by Lou Cameron
“No. The Kaiser still visits his grandmother at Windsor from time to time and she’d have a fit if she thought we suspected him of anything other than youthful high spirits. If my department told the Prime Minister what we were up to, it would be his duty to tell Her Majesty … and Her Majesty, of course, would ask her Little Willy if it was true he was being naughty and then we’d really have a problem!”
Greystoke saw the look that passed between the tall American and Gaston. He nodded and said, “I know, but the pay is good. How do you feel about a hundred U.S. dollars a day, plus a ten-thousand-dollar bonus if you succeed?”
“How come dollars? Doesn’t the Bank of England still print pounds?”
“They do. But pound notes speak with a British accent and I’ve already told you that we’ll say we never heard of you if anything goes wrong.”
“Make it two hundred a day and see what you can do about that lukewarm bonus and we may have a deal. I’ll let you know, once you quit fencing around a get to the fine print. Just what, exactly, do you want us to do?”
“Well, for one thing, you’re to locate the submarine base or whatever it is.”
“That sounds easy. You’re only giving us a few hundred miles of snake-infested jungle coast to search. What do we do after we locate the German base, tell you and let the Royal Navy deal with it?”
“Good Lord, you must be mad! Our Admiral Battenberg is German, and, assuming he’s loyal to Britain after all, Washington would have a fit if British battlewagons bombarded the coast of any country on this side of the Atlantic!”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Right. So, after we locate the secret base, who is supposed to do what about it?”
“Well, I thought you chaps might destroy it for us.”
Captain Gringo blinked at the Englishman and said, “You mean, us two guys, against a secret base of the German Navy?”
“I say, you’ll hardly find the whole German Navy squatting in some swamp down there, eh what? There’s probably only an engineering detachment, with perhaps a guard company of German Marines. I told you that you could recruit a few other soldiers of fortune, if you really think you’ll need them.”
“We’d need a battalion, you silly bastard!”
Greystoke signed and said, “Oh, I doubt the budget would stand that. I thought you chaps once whipped a Mexican regiment with only a few peasants backing you.”
Captain Gringo swore and said, “We did, but that was because we had to! We didn’t walk into a fight against those odds, damn it. And the German Marines aren’t Mexican Rurales.”
“Well, you soldier-of-fortune chaps do have certain advantages over regular troops you know. You’re not bound by the usual tedious rules of warfare, eh what?”
“No. When we get captured, they shoot us. You have to be out of your mind, Greystoke.”
Gaston suddenly asked, “How much do we get in advance, hein?”
Greystoke shrugged and said, “Well, how about half in advance and the rest on completion of your mission?”
Gaston shrugged and said, “That sounds reasonable. What do you say, Dick?”
Captain Gringo hesitated. Then he, too, shrugged and said, “What the hell, it beats working for a living!”
Chapter Three
“All in all,” Gaston was saying, “I trust M’sieu Greystoke more as an enemy. One expects less double crosses from one’s enemies, hein?”
Captain Gringo looked up from the crate he was crowbarring open in the basement hideout they’d moved to at Greystoke’s suggestion. He nodded at Gaston and said, “I noticed a few loose ends to his fish story, too. But what else can we do? He’s got us by the short hairs.”
Gaston said, flatly, “We could start by double-crossing British Intelligence. Greystoke has already given us part of our advance and these supplies. I think it is time for, how you say, le skip?”
Captain Gringo pried the last board off the end of the crate, reached inside, and muttered, “Shit, this gun was packed in cosmoline. Hand me some rags and that can of kerosene over there, will you?”
Gaston stepped over to the workbench under the basement window to pick up the cleaning stuff. He brought them to the kneeling Captain Gringo, resumed his place with one rump on the corner of another crate, and repeated, “I say we take the money and move to a pleasanter clime.”
Captain Gringo said, “We can’t. The sun never sets and all that shit. British Intelligence has agents in every country on this planet and Greystoke strikes me as a man who holds a grudge until it’s old enough to vote.”
