Debriefing

Richards led the way to a naval transport and climbed into the passenger seat, leaving Garrison's four men to find accommodation for themselves in the back.

"Reck'n we're on our way home." Chief's words were a statement, not a question. He slumped onto one of the hard seats and stared blankly out of the window. 'Home' wasn't the Mansion, it was being jobless and homeless with no purpose in his life.

The other three didn't reply. There was no need. They were thinking similar thoughts. This mission had been their lifeline... and not only had they failed, but the collateral damage had been high this time around.

The vehicle made its way out of the city and headed north-east to the city airfield at Roborough. It pulled up alongside a corrugated iron Nissen hut with half-moon shaped, brick walls at both ends. The nearest end boasted a pair of windows and a single door. Richards climbed down and waited for the others to join him, before pushing open the door and going inside. Within were a few battered armchairs grouped haphazardly around a table covered in an old curtain.

Casino looked around, but there wasn't much to see. "When do we leave?"

A shadow crossed the doorway. "We leave when I say we leave."

The four spun round in surprise. Standing in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the frame was Lieutenant Garrison. He smiled, then walked into the room and put the coffee pot he was carrying down on the table.

Actor watched his CO carefully. This was a very different man from the one he had last seen at Paddington station. The stress lines were gone from his face, and he looked fitter than he'd ever seen him.

"Blimey, Warden. Ain't you got no tea?"

"Of course we have." A tall, strongly-built woman, with a short, somewhat masculine, hairstyle, wearing a practical tweed suit and black-laced shoes, made her way through the open door. She was carrying a large wooden tray loaded with earthenware mugs, a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk.

Behind her was a man in a US Army general's uniform, carrying a large metal teapot in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. He had a wry smile on his face as he put both on the table alongside the coffee pot. "Pamela tells me that tea and biscuits is an essential part of any meeting. I'll just have to take her word for it."

iSo, this was the mysterious spy mistress/i, thought Actor, looking at the woman through fresh eyes. This wouldn't be the first of their missions she'd meddled in, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"Hey, this is quite some send-off, a general, a major, a lieutenant and a..." Casino ground to a halt, unsure on quite how to categorise Pamela.

"Broad?" asked the woman in question, amusedly.

"Yeah," replied Casino somewhat deflated. He picked up one of the coffee cups, before retreating. His head was thudding. He just wanted to get this farce over and done with.

"Casino, can it." Garrison's reprimand was half-hearted. "You're not going home... yet... but don't push your luck."

Goniff helped himself to a mug of tea. It was strong, just as he liked it. Unthinkingly he added 3 spoons of sugar, just as he had done before the war, added a splash of milk and took a sip. Too sweet, but he wasn't going to let on. "So, why the welcoming committee?"

Richards stepped forward. "The General here felt that it would be more suitable to hold this debriefing away from the prying eyes and ears of Allied HQ. Since most of you were already in Plymouth, he figured it was easier, and more private, for the mountain to come to Mahomet than Mahomet to the mountain."

"And I'm here because I want to know why one of my best men is at death's door." Pamela paused and looked at the General. "Milton, this is the last time I will agree to loaning you one of my people unless you can guarantee you will take better care of them."

General Fremont looked suitably chastised. "Ma'am." He nodded his head in acquiescence.

Pamela made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, balancing a cup of tea, milk – no sugar, on the arm. She reached down and retrieved a workmanlike leather briefcase from the floor at her feet. She looked at Garrison.

"Since your temporary Commanding Officer is clearly in no shape to brief us himself, I'm trusting that between you, you can tell us what happened." Pamela glanced at the General. "and, providing it stays within these..." she glanced at the interior of the Nissen hut, "... two walls, we will answer your questions as honestly as we are permitted to do. It seems only fair to Lieutenant Garrison that he is brought up to speed.

Fremont adjusted his jacket and smoothed his trousers, then looked at the younger Army man. "Lieutenant, why don't you take the lead on this. You're starting from zero. You know your men. You get them to tell us the story."

Garrison hesitated, then nodded. He settled himself in one of the other chairs, where he could make eye contact with most of the other occupants of the room. Casino was currently lurking out of sight, but he was fine with that. As Fremont said, he knew his men. "Actor?"

