Italy - December 31st, 1943 (later that day)
Having finally got everyone's attention Garrison was, at last, able to start his briefing. In his hand he held a number of photographs. He threw the first of them, showing a long, narrow building with what looked like a race track on the roof, onto the table. "Our target is the Fiat factory at Lingotto in the heart of Turin. Before the war it was producing sedans and commercial vehicles but now its output is aircraft engines. We're not there to blow-up the factory this time."
"Never mind Casino, I'm sure he'll have something else for you to do," interrupted Chief, earning himself a black look from his CO. The scout slid down in his seat a little and looked at his feet, allowing the Lieutenant to continue.
"We're being asked to do something very close to your hearts, gentlemen - to liberate some Italian gold before it goes up in smoke. In three days time the Allies are planning on bombing some of the factories in northern Italy - including this one."
Garrison had deliberately kept their target concealed until now. Normally a discussion like this would have taken place back at the Mansion before they left, but with a substitute conman on board he'd not only wanted a level playing field for the planning process but also to be able to factor in any new information that Monaco might have. He also knew the word 'gold' would be a magnet to Casino's ears. Although he pretty much trusted his safecracker's integrity, there was temptation and there was TEMPTATION.
Casino's attention was finally on his boss.
"Back in September, when the Germans invaded Italy they insisted that all the bullion being held in the Bank of Italy's vaults in Rome should be transferred to Berlin for 'safe keeping'. As you can imagine the Bank disagreed but in the end they had to give way. It was moved by train from Rome to Milan, then the bulk of it moved to a place called Fortezza out near the Austrian border." Garrison flipped a second photograph onto the table which showed a large and formidable grey building with walls studded with arrow slits, backed by towering rock walls. The side facing the valley was protected by a large reservoir.
"Nah, nothin' doin'. No way we're gettin' into there babe," whinged Casino.
Garrison was entertained. He'd never had any intentions of going anywhere near the place, but since he had the photo he wanted to have a bit of fun at his man's expense.
"Don't worry, Casino, you're not being asked to." The Warden smiled. "What's happened is that someone has done a few sums and worked out that not everything that left Rome arrived at it's destination. We've heard that some of the missing bullion might be hidden in Turin. The Allies want to get their hands on it."
"Who's our mole, Warden?" Chief was perched on a radiator by the window, watching the waves outside, but still listening.
"A clerk in the vaults in Milan. He signed for the crates coming off the Rome train. He thinks there's a shortfall of about 400kg - about the weight of all of us combined.
"So why Turin?" Diesel enquired quietly. "That means it has to be an Italian that's behind the scam. The Germans would be taking stuff east not west."
"That's what London thinks too," responded Garrison. "They've been analysing reports coming out of both the RIV ball bearing factory at Villar Perosa and the Fiat Factory in Turin. There was a rail car added to a train that left Milan a few hours after the gold shipment arrived. It belonged to the FIAT company and was headed for the ball bearing plant but it did stop off in Turin. Unfortunately we don't know who was on that train."
Monaco nodded slowly. He was examining the map of Italy that Garrison had spread on the dining table. "It will take too long to get to Turin by road, even if we can get petrol, but the railways are still running well." He traced a line from Rome to Florence, Bologna, Milan and finally Turin. "Much of this is electrified and the trains are very quick. It was one of the good things the Fascists did for Italy." The conman laughed ironically. "Would you like me to telephone Francesca and arrange for tickets and travel passes?"
Garrison was surprised at Monaco's offer of help. He hadn't expected Hayter's conman to be quite so well connected. He had, after all, only been back in his home country for about six weeks. Still, it made sense to go by rail although it was more risky. Casino could masquerade as Italian providing he didn't get into a real conversation. Diesel's papers would need to show him as French. Chief... he didn't know. For once he was glad he didn't have Goniff to worry about this time. He wasn't sure about his own 'allegiance'. Although his French wasn't as good as his German, being French might be less contentious than being German. He made his decision. "If you think she can swing it, then yes, go ahead." Quickly he outlined his thoughts about the backgrounds for each traveller and watched Monaco absorbing the information.