Gaston sighed and said, “That is a point to consider. He and his German counterparts seem to be planning their war a generation ahead. I doubt if I’ll be alive in 1920, yet here I am, in this century, already a pawn in their great game. I find this rather annoying. Don’t you?”
Captain Gringo slid the Maxim machine gun he’d obtained from the British from the case, tripod and all, and began to wipe the brown tacky cosmoline off with a dry rag before he replied, “It’s sort of tedious, too. I’d love to get out of this mess without having to go to all the trouble of finding out what it is. But, like I said, I can’t see a way out that doesn’t sound more dangerous.”
“We could always go to the Germans,” said Gaston.
Captain Gringo looked up with a frown and Gaston insisted, “Why not? We’ve already been paid by the British. The German embassy, here in San Jose, must have a military attaché who’d be interested in knowing the British are on to them.”
“That’s pretty weird, coming from a Frenchman, Gaston.”
“Merde, I am a citizen of the world. Greystoke said the Kaiser had fired Bismarck, non? The Franco-Prussian War is ancient history. I see no need to involve myself in another war with Germany that I’ll probably never live to see.”
Captain Gringo got some more of the thicker goo off the Maxim, planning to finish the first cleaning with the kerosene once he got down to metal. He knew Gaston’s views on patriotism were the same as those he had about making love in the dark, in a nightshirt, so he said, “The Germans won’t pay anything for information they already have.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow and asked, “They know? Merde alors, who told them?”
“Greystoke, of course. That’s one of those loose ends that’s bothering me. He got Colonel Delgado to help capture us, then let the colonel know he was hiring us to investigate the mysterious guns. But Colonel Delgado’s wife is German. The colonel said his brother-in-law was a high ranking Costa Rican Navy man. Need I say more?”
“Mais non! The Colonel’s brother-in-law has to be German! Greystoke said there were many German settlers here in the highlands. Colonel Delgado said the idea about a German submarine base was tres ridiculous, but what will you bet he went straight to his brother-in-law with the whole story?”
“No bet. That’s why we can’t sell out to Der Kaiser even if I’d agree to it. We don’t have anything to sell that they don’t already know about!”
Gaston swore, then said, “Greystoke is not as stupid as he looks. Nobody could be. But why is he setting us up to be ambushed by German agents who’ll be expecting us? He had us both at his mercy last night, if he wanted us dead.”
Captain Gringo threw open the machine-gun chamber, saw it was solidly packed with gummy cosmoline and sighed, “I don’t think British Intelligence gives a shit about us, one way or the other. You’re right about us being pawns in a bigger game.”
“Then I suggest we leap off the chessboard, non?”
“No. I don’t like uninformed leaps from the frying pan. I like to look over the edge first. We told Greystoke we needed weapons and a few days to recruit k guerrilla strike force. So nothing’s going to happen this afternoon.”
He pried a sliver of wood from the crate and began digging at the gummed up breechblock with it as he added, “I wonder who invented cosmoline. He must have started as a cesspool cleaner. Straight wax or plain old grease would keep new guns from rusting just as well, but t
his mixture is a real bitch. Do you want to check the ammo in that other crate while I scrape this shit off?”
“The printing on the ammo box clearly states that it’s thirty-thirty Remington, non?”
“Check it anyway. I’d sure as hell hate to find out we had the wrong ammo for this gun the harder way.”
Gaston shrugged and went over to the other crate to pry the top off. He reached in, muttered, “Gahh!” and gingerly lifted the end of a thickly greased machine gun belt. He thumbed out a round, held it up to the light, and said, “It’s thirty-thirty, but tres disgusting, anyway. Why did they even soak the canvas belt in mutton fat?”
“I think it’s petroleum jelly. Canvas rots fast, down in the jungles.”
“We’re really going? But why? We’ve agreed we’re being used, Dick.”