"Where would you like me to start?" The Italian wasn't sure.

"From when you last saw me."

Actor nodded. On the platform at Paddington station. He considered, then started. "I will start a little before. Earlier that day I met with the Major here. He was concerned that we would be vulnerable while you were recuperating." He looked at Richards, who nodded. "Major Johns saw his opportunity to get a mission approved that he had been pressing for for some time. The General saw no reason to turn the Major down, but agreed it was important that the right person lead the mission."

The Italian knew that he was putting a more positive spin on matters than had been the case, but it was right for the moment.

Richards took over the story. "With Captain Hayter committed in North Africa, I could only think of one man who had the skills to take this group to France. Commander Dalgliesh had been training Special Forces in Canada and, in fact, had trained Captain Hayter's men.

"Diesel liked him," Chief interjected. "Respected him. He didn't respect many people, back then."

Richards nodded. "The only problem was, I didn't know where to find him or if he was available."

Pamela took her turn. "He was 'resting' in Scotland. My department had just utilised his services in Turkey, and we felt it was appropriate he was given some downtime." She glanced around the room. "I find it is important not to overload our operatives, keep them fresh for new challenges."

Actor returned to the story. "Before I returned to the Mansion, I was given a dossier for Commander Dalgliesh. It was," he hesitated and looked at the Warden, "fictitious?"

Garrison smiled, thinking back to his own team's dossiers. They had been fictitious too.

"Commander Dalgliesh turned up to brief us the next morning." Actor scanned the other three, then looked at Garrison. "It wasn't the most comprehensive briefing we have been given."

"You can say that again." Casino was starting to be drawn into the story and had drifted closer. He dropped down into one of the basket chairs nearer to the table.

"That was our fault," Fremont admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "The mission was put together at short notice. There wasn't time to provide the usual background information. Major Johns initial plans assumed a Lysander delivery on a full moon. That wouldn't be possible, so it was decided to use a fast patrol boat instead. It would introduce a small delay, but that seemed acceptable."

"But Johns didn't agree," the Italian snapped back at Fremont.

"You're right," the General admitted. "We didn't expect he would take matters into his own hands."

"What would have happened if we'd gone on the boat?" Goniff asked, speculatively.

"You'd be dead." Pamela's reply was sharp. "We only learned after you left that our cipher had been cracked by the Gestapo. There would have been a welcoming party waiting for you."

"So, Johns unknowingly did us a favour." Actor's voice was thoughtful.

"What happened next? You flew to France?" Garrison tried to move the story on.

Pamela shook her head. "No, something else I should mention. Before Dalgliesh left London, he was handed a second package of intelligence. Unfortunately, he didn't read it until after he left the Mansion." She glanced at Actor. "This was not unexpected. Also, we were aware that Johns might try to intercept our man. We made arrangements for him to be accommodated elsewhere and given time to analyse the additional information."

Actor raised an eyebrow. He had already guessed much of what had happened next. "I'm guessing that he knew some of the problems that would face us."

"True, but all we'd been able to give him were disconnected reports and half-baked rumours – plus one of MI5's best analysts. When he left to meet with you in Beaulieu, she brought their conclusions back to London for safe-keeping and it was only then that we were made aware of the full scale of the problem."

Actor caught the 'she'. It had to be Emerald. She had helped Dalgliesh predict the web of plot and counter-plot and develop strategies to circumvent most of them. "So, Dalgliesh knew the Resistance network in Orleans was compromised."

It was Pamela's turn to look discomforted. "He knew it was probable."

Garrison turned on the MI6 woman. "He knew a network was infiltrated, yet he still let my men get on that plane."

"Planes," corrected Goniff, quietly.

"He came with us," added Chief, just as quietly."

Fremont looked at Garrison and raised an eyebrow. "Would you have done things differently, Lieutenant?"

There was silence for a moment before he replied. "No, General, if I thought we had matters covered, I would have gone along with the plan."

"And that is what the Commander did too. He had a comprehensive knowledge of people he could contact in France should the need arise. Many of these were not part of the primary Resistance network. He took a calculated risk that if one door closed, he could open another and, for the most part, his strategy was successful." Pamela poured herself another cup of tea. It was stewed and beginning to go cold, but useful as a delaying tactic.