"I think we make Chief French too. He and Diesel look similar enough to be brothers and I would prefer to keep things as simple as possible. You will need different clothes too, Lieutenant. Come with me and we'll see what we can find."
Monaco led the way to a bedroom that Garrison hadn't seen before. "This belonged to Francesca's husband." Monaco strode purposefully towards one of the large wooden wardrobes and excavated a beige suit, belt, shirt, tie and brown shoes which he threw onto the bed. "Here, try these. I'll see what the loft has in the way of luggage." The conman reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a small suitcase and a selection of more utilitarian holdalls. He looked critically at Garrison, then nodded slowly. "It looks better on you than it did on him. I hope the shoes aren't too tight?"
"A little, but they'll do." Garrison caught sight of himself in the mirror. He wasn't a vain man, but even he had to admit he looked good in the suit. He gave thanks for the good fortune that Francesca left early for Rome. He suspected he might have had trouble getting away otherwise.
Monaco left to get changed himself and give the holdalls to the others, leaving the Lieutenant to his packing.
GG GG GG GG
In the Villa garage was a large saloon, or sedan, car that would easily take the five men and their minimal luggage.
"Like the clothes, it was Francesca's husband's," explained Monaco, now smartly attired in a dark grey suit, overcoat and Homburg hat. "She hates the car and said not to worry if she doesn't get it back. We will leave it at the railway station and it can take its chance." Monaco stopped the car briefly outside the large wrought iron gates that separated the Villa from the road and waited whilst Chief pulled them shut and secured the padlock.
Chief slipped back into the shotgun seat and closed his eyes, trying to feign a relaxed appearance. In reality he was probably strung tighter than anyone else in the car, but it was part of his own 'con' not to show it. He pretty much trusted Casino and the Warden. It was getting that way with Diesel - the two had hit it off from the first - but Monaco was unknown. All he had to go on was Diesel's trust of the man. Things were positive so far. The Italian was more approachable than Actor and, so far, was making things easy for the Warden. Was the guy genuine? They'd know soon enough if the Gestapo were waiting for them when they got to Rome, but worrying didn't achieve anything, so he sat, waited and saved his energy.
The big car wallowed as it negotiated the large potholes on the minor road that connected the Villa to the main road into Rome. Monaco deftly corrected the steering where necessary, but never fought it. Chief cocked half an eye open, watching, feeling. The Italian drove like a professional. He closed the eye again and relaxed, knowing he was in safe hands.
They were in Rome by mid-morning. They had passed a couple of checkpoints, but been waved through without being stopped.
"It's the car," Monaco threw back over his shoulder to the men on the back seat. "Who needs papers when they're driving this."
A quick visit by Garrison to a tobacconist to replenish cigarette supplies also yielded the necessary tickets and travel documentation. A quick glance and he knew that the person who had produced these was an expert - whoever Francesca's contacts were, they knew their job. In some ways it made him more, rather than less, on edge. He missed having Actor at his side with his keen insights and sharp mind. He climbed back into the car, dropped a packet into Casino's waiting hands and threw a second onto Monaco's lap. "Let's go. We've a train to catch."
GG GG GG GG
The station forecourt was almost deserted, testament to the fuel shortages that ordinary Italians were suffering. A couple of horse-drawn landaus were dropping off passengers, watched by two bored Wermacht Corporals. They looked away as one of the animals lifted its tail and deposited a copious amount of steaming manure onto the cobbles.
Monaco abandoned Francesca's sedan in a small parking area slightly away from the station itself, allowing the five to approach the colonnaded entrance individually. Monaco led the way, his attire the epitome of a successful businessmen. A matching leather suitcase contained a few personal items, but not his 'working man's' outfit. He wouldn't want that found if he was searched.