“Right. But, until we know how we’re being used, our best bet is to make every move Greystoke expects us to. He’s smart enough to know we might be smart enough to see through his whatever. So he’s expecting us to either carry out his orders or make a break for it. We’d never get out of the highlands before his agents were on our tails. On the other hand, the lowlands are farther away, and harder to cover.”
Gaston looked relieved and said, “Ah, I might have known you’d have a plan.”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer. So Gaston asked, “What is your plan, Dick?”
“Damn it, I keep telling you I don’t have one! We have to somehow stay alive until we figure out what’s going on. It’s getting late. I thought you were going to tour the local bars and recruit some hard cased soldier-of-fortune types.”
“Merde alors, why share our limited funds with others if we intend to desert in any case?”
“For one thing, Greystoke is expecting us to make some serious moves. For another, we may need extra hands. You know half the knockaround guys down here, Gaston. Make sure you recruit guys who know which end of a gun the bullets come out of. If it’s not too much to ask, try to pick guys who can live a day or so cold sober.”
“I have seen a few comrades from the old days, here in San Jose. Naturally, we ignore one another in case someone has not been truthful with his local acquaintances. How many gunmen do you think we might need?”
“As many as we can get. I’ll hit Greystoke for extra funds if you can recruit a full company.”
“Merde, I’ll do well to gather together a platoon. What am I to tell them? Certainly not the truth?”
“Christ, no. Spread the word that we’re taking out a secret base for Greystoke. Some of them are bound to talk.”
Gaston signed and said, “My feelings, exactly. I really love a secret mission everyone on both sides knows about.”
Gaston moved toward the cellar steps. Then he paused and turned with a frown to ask, “May one assume you’ll still be here when I return, my old and rare?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, do you think I’d double-cross you, Gaston?”
“Why not? Haven’t I double-crossed you a few times in the past?”
Captain Gringo chuckled and said, “I thought I’d broken you of that habit, Gaston.”
Gaston shrugged and said, “I’ll let you know, once I come up with something that seems more sensible than sitting in this frying pan with you.”
Chapter Four
The sun was down again as Captain Gringo waited for Gaston in the patio of the house Greystoke had let them use. Gaston was late, and Captain Gringo couldn’t help remembering the time his more practique comrade in arms had buggered out of that fight in Mexico to leave him holding the bag.
He lit a smoke and dismissed the worry, for now. Gaston was a smart survivor and Greystoke would probably invite him to the funeral if Gaston made any foolish moves. Meanwhile, it was a balmy night and the fountain across the patio tinkled pleasantly. He’d sweated Gaston out in worse places.
He heard what sounded like a woodpecker. But since woodpeckers seldom pounded on a patio gate, he got up and walked over to open it. A tall man stood there in a white linen suit. He looked like someone had shoved a ramrod up his behind and his face was almost pretty enough to be a girl’s, if it hadn’t been scarred by a saber slash at some time in the past. The stranger clicked his heels and held out a card to Captain Gringo as he said, “Allow myself to be presented. I am Hauptman Kruger, from the German Consulate.”
Captain Gringo glanced down at the card, which said the same thing, and answered, “So you are. Come in, Hauptman. I admire a man with a direct approach.”
The German officer followed the American over to the chairs by the patio table and sat down across from him before he smiled, rather boyishly, and said, “We heard about the British recruiting you with a club. You will find our methods less crude.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any relatives in Düsseldorf, Herr Kruger.”
The German agent laughed. Aside from the dueling scar and the stiff neck, he seemed a rather pleasant sort, considering. He reached in his jacket for a silver cigarette case and held it open to Captain Gringo with an inquiring look. The American held up the butt he was smoking and said, “No thanks. I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that Greystoke probably has someone watching this place?”
Kruger shrugged and said, “I have nothing to hide. I am accredited as a military attaché to the Costa Rican government.”
“Meaning you’re a German spy.”