Garrison reached into a pocket and extracted a packet of cigarettes. He took one for himself then offered the carton around. Fremont, Richards and Pamela shook their heads, Goniff accepted, Casino reached forward then pulled back his hand. It might be the straw that broke the camel's back.

The Lieutenant lit, then took a deep draw on the tobacco. "So, Orleans was compromised. What happened next?"

Chief smiled. "We cleared things up. Let's say they won't be botherin' us anymore." He took a sip of the thick coffee and made eye contact with the Warden.

"Then?"

"Commander Dalgliesh had another contact, one that Johns didn't know about. We regrouped, then headed for Jargeau," Actor continued. "That was something else the Commander kept to himself at first..." He looked accusingly at Pamela, who nodded affirmatively.

"He's not used to working with a team. I'm sure you understand, the more people who know something the more chance there is of being betrayed."

Actor could only agree.

It was Richard's turn to interrupt. "If I get this right, then Johns thought his agent was still in Orleans, but she wasn't - and hadn't been for some time."

Actor nodded. "Yes, and that was something else Dalgliesh knew. She'd been picked up by the French and thrown into the Jargeau internment camp as a prostitute. She must have been there for a couple of months, at least."

Fremont looked surprised. That tied in with the time Johns had been pushing for the mission, yet clearly the Major hadn't known that his intelligence was out of date.

"Why was she so important that Johns would go to all this trouble?" It was the part of the story that Actor still couldn't get his head around.

Pamela's expression was blank, and she looked at the General. "Milton?"

He hesitated, then decided to come clean. "I only found out this morning. Normally I would consider this sort of information as confidential, but as I know it will go no further than those of us in this room, I will finish the story."

Adeline Dufours is... was... the daughter of a two-star General, General Andrew Oliver. His marriage failed a long time ago and his wife returned to France, leaving Adeline to be raised in the States. Things between father and daughter were never easy and in '38 she ran away to Europe to try and find her mother. He managed to have her dragged back home in '39 but she didn't stay long. When America joined the war, she managed to get herself recruited by OSS, using her mother's name and, after basic training, was sent to the continent."

"According to Major Johns, things went well for a while. She became the mistress of Oberst Koenig and was providing OSS with high quality intelligence on a regular basis. Then, it would seem, something happened, and the reports petered out." He looked puzzled.

Pamela sighed and stared at her knees before continuing the tale. "What we think happened was that Koenig's wife came out to join him in Orleans. She wasn't impressed that her husband had a mistress who he was openly flaunting around the city."

"Adeline getting pregnant? That might have been deliberate, a ploy to cement her position in his life. If it was, she miscalculated badly. He threw her out. He also let it be known that she was a prostitute and, as such, under the French laws regarding vagrancy, she must be interned."

Actor nodded his head. It was much as he and Dalgliesh had surmised.

"What ties Oliver to Johns?" Garrison had been smoking quietly, trying to piece things together.

"General Oliver isn't above pulling a few strings when it suits," Fremont admitted. "Looks like he had something over Johns from before the war, enough to ensure Johns took a personal interest in the agent and kept an eye on her."

"Did she really have some vital information?" Garrison asked curiously.

Fremont shrugged his shoulders. "There's no way to tell. Johns says she did. What did you think?" He looked at the Italian.

Actor thought carefully. There had been so little time with the woman when she was conscious, and he didn't remember her saying anything afterwards. "I can't say anything either way, but if I had to guess, I would say that any information she had would have been too old to be of value. Based on the state of her pregnancy she must have been in the camp for at least two months. Possibly longer... she was badly malnourished, so the child might have been growing slowly." He looked around the group. "At least she didn't die in the camp."

"Have you told General Oliver that his daughter is dead?" Garrison asked.

Fremont shook his head. "I wanted to be certain. Telling a man that his only child is no longer on this earth is not something to be taken lightly". He looked at Actor. "At least I can tell him where she lies. It might give some comfort that she's not in an unmarked pit in an internment camp."

The General stood and picked up his cap. "Pamela, are you done here? I need to get back to London."

