we get the signal."
Chief swung his feet to the floor and sat up, that almost-smile touching the corners of his mouth. "They're at Madame Jacquard's, ain't they?"
"Yeah, they are." Simone Jacquard, the Maquis' secret weapon against the German officer corps, Garrison mused. Her bordello operation had collected more valuable information than any of his other networks, and her blackmarket business single-handedly kept the Resistance around Tours in cash and weapons. Her enticing curves and come-hither smile often occupied his dreams, too, but he had a feeling she was a dangerous woman to be involved with, no matter what side you were fighting on. "Let's just keep our minds on the task at hand, alright?"
Breakfast was tasty and adequate, if not totally filling. Their fellow boarder, Monsieur Lanier, had been especially chatty this morning, attempting to draw out both Casino and Chief, and Garrison had to remind him that his companions spoke no French. He tried to keep his own responses to M. Lanier's curiosity brief but polite. The paranoid intelligence agent in him wondered if there was a clandestine purpose to all of these questions, and he determined to be more cautious about what they said and did within earshot of the old man.
It was a sunny, breezy morning, and after breakfast, the three block walk to the tobacco shop cleared his head and gave him a new sense of hope. The brief instructions that the Snow Goose had given directed them to this particular shop every morning to buy a copy of Paris-Soir. After that first morning, the shop's proprietor always greeted him with a friendly smile and had his paper waiting for him. He'd pay with a bill and received change in return. When they'd return to their rooms, he'd carefully inspect both the paper and the coins for any hint of a hidden message, and every day he'd been disappointed. On the walk this morning, he'd decided to give it another week before he contacted London for further instructions. While the Snow Goose was an invaluable asset, they couldn't afford to wait indefinitely.
As had become their habit, Chief stood silently by the shop's front door pretending to inspect the trinkets displayed there, and carefully eyed anyone else who entered. Casino headed for the rack of magazines on the far right wall to browse the pictures in the latest edition of La Vie Parisienne. As Garrison approached the counter, the proprietor greeted him with a particularly wide grin, and handed a colorful rectangular wooden box across the counter to him along with his paper. "Monsieur, les cigares que vous avez commandés sont arrivés."
Finally. Contact. He returned the smile. "Merci, Claude. Je vais me régaler de ceux-ci."
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Although every nerve in his body wanted to rush back to the boarding house, he'd forced himself into a leisurely stroll. As soon as Chief had the bedroom door closed behind them, he'd ripped the seal off of the box and emptied the cigars out onto his bed. The pungent fragrance of tobacco filled the room.
Casino picked one up, read the label, and sniffed it. "Hey, these are real Cuban stogies. You know what these're worth on the black market?"
But Garrison's first concern was the box. He turned it in his hands, inspecting every seam and edge of the labels glued to the wood. To his touch, there seemed to be an extra thickness to the lining in the bottom of the box and on the underside of the lid. Carefully he peeled away the paper from the lid. Concealed beneath it were two additional pieces of paper - theater tickets. Specifically, tickets to a program of Wagner by the Munich Philharmonic that evening at the Théâtre Nicolas Dalayrac. He recognized the address as being a few miles west.
Setting those aside, he delicately pulled the lining from the bottom of the box. He unfolded the thin sheet concealed there and stared at the columns of random tiny letters and numbers hand-printed in bold black ink. Code. It might take him a while to work it out, because he carried the key in his head, but there was something else odd about all of this that itched at the back of his mind, something he couldn't quite pull into his consciousness. He didn't have time to worry about it now. He reached for the pen in his inside pocket and grabbed the closest piece of paper at hand, his copy of Paris-Soi. Taking a seat at the desk, he began the tedious process of decoding.
"Hey, can I smoke one of these?" Casino asked.
Garrison didn't look up from his work. "No."
"Can I sell 'em?"
"No!" He turned in his chair to face them. "We'll need a German staff car. Think you two can handle that?"
Chief picked up the tickets from where Garrison had dropped them on the bed. "So we're goin' to a show? Like a movie?"
"A symphony concert."
Chief and Casino groaned in unison.
"Don't worry. Chief, you won't be going in, and Casino, you'll probably like Wagner. It's loud. Now get out of here."