He headed for the guard furthest away from the horses, hoping to keep his highly polished shoes clear of the mess, although that was difficult, given the number of horse drawn vehicles now attending the station daily. He stopped in front of the guard and flashed the travel permit. He was waved through with barely a glance.
Casino went next. Dressed tidily but in what were definitely a working man's 'Sunday Best', he was carrying a canvas grip. His heart was beating faster. No matter how much practice he'd had with Garrison's team, he still hated screws, even if they were just gatekeepers. He stared belligerently at the soldier and thrust his papers at the man, challenging him. The guard just ignored him, handed back the papers and waved the safecracker towards the platforms. Casino now had a body pumped with adrenaline for which he had no outlet, a dangerous combination.
Chief and Diesel set off as soon as Casino disappeared from sight. They were almost certain they'd be challenged and searched - as they'd seen in Toulouse how their slightly exotic looks would always draw attention. Politely Diesel offered their papers to the guard - not just the travel permits this time, but also their French identification documents. "We have new jobs in the aircraft factory in Turin," explained the Mohawk, in French. Not expecting to be understood. He wasn't disappointed. The guard had no French. Diesel tried again using the words Monaco had coached him in. "Lavoro, fabrica, Torino." Light dawned in the guard's eyes. He pointed to Chief, who was looking vacantly at the horses and rocking gently from foot to foot. "Idiota?" he asked, curiously, wondering if the factory would want both young men.
"Fratello," explained Diesel. "Mani intelligenti." That was the end of his Italian. He hoped he didn't need anything more. He didn't. The guard was bored by now. He could see that his colleague was having a far more interesting time patting down two young women. Rather than dig through the contents of the bag that was being thrust under his nose for inspection, he pushed the two Frenchmen away and went to provide support to his colleague.
With both guards otherwise occupied, no-one was there to challenge the businessman in the beige suit as he made his own way onto the station concourse.
As predicted, the train was sleek, modern and electric. The only down side was that there were no compartments, which was going to make talking difficult. It was also packed with people of all shapes and sizes. After a search the men managed to secure a pair of seats which Garrison and Casino took, and separate set of three for Monaco and the two Indians. The seats weren't close, but at least they were in sight of each other.
Casino was still pumped up, something that Garrison picked up on immediately. Unfortunately there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment.
Things were easier down the other end of the carriage. Chief and Diesel were, as usual, happy with silence. Monaco had struck up a conversation with the young priest who was occupying the fourth seat in their block. The man was heading back to Milan after visiting the Vatican and was only too keen to share his experiences with the older man. All Monaco had to do was provide another prompt and off he'd go again.
Three hours later and they were changing trains in Florence. There was just time to grab a sandwich and a drink before the Bologna train left. The direct line between Florence and Bologna, through the Appennine tunnel had only been completed in 1934, cutting the journey time between the two cities to 75 minutes. With only another 105 minutes to travel from Bologna to Milan itself, they reached the city by late afternoon on New Year's Eve - and that was where it got difficult. The city had been devastated by Allied bombing in August 1943 and most of the public transport system had been destroyed.
Leaving the other four to wait, Monaco went off to find out what the situation was regarding getting to Turin by rail. He was back a few minutes later and pulled Garrison to one side. "We'll have to spend the night here in Milan," he advised. "There should be a train going to Turin in the morning. It won't be straightforward because of the damage to the line, but there are steam trains running."
"How 'bout pickin' up a car?" asked Chief quietly. With his sharp hearing he'd been close enough to hear Monaco's words.
Monaco shook his head. "Even if we could get one with fuel, we'd bring too much attention to ourselves. Only the Bosch are using them."
"How'd you know what's going on in Milan? Got more friends in high places?" Casino was still spoiling for a fight.
"Knock it off Casino," admonished Garrison. He really didn't know what was bugging his safecracker, but he needed him to keep a lid on it at least until they got clear of the station.
Monaco was unfazed though. "No, Lieutenant, he's right not to trust me and it's a valid question. I came here three weeks ago to check if my apartment had survived the bombing. Once I'd seen the devastation here I thought it unlikely, but the gods must have been smiling on me... which also means we can have a roof over our heads tonight... unless you would feel safer here in the station over night?"
