Casey Teel

CHAPTER 1 Eastern Canada, May 13, 1941 Major Peter Duncanwood was tired. It showed in his eyes that had seen more than any 31-year old should have. He slumped wearily into an over-stuffed chair in the student lounge at McGill University in Montreal. Peter was half asleep when a soft tapping noise reached past his exhaustion. It took him several minutes to realize that he was listening to rapid Morse code. It took another minute to understand the code was being spelled out in French. He stood up and walked toward the door leading to the dining room. A young man sitting at a table several feet away was slyly tapping out the Morse with a knife against a medal coffee pitcher. The soft taps were just audible, and not disturbingly loud. Peter leaned against the doorjamb and lit a cigarette while mentally spelling out the Morse. The boy was in the middle of a sentence, "….can not live without you". Two tables away a strikingly beautiful young coed with long auburn hair appeared to be furtively glancing toward the fellow. Other students in the area seemed oblivious to the tapping, most being absorbed in textbooks. The girl was deep into her book too, but Peter got the strong feeling that she was aware of the message. Developing a devilish smile the boy continued the Morse, “….want to rub your tits.” The young lady suddenly changed her curious expression to one of surprise. She picked up a fork and began tapping on an empty coffee cup. She was sending Morse, also using French: "Bastard". With that she snapped closed her textbook, gathered her book and bag, and abruptly left the room, throwing a look of contempt at the boy as she departed. Peter was curious about the expression on the boy's face, one of complete and humiliating rejection. Duncanwood walked over and sat down across from the boy. He looked into a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen and asked, "Mind if I join you"? Casey smiled an easy but curious smile. "It looks like you already have. Would you like some coffee"? "At this point in my life, coffee is as essential as breathing," the Major said smiling back. Casey reached for a clean cup stacked on the table and filled it. Casey looked at the young man with interest. Peter was of medium height and build. His smile revealed white even teeth. Casey was drawn to the man's eyes. They were half lidded and sleepy. Having several friends in the Army, Casey was more than interested in the uniform the man wore. It was the uniform of a major in the Royal Marines. Casey recognized the ribbons on the Major's left breast. The Military Cross with bar, the Distinguished Service Order, and the Military Medal. On his right sleeve he wore parachutist wings. Casey suddenly realized that he had been staring. With a start he noted the Major appeared to be studying him with some interest. The Major had a soft smile, "Too bad about the girl. Does she always turn you down so abruptly?” Casey blushed and looked quickly around. Looking down, he replied, "I know she’s fluent in French, but Morse?” "Don't worry lad, it’s not likely that anyone who understands both Morse and French is within a hundred miles of here." Casey visibly relaxed and said, "My God I hope not. How did you learn Morse and French? You're obviously English." "Oh, one picks up odd knowledge here and there," the Major replied vaguely. "How is it that sweet young thing knows French?” Peter asked. Casey explained, "Her parents are French. Her dad had worked for the French railroad or something." "Tell me about yourself," the Major asked abruptly. Casey seemed to sense this was not an idle question. He thought about not answering, but the military uniform seemed to prompt his response. "Well, I'm 20, just finishing my second year in Civil Engineering and plan to go back to Colorado and enlist in June. It looks like the varsity hockey team will have to wait for the end of the war to take advantage of the best forward McGill ever had." "You're an American then?” Casey nodded in affirmation. "You won't hold that against me will you?” Casey smiled and opened his arms. The Major smiled back. "Where did you learn your Morse and French?” "My dad helped rebuild the French railroad system after the war to end all wars." The Major acknowledged the irony. Casey found himself more willing then usual to talk. "Dad was in the trenches, then in the Signal Corps. Somehow he found the time to marry my mother who grew up in a small town near Paris." "What town was that?” "You probably never heard of it, it's called St. Denis." The Major rolled his eyes. "Yes, I've heard of it." Peter had an ugly scar on the inside of his upper left thigh. He briefly drifted into nostalgia as he recalled, "The Germans almost made me a soprano in France." Casey broke a brief silence by continuing that his language skills came from a schoolteacher French mother and his railroad telegrapher father had taught him Morse. The two chatted on for another hour and a half. Only three months later when Casey was taking a course on POW interrogation did he stop to realize how easily the Major had gotten his life story. That, without even revealing his own name. After making his appointment with McGill's leading chemistry professor, Major Duncanwood made a call to a friend in the RCMP Security Service. "David, old boy, do you recognize my voice?” The man on the other end of the line laughed out loud, "Of course you sod. How could I ever forget almost getting arrested for indecent exposure trying to out piss you against the wall of St. Patrick's Cathedral? We were lucky that Bobbie had a brother in the Canadian Army!” Peter, unable to keep from laughing, said, "Your problem, you ponce, is you can't hold your liquor." "Holding it is not the problem. Getting rid of it while making the wager with you is the real problem. Sober, I would never believe anybody could piss as far as you can." Peter changed the mood. "Did you hear about Charley Scott"? "Not all the details." "It was stupid; he trusted the wrong woman and the Gestapo got him." "Oh shit," David slurred. "Did they torture him?” Peter didn't answer. David knew the answer. "See here, David, I'm short on time. Can you do a little checking for me?” `"Who and how deep?” came David's no-nonsense reply. Thank God for the old boy network Peter thought. It certainly saves time and cuts through all the unnecessary bureaucratic nonsense. "The chap's name is Casey Teel. A male, six-one, about 180, brown hair, blue eyes. He's 20 and just finishing his second year at McGill. Civil engineering I believe. Apparently born in Colorado at a place called Durango. He talked a lot about camping off the Million-Dollar Highway. David, I need everything you can turn up, yesterday. He's going to join the Yank Army in 3 or 4 weeks." "Where can I reach you?” Peter thought for a moment. "You know our summer place?” David knew Peter was referring to Camp X in Ontario where Allied spies and saboteurs were trained. "Yes I was there during the off season last year. A very rough element seems to be going there now." "Well, old boy if you can't reach me there, try our main office." David knew the main office was SOE Headquarters, Barkley Square, London. "Peter." "Don't say it. You know I'm always careful." David sighed. "Yes, of course. Actually, I was going to suggest you go play on the railroad tracks. 'Course you'd probably derail the bloody train. Do be careful. I'll be in touch."