82. Could, Shoulda, Woulda, Didn't
Chapter 2
"Like what?" demanded Casino in a low voice.
"First," replied the confidence man. "We know we are being charged with treason." He wrote that down. "Allied plans have been stolen from safes and given to the Germans." He wrote that down next. "The details of the theft have earmarks of the way we operate." He kept writing. Looking up and around the table, he continued. "Somebody has been watching us and knows our individual ways of working our trades."
Goniff was hung up on the one aspect of the whole thing. "We didn't do no treason," he said in a whine that was more like his usual. "Wot do they wanna hang us for?"
"Good question," noted Actor.
He pushed the chair back and walked over to the low bookcase against the far wall. It held Garrison's books on the military. One forefinger out and sweeping along across the titles, Actor found what he was looking for and pulled a book out. He returned to the conference table and looked through the index.
"Here it is," he said. "Espionage and aiding the enemy are crimes punishable by hanging."
"Hey, Actor," interrupted Goniff again on a tangent. "It isn't us. So 'ow could somebody get into Allied Command in London and steal from the safes?"
Actor kept his patience. "The same way we do in Berlin. There is usually someone on the inside who gets the blueprints and information for us."
Chief frowned. "But this is England. If it's the Krauts, how would they have access to somebody on the inside?"
"If we know we have spies in Germany and other Nazi held countries, then why would we assume the Germans do not have spies in England?" pointed out the confidence man.
"Blimey," breathed the pickpocket.
Actor looked at the youngest member of their team. "Chief, you were the first with the guards. Tell us everything you remember that was said to you."
Chief shook his head. "Didn't say much. I was runnin' and came around that curve by the back corner and they were standin' on the path ahead of me with rifles pointed at me. I stopped and they motioned me to get ahead of them. I asked what was goin' on and they said I wasn't s'posed to be outside uh the house. I asked why and they wouldn't tell me." He paused. "When we got out to the back lawn, place was crawlin' with guards with rifles."
Casino got up and moved to the wall by the window. He pulled back the drape just enough to see out without being seen. "Yeah, they're still out there." He took his seat again.
Actor finished the dregs of his coffee and tapped the eraser end of his pencil rhythmically on the table top. He appeared lost in thought but spoke to the men.
"If there is a team capable of breaking into Allied Command and other headquarters on the Continent, why make it look like us?"
"Somebody wants to get rid of us," suggested Casino.
"Who?" asked Chief. "Yates, Johns, Fremont?"
"Perhaps," said Actor. "Not Lt. Johnson. I am sorry, but he doesn't have the capability for this and neither does his team. Carter would have no motive." The Italian sucked in his cheeks and puzzled it through. The pencil tapping ceased. "Who knows us? Who had his own team that we conveniently killed?"
Casino was following along. He turned a quizzical look at Actor. "You talkin' about those industrial diamonds we snatched in Switzerland? That guy, what was his name, Miller, or somethin' like that?"
"Frank Miller. Franz Mueller. The Warden and I met him as Hans Wilder," answered Actor.
He picked up his pencil and wrote the names down on his paper.
"Yeah," said Casino with a grin. "We got the diamonds and Garrison away from him. Bet that didn't go over too good with the big shots in Berlin."
"He was hit," added Chief. "Left shoulder, low."
Actor sighed. "Gentlemen, as distasteful and ungentlemanly as it is, we may have made a mistake by not going back and making sure he could not get back to Berlin or speak with anyone."
"So wot do we do now?" asked Goniff worriedly.
"I don't know," replied Actor.
"We don't know fer sure it is that Miller guy," said Chief.
Casino grinned wider. "I'd bet yuh ten to one it is."
"We can only wait to see what the Warden finds out," said Actor. "If they allow him to contact us and don't arrest us on the spot."
Goniff was not through asking questions. "So 'ow does 'e know how we work?"
Actor did not know the answer to that one, but Casino did.