Chief dipped his head to hide his smile. Even Garrison couldn't stop the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, although he knew that the interchange would have further antagonised Casino.
Monaco looked at Garrison and held eye contact briefly with the man. Garrison took the hint. "Unless anyone has any objections, I would be delighted to accept your hospitality tonight."
Casino bit his tongue. This guy was just too good to be true, but he didn't fancy New Year's Eve on a railway station in northern Italy.
As the five made their way out into a foggy December evening, Diesel made sure he was walking alongside the irritated New Yorker. "Would you be surprised if Actor had done the same?"
"Nah, Beautiful always finds us good digs," admitted the safecracker, reluctantly.
Monaco had drifted a little apart from the others and was walking thoughtfully with his head bowed and his hands sunk deep into his coat pockets.
Chief was still shadowing the Warden, scanning the other passengers, looking for trouble. "Warden, there's two guys in suits over there. Reckon they've clocked Monaco. Whaddya think?
Garrison flicked his eyes to see what Chief had seen. "Camorra," he responded. "Doesn't look like they're going to follow us. Let him know what you saw. Looks like he might have ruffled a few feathers here in the past."
It took about fifteen minutes to walk from the station to Monaco's apartment, on the second floor of a long, three-story block. The conman unlocked and pushed open the front door then waited a moment to listen, before flipping a light-switch and stepping inside into a large open plan living space. The air was stale, but otherwise the room was undamaged. What furniture it contained was covered in dust sheets and the floor was tiled, not carpeted.
"Thought you said you were here three weeks ago," challenged Casino looking at the dust covering the floor. Reluctantly he stepped inside, followed by the others, leaving Garrison to shut the door behind them.
"I was, but I didn't step inside. I wasn't dressed for housework. As I am not now either," he laughed, looking at his dark suit. "I would have had someone come and prepare for us, had I known I would be entertaining guests."
Diesel couldn't help a barely suppressed laugh, which earned him a 'look' from Casino. He'd watched Monaco run rings around Captain Hayter on innumerable occasions whilst they'd been in Normandy together. There was no way Casino was winning this one.
"Casino, knock it off. We can have this place cleaned up in minutes if we all pitch in." Garrison looked down at his own suit, reluctant to soil it.
Monaco opened a door to reveal a cupboard containing cleaning equipment and overalls. Taking one set for himself and giving a second to Garrison, he took off his coat, hat and jacket, collected a dustpan and brush and set to work, closely followed by the Lieutenant. Diesel and Chief soon followed. Garrison caught the conman's eye and smiled. He was growing to like the man. He tended to take the initiative more than Actor would have done, but his judgement seemed sound and his contacts had already made things easier for the group.
Once he'd got started, Casino quite enjoyed himself. Even though he didn't go out of his way to help out at the Mansion, his Mamma back in New York had kept her house spotless and made sure her boys did their fair share of the work. Diving into the cupboard, he'd found a small machine, covered in dust sheets. It had a small electric motor on top of which was a label that said Vorwerk Kobold and dangling on a chain from the handle was a brown canvas bag. "Hey, that a Hoover?" he asked, dragging the offending article into the room. "Does it work?"
Monaco looked up. "Yes, a German one. I'd forgotten that was there. Try it and see."
Everyone stopped work to watch as the safecracker took the cable and plugged it into a socket in the wall. The motor roared into life and dust around the brush end disappeared like magic. He moved the machine backwards and forwards a few times experimentally, and was delighted as he created swathes of dust-free floor. Casino was hooked.
With the apartment well on the way to being complete, Monaco excused himself. "We need supplies and something to eat tonight. Chief, perhaps you could come with me?"
Chief nodded and putting down the duster he'd been wielding, retrieved the heavy woollen pea coat he'd been wearing and strapped his blade holder back onto his wrist. His pistol was in the coat pocket. He took it out, checked the clip and replaced it.
