The Mansion
Dawn was just breaking when Chief opened the front door of the Mansion and breathed deeply of the chilly spring air. Despite returning at such a late hour, he'd still woken at his usual time. Moving quietly to avoid waking the sleeping nurse, he'd collected some clothes and headed out for his run.
He missed Diesel. Their regular morning runs had, for the most part, been silent affairs but, in a way he couldn't explain, they had enervated and uplifted him. Running with the Warden was good, but it didn't touch the soul in the same way.
He'd never run before he'd joined Garrison's team. But then there were a lot of things he'd never done before. Indian, they called him... even that might not be true. Mostly, if someone asked his tribe, he'd say Navajo or Apache, but he'd no real memories to anchor that in fact. Based on his Mississippi accent he could as easily be Choctaw. All he remembered was being on the streets starving. After that it was a series of orphanages, places for young offenders then finally prisons. Gradually he'd worked his way north, ending up in New York. Christina had been one of the good things in his life, tried to persuade him to get away from the gangs, go straight, get a job. But he hadn't listened. The money was good, it was the closest thing to family he'd ever had – till the last few months.
Everything had changed since they came to England. Instincts, long buried, had crept to the surface. Where had he learned to move through the forest like a wraith? Ride a pony? Why was his hearing so sharp? With every mission he had changed, become more confident. The city punk was barely a memory now... so why was he scared?
He stopped down by the stream to get his breath back. Where had this need to run come from? 'Stop running', Christina had said, on that brief trip to New York. Chief smiled at the memory. She hadn't been talking about the miles of tracks he'd covered in his months in England, but somehow the two things were linked. He watched the brown waters of the stream hurry past, patches of foam forming and dissolving and reforming. Was there something to be learned?
As always, he returned by the kitchen door. There, he would grab a large glass of cold water and try to ascertain the situation regarding hot water. Mostly, things were quite simple. If the house contained a full contingent, the boiler would be fired up and there would be hot water. If, as today, only one or two people were 'on site', all bets were off. Steam coal was an expensive commodity and needed to be rationed.
Chief didn't even bother to test the premise. He filled a galvanised bucket with hot water from the Aga then headed for the bathrooms. He still found the British habit of only bathing once per week a little unsavoury, but having experienced their plumbing, he could understand why.
Installing showers over the large, enamelled baths had been one of the few improvements the US military had been willing to make to the requisitioned building but, without hot water, they weren't tempting. A bucket of water, an enamelled mug (for rinsing) and a washcloth was infinitely preferable.
The sweat of his run and the dirt of the previous twenty-four hours scrubbed away, Chief dried himself as best he could with the somewhat threadbare towel that was all that was available, wrapped it around his loins, then headed back to his room.
Amber was still sleeping soundly. She hadn't moved since he'd left. Chief reached for a set of clean clothes, then looked back to the bed. He had no need to get up, there would be no calls on his time until he had to take the nurse back to the hospital. He threw the towel to one side and slipped back under the covers. Still asleep, Amber acknowledged his return by backing into the curl of his body. He lay there for a few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling of warmth and cleanliness. It was the last thing he remembered for the next two hours.
Amber finally drifted back into consciousness, feeling a moment of panic that she might have overslept. Chief's alarm clock reassured her. It was late, but not overtly so. She still had time for breakfast before she had to leave, she rolled over to kiss the Indian awake.
GGG
It was Molly, rather than Will, that found Actor's note. She stuck her head out of the back door and yelled for her husband.
"Saw the car was gone." Sergeant-Major Fletcher took the note from his wife's outstretched hand and scanned it quickly. He wasn't surprised that Actor had been summoned to Allied HQ. Now, he just needed his own orders. They weren't long coming. He was only on his second cup of tea when the telephone rang.
"The Mansion, Sergeant-Major Fletcher speaking." He ignored the temptation to answer the telephone with one of the quips the Lieutenant's men used when they got to the phone first.
"Will, Kevin Richards here." The Major deliberately set things on a casual footing as best he could. He knew the man would be intimidated by his rank, but it was important today to get him for once to forget military protocols.
Even though he couldn't be seen, the non-com stood to attention. "Sir!"
Richards flinched, knowing that if Fletcher hadn't had a phone in his hand he would have been saluting. He persevered. "Will, I need your help." He paused. "Would you have any objection to telling someone from Allied Intelligence something that was a slight distortion of fact?"
"That depends on who I'm telling, Sir" replied the Sergeant-Major, cautiously, surprised at the Major's use of his first name.
"How about Major Johns?"
Richards could almost hear the smile at the other end of the phone.
"Well, if I wasn't exactly lying, I wouldn't have a problem with that." The non-com paused. "What do you need me to tell him?"
GGG
Chief brought the Jeep to a halt on the gravel in front of the Mansion and climbed out, stretching. Amber had been delivered, only 30 minutes or so later than planned. After the words of her surgeon the previous night, he wasn't worried.
He climbed the steps and headed for the kitchen. Surprisingly, it was occupied. Goniff was just polishing off a bowl of porridge, Molly had flour-covered arms embedded in a bowl of pastry and Will was sat on a chair cleaning a pistol. The Navajo could see, based on the dagger-like looks the sergeant major was getting from his wife that any attempt to put oily metal on her scrubbed pine table would be met with threats of bodily injury.
Molly nodded her head towards the range. "It's in the simmering oven."
Chief moved forward, securing a bowl from the dresser and helping himself to a generous portion of the creamy oatmeal, enhanced with honey.
"How's married life?" It wasn't the type of question the Navajo would have asked just a few months ago.
He was surprised to see their chef blush and drop her gaze, before flicking the briefest of glances at her husband.
"It'll do," she responded quietly. Will looked pleased.
GGG
Richard's instructions had been simplicity in themselves. 'Offer the men 48 hour passes if they want them,' he'd said. 'If they don't, keep them out of the house as much as possible and well away from the phone. If they want some RR, they've to stay out of trouble and away from London.'
Will wasn't sure about that 'trouble' bit but, of late, as the men had settled into this new life, 'incidents' had been fewer and farther between.
In the end, Casino had been the only one to accept the pass. He'd wandered off looking thoughtful.
"What about you, Goniff?"
"Nah, I'll stay here." The Cockney had finished his late breakfast and was already on the move. He still hadn't managed to speak with Millie, and he wanted to get to the bottom of matters. "Fancy a pint tonight?" he asked, grabbing a handful of the raisins that were sitting on the table and throwing them into his mouth. He dodged the wooden spoon as Molly tried to rap his knuckles and headed towards the back door, laughing.
He was gone before Chief had a chance to respond.
"Chief?"
The Navajo shook his head faintly. "Not for me." He meandered over to the stove and refilled his coffee cup. It was no skin off his nose to keep away from the phones for two days. He turned back to the Sergeant-Major. "Why?"