"Don't yuh remember, Limey," the safecracker said. "They were standin' outside the electric gate watching us." He nodded in remembrance. "Yeah, they watched us get into the vault area, and get into the safe deposit box. They knew we cased the place beforehand. They knew what way we came in. And that Miller knew how we caught him."
"We wiped out his whole team," said Chief. "Bet that made him mad. Don't think I'd want to bet against you, Casino."
The cracksman was still wondering. "Hey, Actor, if these guys pretendin' to be us are Krauts, how do they come over here and not get picked up the first time they open their mouths? That Miller guy spoke English, but with a German accent."
The words coursing through the Italian's mind were not in English or German and were definitely not repeatable. He took a deep breath before answering.
"Gentlemen, with the exception of myself and the Lieutenant, none of you knows more than a word or two in German, and when you speak it is with a deplorable accent."
"'Ere now, Actor!" objected Goniff strongly.
The con man lifted his eyebrows and stared silently at the Cockney.
Casino chuckled. "You got a point, Actor. And the Limey don't even speak English."
Even Chief grinned at that.
Actor pushed forward. "All right. If it isn't Herr Mueller, who else could it be?" His eyes swept over the three men. "I doubt Major Johns will be trying anything new after the last fiasco."
"What about Yates?" asked Casino. "He hates our guts worse'n Johns does."
The confidence man sucked in a cheek and contemplated this. "He does not have much history in the line of field work. I suppose it is possible he could mastermind such a thing, but I have my doubts."
"You think Fremont could?" asked Chief.
"Naw," answered Casino. "He don't get out of his office enough. How would he set it up?"
"And why?" added Actor. "Would he really wish to take on General Garrison? Especially if he brings charges against the Warden and Teresa?"
"Probably not," agreed the safecracker.
Speaking of General Garrison gave Actor an idea but he did not know how to accomplish it. He would have to think about it.
GGGGG
The sun had slid down behind the peaks and trees, adding a briskness to the alpine air. In the growing darkness, three people descended from a trail to the camp in the foothills of the Dolomites. Two of the people were men in rough clothing that befitted the rural area. The third was possibly a woman, in brown woolen pants and a plaid shirt. A slouchy cap covered the head and hid the features and hair.
The leader of the resistance group: short, round-faced with scars indicating torture, rose from a fallen log that was his seat and moved directly toward the third person. He watched a hand rise up to remove the cap and allow the wavy auburn hair to fall to her shoulders in a rather untidy mane. The woman eyed him with concern. Emilio Frazini motioned her to come with him to stand away from the others scattered throughout the clearing.
"Is something wrong?" asked the American girl in Roman accented Italian.
"Something must be very wrong," said the short man with a frown. "I have received two wireless messages for you, from two different sources, and not during the open window for communication."
Terry frowned. "From who, and about what?" she asked guardedly.
"The first was Major Richards telling you there is trouble in England and to go to ground. The second is from your group, saying the same thing." Emilio gestured with his fingers. "I do not know what this 'go to ground' means."
"It means go into hiding and trust no one," said Terry. "And nothing to say why?"
"Nothing more than that," affirmed the resistance leader.
That was worrisome, to say the least. Terry's eyebrows came together as she pondered the two messages coming from the two different sources.
"When is the next window?" she asked.
Emilio shrugged, "In about fifteen minutes. Which one of them do you want to contact?"
"My group," said Terry. "If the Major is saying to hide, it must mean the Army is after me."
The radio man had expected the woman to show up, if she returned in time for the communication. Terry took a seat on an empty overturned g-can beside the man.
"Who do I contact?" he asked.
"My group," said Terry. She waited somewhat impatiently for the contact to be made.
"I have them," said Gianni.
Terry frowned. "Ask them what happened."
Fingers tapped on the key, then paused, waiting for a reply.
The Italian looked at the woman beside him. "Unknown. Attore said to go to ground. But not why."
"Tell her to find out," instructed Terry.
The fingers tapped again. "Acknowledged." More tapping came through. "They signed off." He looked at her. "You want me to contact the other group?"
Terry shook her head. "If the Major said hide, they are probably being watched." She wondered if Richards was in trouble too. Merda, why did everything have to be so complicated, she wondered in her mind with disgust. Because war was complicated, she answered herself.