"I'm not done yet," interrupted Casino. "What're you going to do about Major Johns? Is he going to get away with this again?"

"Casino..." Garrison growled, warningly.

Fremont looked surprised but responded anyway. "No, let him be, Lieutenant. I can understand why he's angry and it's a fair question. The answer is nothing. I know it isn't what you want to hear, but I have no reason to reprimand him. If anyone is to shoulder the blame, it should be me. I authorised the mission even though I knew there were doubts about its viability."

The General looked at Garrison. "Lieutenant, we both know I've not been a fan of your men. They're ill-disciplined, argumentative... and very good at their jobs."

"It was unfortunate that we lost Rutherford and another of his officers. I'm sure they were good men, but from what I've heard it was bad luck that that fighter found them on the surface. It was probably off course and the pilot couldn't believe his luck. That submarine had a reputation of being an unlucky boat."

Despite the Warden's threat, Casino wasn't finished. "Hey, I'm not done yet. What happened on the beach? We were sittin' ducks out there, babe."

Pamela had been packing away her notes when the safecracker spoke. She lifted her head. "Marin, Dalgliesh's contact that you met in Nantes, is what happened. It seems as though someone spotted the boat you used to make your escape being taken from the harbour, then stranded on the beach a little way up the coast. That man was an informant, and he passed the information to someone in the German garrison in Nantes."

"The officer he told wasn't particularly convinced by the man's story, but decided it was worth sending a small patrol down to the beach near Pornichet to check things out."

"Fortunately for your team, the informant wasn't very good at keeping things to himself. While he was in Nantes, he decided to buy himself some shotgun cartridges for a duck hunt. He bragged to the shopkeeper that he would soon be able to upgrade his gun as he was due a big reward when the Nazi's caught a bunch of escaping PoWs."

"What the informant didn't know was that the man who sold him the cartridges was part of Marin's network. Corbeau and Marin go back a long way and you know how far someone will go to protect a friend when they are in danger. Marin collected some explosives, hot-footed it to the beach and hoped he was in time."

"Your network is very effective." Actor looked at Pamela with respect. He had known she was powerful, just not how wide her web was spread.

"We try," was the simple response. Pamela stood up, returned her tea cup to the table and picked up the briefcase. "Milton, as you say, we must be going." She turned back to Major Richards who had mostly been silent throughout the story. "Would you like a lift back to London?"

He shook his head. He needed to spend a few moments with Garrison. If that meant another long trip on a train, then so be it.

"I think we need more coffee," Garrison finally said, once the room was finally their own again.

"I'll go." Chief hauled himself to his feet and picked up the empty pot. He wasn't worried about directions. His nose would lead him to the mess hut.

"How did Fremont get involved so fast?" Casino was suspicious.

"That was my doing," the Major admitted. "I called HQ before I left for Plymouth and left a message for Major Johns, but it looks like Fremont picked it up instead. Pamela must have invited herself once she heard about Dalgliesh. There was a message waiting for me when I got to the hospital telling me to bring you to the airport."

"Warden?" Actor cocked an eyebrow at his commanding officer.

"I was at the Mansion," he added simply, as if he'd been there all the time. "I was showering after my run so Fletcher took the call. Instructions were to get over to the airbase pronto. That pilot friend of Hayter's in the Anson was waiting to bring me down here."

"Lieutenant, might we have a word?" Richards nodded towards the door. The two men walked outside, far enough away from the hut that even Chief's sharp ears wouldn't be able to hear what was said. Both lit cigarettes and nodded as the Indian passed by with a steaming jug.

"How are things? Are you ready to go back to work?"

Garrison smiled. "I'm ready."

Richards nodded. "In that case, I'll leave it up to you to break the bad news to your men. They get the rest of today and most of tomorrow to rest then you're back out there." He reached inside his jacket and extracted a bunch of papers. "I don't normally carry classified documents like this, but the handcuffed briefcase would rather have given the game away."

He watched as the papers were stowed carefully in the Lieutenant's jacket.

"I'll wait until we're back at base. No need to stir things up until necessary." Garrison turned and took a step towards the door before stopping and turning back. "Where is it this time?"

"Sweden. I don't think they've been there before, have they?"

"No, I don't believe they have."