Monaco twitched an eyebrow, but didn't comment. If the young Indian felt he needed to be fully armed to go shopping then so be it.
The two men exited out into the cold, foggy air. It was thick with woodsmoke, making breathing a trifle unpleasant.
"Why'd you want me, not Diesel?" asked Chief, curiously.
"To keep conspiracy theories to a minimum... and I thought you might enjoy the walk."
Happy with the answer, the scout switched into security mode. Nothing was raising the hackles on the back of his neck as yet. There were a few other citizens hurrying about whatever business they had, keen to get back into the warmth of their homes. A pair of Wermacht soldiers were patrolling the street up ahead, but they didn't seem to have any particular target in mind. Monaco took a right then a left turn which led them to a small street market. Most stall holders were packing away their produce, but were happy to accommodate the businessmen and his associate.
Chief quickly found himself burdened with packages. "Hey man, can't guard you carrying this lot."
"Point taken, Chief." Monaco offloaded the Indian as best he could. "We're on our way back now, we'll just stop by the restaurant and order some dinners."
Suddenly Chief froze, there was a man coming towards them that his instinct screamed out was trouble. It all happened very fast. The man made a rush at Monaco, in his hand a heavy knife which was heading unerringly for the Italian's chest. His target was no longer there. Chief had thrust his companion to one side, letting the knife slice through his heavy woollen jacket. The super sharp blade in his right hand slid smoothly under the would-be killers ribs and into his heart and the man dropped instantly to the ground.
Chief pulled his knife free and wiping it quickly on the man's jacket, replaced it in the sheath. "You all right man?" The Indian was already picking up the packages he'd dropped, hoping that he hadn't been carrying the one with the eggs.
"Fine, thanks." In fact, Monaco was shocked. Being attacked next to his own apartment here in his home country was something he'd not expected, even after Chief's warning at the railway station.
"Nowhere to stash the body, we'd better get out of sight." Chief was already making tracks back towards the apartment. It seemed as though no-one had noticed the altercation, but it would only be a matter of time before someone discovered the dead man.
Monaco's wits had finally come back. "This way." He led Chief across the street and down a small alley that came out onto a parallel street. He stopped outside a building that proclaimed itself to be a restaurant, although it didn't look to be open. The conman rapped on the door, which was opened almost immediately by a short, plump man. The smell of garlic and bread wafted out of the doorway making Chief's stomach growl. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was. A rapid conversation between Monaco and the chef, the door was closed again and they were on their way again.
Safe inside the entrance to the block, Monaco stopped and faced the young scout. "You saved my life back there. I want to thank you."
"It's what I do, man. It's nuthin'." Chief paused, before continuing. "That wasn't just some random attack was it?"
"It seems unlikely, but at the moment I'm no wiser than you as to who it might be and how they found me. He wasn't expecting me to have support though, so I think it was unrelated to our mission."
Back in the apartment, the cleaning squad had completed their work and were resting on the newly uncovered chairs and sofas. Garrison had shed the suit in favour of a more comfortable pair of slacks and a sweater appropriated from Monaco's capacious wardrobes. He hoped the man wouldn't be as upset as Actor might have been in the same circumstances. Casino looked up from his game of solitaire and picked up his pistol as the door opened, then put it down again as he saw the entrant was Chief.
"Hey what ya done to that pretty coat of yours Geronimo?"
Chief looked down to see not just a large slash through the fabric, but a large red patch. There was blood on his hand too. He'd felt the sting of the knife but hadn't realised it had done serious damage.
Garrison was quickly on his feet, stripping the damaged jacket from his scout and looking at the deep cut across his forearm. "What happened?"
Chief was stoic, ignoring the Lieutenant probing the slash. "Guy jumped Monaco. He won't do it again."
The Lieutenant looked quizzically at the Italian, but learned nothing. "OK, let's get that cleaned up."