Terry rose to her feet and patted Gianni on the shoulder. "Grazie mille, mio amico."
She left the little camouflaged tent they used as a radio room and went in search of Emilio. She found him at the rickety wooden table made of a board across two stumps. He was ladling up a chipped bowl of the endless soup the camp followers kept hot. Terry picked up a bowl and followed Emilio's lead. The two went to sit on a downed tree trunk apart from the others in the camp.
"What is going on?" asked Emilio in a quiet voice.
"I don't know," replied Terry, blowing on a spoonful of the hot soup before eating it. "No information besides go to ground." She frowned. "I asked them to find out why. I don't expect an answer before tomorrow." Terry looked at the man who had become a friend sitting next to her. "Whatever it is, it probably isn't safe for you to have me here. I will go up to Marco's camp when I finish eating. I'll come back tomorrow. If you get another out of window message before I return, could you send it to me?"
"Of course," nodded Frazini. "If possible, I will bring it myself."
"Thank you," the girl smiled wanly.
They finished their meal in silence. Terry retrieved her bedroll from the camouflaged lean-to it was in and headed out, back up the trail she had come from.
GGGGG
Though not a formal tribunal, the round conference table that Lt. Garrison was seated at also seated Major Richards, General Fremont, General Abrams, and Colonel Hammond. All of the men looked serious. It was General Fremont who led the quasi-interrogation.
"Lt. Garrison, are you aware of why you are here?" asked the gray-haired general.
"Yes, Sir," replied Garrison. "My men are being accused to obtaining classified documents from Allied Command and selling them to the Germans. Sir, I have lived with these men and worked with them for more than a year now. I know them, Sir. They did not, and would not, do what they are being accused of."
"Not even for a great deal of money?" asked Gen. Fremont. "They are not being paid by the army."
"They are being paid," rebutted Craig. "They are working for the paroles at the end of the war."
Fremont sucked in a cheek and pinned Garrison with a glare. "And how do you explain two of your men and your sister have sizable accounts in the bank in Brandonshire?"
Crap! How did he find that out? At least he didn't find Terry's account in London . . . yet. Craig held his head high. "I assume the men are Casino and Chief?"
"You don't know?" Fremont leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "You expect us to believe you don't know about this?"
"I don't delve into their personal affairs, Sir, if it doesn't affect the group," shot back Garrison. "Casino is very good at poker and tends to win a lot when they have a game or two at the Doves. Chief does the same thing with darts."
"Four figures, Lieutenant? That must be some winnings. Would you like to try again, Garrison?"
The other officers were watching him. Guess that game is up, thought Craig with resignation. "Sir, the men have no income from the army. I can't afford to subsidize their visits to the pub. When we are on a mission and Casino opens a German safe to take papers, if there is money, I allow him to take it. If we are only photographing papers, he cannot touch it. It seems better in their pockets than in the Germans' coffers."
General Fremont shook his head. "That might explain Mr. Coletti, but not Mr. Sands or your sister."
"Yes, it does," countered Craig. "Whatever money there is gets divided up evenly between the ones who are on the mission."
"Including yourself?"
"No, Sir. I have a salary from the army. I doubt the General found an account for me."
Fremont's eyebrow rose at the hair under insolent remark. "And the other two men?"
Garrison gave a crooked smile. "Goniff couldn't win a poker game against at two-year-old. And he sends most of his money to his mother in New York. I have no idea where Actor keeps his. He tends to put in for food and purchases his own clothing."
"Miss Garrison seems to have a substantial sum in her account."
If you only knew, thought Craig. "I don't know what Terry does when she is on the Continent without us. She owns half interest in the Blue Fox, so she has an income there. You would have to ask her, Sir."
"And just where is she?" asked Fremont.
"She is working for us with an underground cell in Italy," inserted Major Richards.
Damn, thought Craig. Now they know where she is. Take a page from Actor. Change the subject.