“Yes and no. As you see, I make no secret of my identity. I assure you I report matters of military interest to my government via diplomatic channels. The Costa Rican government knows and understands this. As a matter of fact, I had lunch today with Colonel Delgado of Costa Rican Army Intelligence.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Get to the bottom line, Kruger.”
“I wish to be of service to you.”
Captain Gringo raised an eyebrow. The German nodded and insisted, “We know you have been hired by British Intelligence. They seem to think we are building a submarine base down along the Atlantic coast.”
“I’ll bet you’re not, huh?”
“Of course not. I give you my word as an officer and a German gentleman that you and your men will find no such thing down there.”
Captain Gringo took a drag on his smoke and asked, “Then what’s the problem? If there isn’t any German base for us to find, I see no reason for you to want to stop us.”
“Stop you?” Kruger smiled. “You were not listening, my American friend. I said I wanted to help you!”
The tall American grinned crookedly and said, “Gee, that’s sure swell of you, Kruger. Now, suppose we cut the bullshit and get down to the fine print. What the hell are you after? It’s obviously not information. You seem to know as much about Greystoke’s business as Greystoke does!”
The German nodded smugly, and said, “We have our own sources of information. Would you believe we knew what Greystoke planned before you did?”
“Sure. Why not? Get to the nice part where you help us.”
Kruger nodded and reached in his jacket to take out a manila envelope. He placed it on the table and said, “The light is not very good out here, but you can go over these inside at your leisure. You will find our German charts of the Costa Rican coastlands more accurate than those the British gave you. Also, I have taken the liberty of including some letters of recommendation to people of German descent you may encounter in your travels.”
“You’re kidding! You want to introduce me to the German Navy?”
“Of course not. I am trying to convince you there are no German naval forces to be found down there. The letters are to planters along the coast, asking them to furnish guides and anything else you may need. If you wish, I can lend you a steam launch we have at our disposal in the port of Limon. You and your friends may find the going rough, by land. The coast is mostly mangrove swamp and tidal lagoons. I would offer the services of a German navigator, but I fear Herr Greystoke would not approve.”
Captain Gringo stared thoughtfully at the thick envelope as Kruger a
dded, “Do you need any money?”
The American laughed incredulously and said, “Now I know you’re kidding! What are you trying to buy, Kruger? Professional ethics aside, I can’t think of a thing I can tell you that you don’t already seem to know!”
The German shrugged and said, “That is true. I will the cards on the table place. My government finds it most vital that you and your men not only carry out your mission, but, more important, return alive to reassure British Intelligence that they have been up the wrong tree barking. You have my word that no German agents intend to interfere with your fool’s errand. But the jungle swamps are very treacherous and there are bandits and roving Indians, despite what Colonel Delgado likes to believe. Should you or your comrades fail to return from the jungle, Herr Greystoke will naturally accuse us of being behind your disappearance! Even worse, he will tell your U.S. Government that German agents have murdered an American citizen, nicht wahr?”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer. If Kruger didn’t know he was wanted in the States, he wasn’t so smart, after all. On the other hand, he could be bullshitting about that, too.
Kruger continued, “It is no secret that the British have the U.S. been buttering up. Der Kaiser wishes nothing but the most friendly relations with America. If I may remind you, your country has two wars with the British had. Have you ever had a war with Germany?”
“Not yet. I’ll give you a more educated opinion if and when we get back from the coastal jungles alive. You’ve got to admit a German submarine base within a short run of the Panama Canal makes a certain strategic sense.”
Kruger snorted in disgust and said, “Lieber Gott! The canal won’t be built for at least a dozen of years! As for this submarine nonsense, nobody has a practical submarine, yet.”
“No shit? How come you guys keep building them, then?”
Kruger looked pained and said, “Germany is of course with submarines experimenting, as are the Americans, the British, and everyone else. If you have been following developments in the newspapers, you know that while it is very easy to make a submarine submerge, getting one to come back up is more difficult. Your new American Holland boats run under water only a little faster than a man can walk. How would anyone cross the ocean in such a craft?”
