Chapter 2
Lt. Garrison stepped into the train car and found a seat in one of the compartments. He was bound for Scotland and he still had no idea what the actual mission was to be. All he had been told was that it was expected to provide a wealth of information coming in from Berlin and that he had the option to refuse. Refuse? Since when did the army give you an option to refuse?
He leaned deeper into the seat and made himself relax. It did no good to speculate on what he was walking into. Instead, his mind went back to the scene at the mansion as he was leaving in the pre-dawn darkness. That was worrisome.
Garrison had only been on a couple missions with his group of convicts so far. They were reluctantly learning to work together, but there was still the bickering and fights as they established a pecking order.
Goniff, the pickpocket and second story man, seemed the most malleable, though he could have moments of rebellion. He had teamed with Casino, the safecracker and demolitions man, from the beginning of the first mission.
Casino was loud, brash, stubborn, quick to pick a fight and quicker to throw a punch with little or no provocation. Still, there wasn't a safe or a lock he couldn't tease open with ease. And, Garrison was discovering, beneath the rude exterior was a mind that searched out all the possible frailties of a plan. He just could not articulate himself so others would pay any attention to what exactly he was saying without them losing their tempers.
The youngest of the group was Chief, the Apache. A hot car artist and killer, he was way too in love with the switchblades he kept hidden on his person. He was silent, withdrawn, and deadly. He kept to himself, but never turned down a fight. There was an invisible chip on his shoulder against authority and non-Native Americans that was the size of a redwood tree.
On the opposite end of that scale was the oldest member of the team, Actor. The confidence man was ten years older than Garrison, a fact that the lieutenant was keenly aware of though the Italian had never made any overt mention of it. Nothing the man said could be taken as truth; not even what was in the dossier that had come with him. No one knew Actor's real name, and Garrison did not for a moment believe the one on the dossier and his prison record was real. The suave, handsome, continental European had made no recognizable bid to become second in command, but Garrison had found him conveniently in that position. The man had ice water running through his veins, balls the size of which Garrison was still discovering, and was totally untrustworthy. Why Actor was staying with the group and had not already struck out for personal freedom in some neutral territory was beyond the officer's comprehension. Though the Italian presented a sedentary demeanor, when provoked or backed into a corner, those big fists packed a wallop . . . as Casino was frequently finding out. The other thing that was intriguing about the older man was his knowledge of medicine. Where that came from nobody knew.
The present situation was not helping their teamwork any. They managed to escape the confines of the mansion frequently and could be either found in the stockade or fighting amongst themselves and the locals at the Doves. Garrison housed them together in the upstairs common room. It had been changed into a dormitory of sorts with four metal army cots which, after relieving Casino of his spring steel pick, he handcuffed them to at night to keep them there. He didn't like doing that; it made them seem to be considered sub-human, but was a necessary evil as they proved time and again they could not be trusted. It was for this reason they had to be placed in the stockade while he was gone for the next week. Garrison had watched them being led away in shackles to the back of a transport truck. Casino and Goniff had voiced their objections loudly. Chief had kept to himself in sullen silence. It was at the back of the truck that Actor had paused and turned to give the lieutenant a look of disappointment and disgust. There was nothing to be done about it now until the officer returned and could start over trying to regain their tentative trust and turn them into the well-oiled team he was banking his career on.
It was late afternoon when the train crossed into Scotland and evening when it reached the station that was his destination. A corporal was waiting on the depot for him and escorted him to a staff car. The man had apparently been instructed not to give Garrison any information and the lieutenant kept to himself. After another hour, they turned off the paved road and began following narrower and narrower rural roads, eventually winding up a dirt drive that ended at a castle-like structure.
Inside the great stone building, Garrison was handed off to another corporal to whom he was required to show his identification. From there he was led upstairs passing an odd mix of British and American military and a smattering of civilians. Not for the first time, Craig wondered what he was getting into.
He was shown to a room that strangely reminded him of his room in the mansion with a bed, desk, paneled walls, diamond paned windows, and armoire. His duffle bag was set on the floor, he was given a salute, and the door was closed, leaving him alone. A covered tray was atop the desk beside a file. Craig tossed his hat on the bed, followed by his jacket, and he sat down to eat and read the instructions that were in the file.
As he tasted a delicious stew made of mutton, he read the first sheet of paper in the file. It was the typical security form reminding him that whatever was said behind these walls did not leave these walls. As he took a bite of bread with only a little sawdust taste to it, he picked up a pamphlet with basic greetings, questions and answers in Norwegian. Norwegian? Setting that aside for now, Craig picked up and read the next paper. Breakfast was at 0630. Someone would be around to escort him. He was strongly advised not to wander around outside his room. Obviously, this was not going to be your run-of-the-mill mission, even by his group's standards.