Monaco had divested himself of his packages and outer clothing before he felt ready to confront the inquisition. "If I had to guess, I think it was a targeted attack rather than some random tramp wanting my wallet."
"You've made enemies around here?"
"One always makes enemies in my field of work, but yes, I think they were looking for me. They made a mistake in underestimating Chief." He locked eyes with the young Indian who was sitting letting Garrison sprinkle sulfa powder on his arm and butterfly the cut closed. Chief acknowledged the look with a slight nod.
A knock on the door brought everyone back to full alert, guns to the ready. Monaco shook his head and wearily climbed to his feet. "That will be Sacha. I hope everyone is hungry. I asked him to provide enough for ten."
"Goniff ain't here," commented Casino. "Eight would have done it."
As usual, with full stomachs and a plentiful supply of a rather rough red wine that got better the more you drank, everyone was pretty chilled. With only two bedrooms, both with double rather than twin beds, sleeping arrangements required a few compromises. Diesel and Monaco were fine together. Garrison decided he could cope with spending the night with Casino if it meant Chief could have the living room and sofa to himself.
"Get some rest. The real work starts tomorrow. Happy New Year everyone."
GG GG GG GG
New Year's Day dawned cold and foggy again. The eggs had survived the previous night's assassination attempt, as had the booze. As a result the boys had been treated to Diesel's version of a 'Full English Breakfast' - Parma ham had substituted for bacon, juicy Italian tomatoes provided a rich sauce, old bread fried in the ham fat was crispy and unctuous and a side of softly scrambled eggs topped off the whole dish."
Garrison pushed back his chair and turning his left wrist anticlockwise, exposed his watch. "OK, let's clean up and get on the road. We've a train to catch."
"Is it always..?" started Casino as he exited the apartment into the frigid January morning. He was actually feeling pretty chilled. His irritation of the previous day had disappeared with the attack on the conman.
"Foggy?" finished Monaco. "A lot of the time. It wasn't always this bad but more people are burning wood to keep warm."
The train to Turin left from the same station as the one they'd arrived at the previous night, so was only a short walk from the apartment.
Surprisingly the morning train to Turin was not only running, but it was on time. Neither was it particularly full, making it easy for the five men to sit close to each other. Monaco and Garrison had reverted to their 'working men's clothes' for the journey, knowing that it would be a dirty and uncomfortable trip on the elderly steam train.
The previous night's attack had not only changed the relationship between Chief and Hayter's conman it had also left the Indian curious about the man's background. He'd clearly been quite affluent before he'd fled to North America - the Milan apartment couldn't have come cheap. "Where'd you learn to drive?" he finally asked as they took their seats and the train pulled out of the station, expelling large clouds of smoke and steam.
Monaco smiled. "To start with I parked cars for people who came to the casino. But that wasn't what you meant, was it?" It was a rhetorical question, so Chief didn't need to answer, which was good as he felt slightly embarrassed at prying. "Rich boys have rich toys... I became friendly with a young man called Felice - we were the same age and liked many of the same things - one of which was fast cars. I was lucky enough to be given the chance to drive some of his race cars, but I was always too careful to get to the top - Felice was a risk taker, always fearless, but as a private owner-driver his car was too slow. His best result was a 3rd at Monza in '33 when..." Monaco's story trailed off as he remembered the fateful day.
"Monza, that's just north of Milan isn't it? There a race track there?"
Chief's interruption brought the conman back to the story. "Yes, it's where they run the Italian Grand Prix each year. We used to go each year - there were good pickings to be had in my line of work and the parties were infamous. It was a dangerous track for the drivers though. There were three killed that afternoon and it's a sight I never want to see again. I haven't driven a race car since."
GG GG GG GG
With only a few delays, the train pulled into Turin's Porta Nuova station mid-afternoon on New Year's day. Security was light, making it easy for Garrison's team. The Lieutenant had an address for their contact, but no detailed map of the city. Fortunately a news-stand had a plentiful supply and, not only that, a friendly shopkeeper who was only too happy to tell these new workers heading for the Fiat factory how to find their way through the damaged city.