"General Fremont," began Garrison, "I understand there was another break in with documents being stolen. It was at a time my men were accounted for and they could not have gone to London, done the theft, and returned in the amount of time they were at the pub. They returned early from the pub and went to their rooms. That would have been during the time of the theft. Not before or after."
Fremont gave an audible sigh. "Yes, Lieutenant, there is that. However, the other occasions occurred when you men were either at your base or here in London."
Colonel Hammond frowned and broke in. "General Fremont, I have been around Garrison's men enough to seriously doubt they would sell out to the Germans. Could this perhaps be a set-up of some kind to make them take the blame for another group?"
"I suppose there is a possibility there, but we are dealing with convicts here," objected the older man.
"Convicts trying to go straight and get their paroles," interjected Major Richards. "I have been in with them. Their loyalty to Lt. Garrison, and the Allies, is quite evident."
Fremont shook his head. "If not Garrison's group then who do you suggest? Lt. Johnson's men?"
General Abrams gave a short laugh. "I have been in close contact with Lt. Johnson's group. They are concerned with getting their paroles. And they don't have quite the expertise of Garrison's men."
"All the more reason to believe it is Garrison's men," shot back Fremont with a scowl.
"Sir," said Richards, clearly not buying this. "Can you explain why Garrison's men have returned time and time again. When they could easily have disappeared? They were sent to the States, did what they were supposed to do, and returned to complete the mission. They have been in Switzerland more than once. They returned each time. They could have stayed in a neutral country. Portugal is a neutral country and they returned from there. No, Sir, I don't know who is doing this, but I don't believe it is Garrison's men."
Fremont did not like to be argued with. "Until we get more information on the break-in last night, those men will stay confined to the house they are in, and the guards have been told to shoot to kill if they try to sneak out." He looked at Craig. "And as Lt. Garrison is responsible for those men, and their activities are in question, then that warrants him to be confined here in the stockade until we get further evidence of his men's involvement in this spying."
"Or evidence they were not involved," added General Abrams drolly.
Craig had already expected he would be locked up in London. He just hoped his men knew enough to stay right where they were. Now, with all of them locked up, there was no way for them to clear themselves.
"Gentlemen, we will reconvene here tomorrow at 1000 hours," intoned General Fremont. He motioned to the guard at the door. "Take Lt. Garrison to the stockade," he ordered.
"Excuse me, General," said Major Richards, with his not-to-be-trifled-with tone of voice. "I will escort Lt. Garrison to the stockade. He is my responsibility at this time. Do you really think he will try to escape?"
The oldest officer glared at the British Commando Major. "If he does try to escape, you will definitely be held responsibility."
Richards rose from his seat and snapped a salute at the higher ranked officer, not waiting for the return salute. He looked down at the man sitting beside him.
"Come, Lt. Garrison," he ordered.
Craig stood and gave a salute to General Fremont who gave him one back.
Major Richards walked away, and Garrison had no choice but the follow. Nobody tried to stop them from walking out of Allied Command and down the sidewalk. There was a post box between them and the Major's vehicle. Craig angled toward it and lagged back just a couple steps to be able to slip Actor's letter into the box.
Major Richards never missed a step. "And now that you have sent word to Actor's daughter that her father is detained, I suppose you would like to call your men."
Damn, the man was getting to be as good as Craig's men. "It would be appreciated, Sir."
"There is a nice café on the way to the base," said the British officer. "General Fremont did not say I could not feed my prisoner on the way to the stockade. There is a pay phone there you can use."
Garrison had caught up with him and gave him a quizzical look. "Aren't you going to get in trouble helping me, Sir?" he asked.
"He can try," said Richards. "The bottom line, Lieutenant, is I am liaison, not a part of your military. I answer to my superiors, not him."
They reached the car and Richard's driver opened the back door and saluted the Major. Richards motioned Garrison to get in first and followed him.
Waiting for the driver to come around the vehicle to get in, Richards muttered "I believe General Fremont would have served this war best if he had retired after the last war."
Craig looked straight ahead and responded, "I believe I have to agree with the Major."