Working through his stew and bread, Craig opened a large, thin pamphlet. It outlined the boundaries of the grounds and gave a listing of the recreational activities and physical exercise areas available to him. It made him wonder if he was at a clandestine military base or a country club.
The pamphlet with the Norwegian lessons drew Garrison's interest. It wouldn't hurt to learn what he could. They had been to Norway once. Actor had been able to speak a few words, but was not fluent. Nice to know there was something the arrogant confidence man wasn't proficient in. Though not willing to acknowledge his admiration for the most dangerous man in the group, Craig found himself intrigued by the Italian's intelligence and level of knowledge. On the rare occasions the two had any semblance of a casual conversation, he was astonished by the wide variety of subject matter the older man could converse on.
Though he had not been apart from the men even twenty-four hours yet, Garrison found himself missing the noise and raucous behavior of his group of misfits. The shenanigans of the boisterous safecracker and the 'Limey' as he called the second-story man were oft times amusing. Chief was silent, defensive and hard to read. Actor, in his own way, was the one who kept Garrison on his toes. He had wanted the best confidence man he could get, and that was what he had gotten. The challenge was to keep one step ahead of the man so that he did not become the mark.
Norwegian. Craig opened the pamphlet to the first lesson.
GGGGG
The next morning, a corporal escorted Garrison to the large dining hall. Two rows of tables stretched the length of the room. At the far end was a buffet of sorts. Craig made his way along one wall, eyes casually taking in the scene. There were men and women present at the tables. Some wore American uniforms, some British and some in civilian clothing. It seemed an odd mix, but the young man had a feeling this was going to be an odd mission. He joined the line waiting to be served along the buffet. People in front of and behind him talked amongst themselves. This suited the lieutenant fine, giving him more opportunity to take in who had aligned themselves with whom. Expecting a division by country, service branch and gender, he was surprised to see a total mix of people for the most part.
The line moved and he took a warm wet tray from the recently replenished stack. Craig's attention turned to the food being put on his tray. There was a small bowl of oatmeal, canned fruit, more of the almost bread, and an infinitesimal spoon of scrambled powdered eggs. It was a little better than the daily fare at the Mansion. That made him wonder what his men were getting for breakfast in the stockade. Guiltily, he pushed that thought aside. Accepting a cup of tea from a server at the end of the buffet, Garrison slowly made his way along the wall searching for a seat at the tables.
He found one to his liking beside a young blond man in a U. S. Army uniform with the rank of first lieutenant. Asking if the spot was taken, he was invited to join the lieutenant, a Canadian, and a Brit in civilian clothing. Other than a nod to the newcomer, the Canadian and the British men kept to themselves, not even talking to each other. That left the American lieutenant.
"Hi," said the blond man, offering up a hand for a handshake. "Name's Randy Johnson."
"Craig Garrison," replied Craig, shaking the proffered hand.
He looked at the tray before dumping some sugar in the tea. At least there was sugar. He had not yet acquired a taste for tea. It was something his mother had made the kids drink when they were sick. He spooned the fruit onto the oatmeal and mixed it in.
"You have any idea what you're here for?" asked Johnson around a bite of bread.
"Not a clue," replied Garrison, not that he would have said if he did know.
"Me neither," the younger man continued unconcerned. "They just asked if I was interested in doing something a little different from the usual command and kind of combat. I take it to mean Special Forces."
Well, I'm already doing that, thought Craig, wryly. He wondered if the Army was thinking of setting up more convict teams. His men weren't working as a cohesive unit yet, but there was a definite improvement. At least up until now. They were bringing back intelligence that was extremely useful and the Brass seemed pleased with that, even if they weren't pleased with the men.
"Have to wait and see," said Garrison.
The conversation changed to home towns and past histories. The younger lieutenant was so enthusiastic and boyish Craig couldn't help thinking he'd never be able to handle a group like the Gorillas. Craig had enough of a problem controlling them and he was older and more experienced than Johnson. Still he was a pleasant enough guy.
The dining room must have been under observation thought Garrison. As soon as someone was finished eating, they were quickly whisked away. He and Lt. Johnson were met by different corporals. In the main hall, they split and were lead toward opposite wings of the big building.
Corporal Bradley was silent as he escorted Garrison to an office on the third floor. He was left standing in an anteroom while a lieutenant announced him to the occupants of the inner office. He was immediately gestured into the room.