The address for the contact turned out to belong to a small green grocery shop. A young woman, dressed in a heavy coat, scarf, hat and fingerless gloves, was keeping a close watch on her produce. She looked with interest at the tall, attractive dark-blond haired man that approached her. She waited expectantly, thinking there was a good chance that this might be the contact the Resistance had warned her was on his way.
"Hai delle arance?"
"No, ma abbiamo i limoni. Quanti ne desideri?"
Garrison breathed a sigh of relief, the pass phrases matched.
"Irene? I am Roberto."
Irene glanced quickly up and down the street to make sure no-one was looking, then delved under the counter and retrieved a small package. "The keys to your safe-house and its address are inside. I will let people know you've arrived."
Garrison nodded his head in acknowledgement and made his way to rejoin the others. Diesel, who had been skulking in a doorway, keeping an eye out for trouble slid alongside the Lieutenant as he walked away.
"All OK?"
"Fine."
They turned the corner and were quickly joined by Chief, Casino and Monaco. Garrison ripped the package open to extract the address. "Palazzo Livorno," he read out, searching for the address on the conman's map. He found it quickly. "Let's get a move on. We're getting short of time."
The safe-house was nowhere near as smart as Monaco's apartment, the paint was peeling from the plastered walls and large wooden doors, and rust was flaking from the window bars on the ground floor. The doors groaned and creaked as they yielded to Casino and Diesel's efforts to reveal a large paved courtyard with a central fountain. Ferns grew from cracks in the stonework and algae-covered water filled the basin. Parked in the middle of the courtyard was a large, black FIAT saloon car.
"Looks like we've got wheels at last," commented Casino as he stuck his head into the vehicle for a quick inspection. By the time the safecracker emerged he was on his own in the courtyard - the others had made their way into the building. What they found inside was a minor improvement on the outside, but not by much. A living room with moth-eaten chairs, a small kitchen, a bathroom with a menagerie of spiders and a single bedroom equipped with five army style cots and blankets. A pile of logs was stacked alongside the small fireplace.
Once inside, Casino had headed straight for the kitchen, but returned empty handed. "Just bleedin' K-rations and someone's nicked the chocolate and cigarettes. Good thing the little Limey's not here to share it with."
"Can it, Casino," snapped Garrison.
"Very funny," responded the safecracker, throwing himself onto one of the chairs, in the process disturbing clouds of dust.
Chief had set up watch by one of the windows. "Visitors, two dames."
Moments later two dark-haired women climbed the stairs into the living room. They seemed unperturbed to find themselves facing down the barrels of five pistols held in steady hands. "Roberto?"
Garrison detached himself from the other men, tucked his pistol into the rear waistband of his pants and stepped forward. "I'm Roberto."
The taller of the two women spoke first, in English with only a trace of an accent. "You may call me Maria and my friend here Camilla. You are a little later than we expected, but there is still time. The factory is only working six days a week at the moment with two shifts each day. There will be places for three of your men on the first shift on Monday morning, starting at 6am. Tomorrow you should be able to get into the factory to 'case the joint' as I think they say in your American movies."
The other woman then took her turn, in English that was much less fluent. "We are sorry that we only have canned food for you. Things are in short supply and the rationing makes it almost impossible to obtain anything fresh for you, but you should get a hot meal at the factory on Monday."
"That's fine," replied Garrison. Food wasn't particularly important to him when on a mission, and the others knew it.
"I will collect you at 8 tomorrow and show you safe a way into the factory," concluded the taller woman. The two took their leave.
"What do you think, Lieutenant?" asked Monaco.
"That they know as much about this mission as we do. So why do they need us?"
"I agree. As to why they need us, have you noticed that with this group we've only met women? Perhaps they simply don't have the skills to take the gold from under the German's noses."
"You could well be right," replied Garrison thoughtfully. "Let's see what we can do for lunch with those cans then put together a plan for tomorrow."