Craig came to attention and saluted as an dark haired army colonel looked up from behind the large wooden desk in front of curtained windows. His salute was returned sharply.
"At ease, Lieutenant," said the colonel, watching him closely.
Craig assumed an at ease stance. He was aware there was a woman in a chair to his left, but he made no move to look at her. That was not to say he was not aware the woman was studying him. There was silence in the room as the colonel opened a file on the desk.
"Sit down, Garrison," said the colonel.
Craig now got a look at the woman as he sat in the chair beside her. She was younger than him; closer to his sister Terry's age. Wavy brown hair framed blue eyes and a red lips. She wasn't gorgeous, but she got his attention. She wore civilian clothes; nothing fancy, and sensible shoes. At least she was wearing real hose. And she was eyeing him as he was her.
"I am Col. Jackson," said the officer.
Garrison's attention snapped back to the commanding officer.
Jackson continued. "Jennifer Musgrave, Lieutenant Craig Garrison." He turned his attention to the younger officer. "Garrison, it has been brought to our attention that you are well versed in the use of unorthodox methods of accomplishing your missions against the Germans."
Craig remained silent, waiting. He was very aware of the appraisal he was getting from the woman beside him.
"Miss Musgrave has been working for SOE for several months now. She is in deep cover and now requires a male partner. It is more than an unorthodox situation and it is quite dangerous. If you find this of interest to you, I will continue. Otherwise, we will end this meeting now."
"Sir . . ." Craig began to question.
"In other words, Lieutenant," he was interrupted by the colonel, "you have the right to refuse without any consequences."
It was just the right bait to dangle in front of Garrison. "Unorthodox interests me greatly," replied Craig.
He could not see the tiny partially suppressed smile on the face of the woman beside him.
"We thought it might," said Col. Jackson.
"What about my current assignment, Sir?" Craig asked. He was just starting to get somewhere with his cons and he really did not want to give that up.
"Your current assignment will continue, separate from this one," replied Jackson. "Your participation will only be for a couple days to a week at a time. Your . . . men . . . will be accommodated as they are now while you are gone." He paused. "Shall I continue, Garrison?"
"Please, Sir."
The middle-aged superior officer relaxed back in his chair and watched the reactions of the two in front of him as he outlined the mission. The woman was smiling now. Garrison looked interested.
"Miss Musgrave is working as a housekeeper at an institution in Oslo, Norway. You have a proclivity for languages and accents, Garrison. You will have a crash course in Norwegian. Miss Musgrave is acting as a refugee from England and her familial home of Dublin, Ireland. She appears sympathetic to the Nazi cause, but is not actively involved in it. She is pulling good information from her place of employment. We feel more information could be obtained if a man were to infiltrate the business. You will be established as her husband. You are American. You came to Norway after the attack on Pearl Harbor to evade the draft. You deal in import/export, more commonly known as the black market. Your wife has recommended you to her employers as someone capable of procuring supplies for their business. This gives you the cover of not staying in one place for too long at a time to avoid capture. Your home range is most of western Europe. Feel free to ask questions at any time, Garrison."
"Yes, Sir," replied Craig. "Just where do I get these supplies?"
"We will fill your orders. You have no compunction of acquiring your goods from either side."
"Just what kind of establishment is this?" asked Craig.
The answer he received caught him by surprise. His expression did not change, but he silently watched the colonel, stifling a strong urge to look at the woman.
"Whatever your personal feelings are, Lieutenant, can you accomplish this?"
Craig nodded. "As long as I am just a business partner and do not have to participate in the business itself."
"We have given you the cover of being married to Miss Musgrave. It is up to you how you use that cover."
Garrison nodded again.
"Are you in?" asked Jackson.
"Yes, Sir."
Now the woman grinned openly. The colonel smiled.
"Welcome to the family, Petr Andersen," said the woman for the first time in a soft British accent.
Craig looked at her. "We changed our names so we would not be discovered by anyone who might be looking for us."
"He catches on quick," said Jenny with a bigger grin.
"And my wife's name?" asked Garrison.
"Well now an' that would be Kiera," she replied with a broad Irish accent.
Craig had to grin back at her. "Nice to meet you, Kiera." He turned back to the officer who was sitting back watching their interaction. "When do I start, Sir?"
"Now," was the reply. "You will stay here for a week's training and then return to your other assignment. We will establish your cover in Norway and Germany. When that is ready, we will end you in for a few days for your initial contact with your new buyers."
"Yes, Sir," replied Garrison. Well this was definitely going to be interesting, he thought.
