"I have arranged the funds." Schwarz answered. Opening a suitcase at his feet, he took out a bundle of cash. "Adina will accompany you for any required purchases, I'm sure she'll help you find whatever you need." Indeed, as Stephan Burkhart and Eshref Nafiz had left, Schwarz's secretary would stick by Evelyn Grey until they boarded the train. In the mean time, Stephan hustled back to his apartment and packed up his belongings. Besides the basic clothing and mission equipment, he had taken to buying a Spanish phrase book. Didn't seem like anyone in his group spoke Spanish, and it could be trouble while in transit. If everything goes according to plan, then all they have to do is present Schwarz's slip to an auto garage. Of course, no mission ever went through like that. It was with this thought in mind that Stephan begrudgingly left any German literature behind. He had heard of an agent being executed solely for possessing a German book. Thankfully, he bought the English edition of [i]Solveig[/i] while abroad, which was originally to keep his reading sharp. Another novel of the series, [i]Jorwen the Red Bear[/i], was also with him in the English publication (there wasn't a German translation yet). Thirty minutes was enough of a window to finish the next chapter of [i]Solveig[/i], and suffice to say, Stephan's all worked up in anticipation of the shield-maiden reacting to her boyfriend's gift. Suppose he'll have ample time for reading on the train. Arriving at station approximately 2:30 PM, the train left at 3. It was a Swiss sleeping coach, replacing the more luxurious French lines prior to 1914. He had to share a cabin with Eshref Nafiz, a double bunk and drawers separated from the walkway by only a sliding door. Similar arrangement was made for Adina and Evelyn. Schwarz, being the slick bastard he was, had his own first class room. [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img][/center] They spent the first night gathered around a reserved dinner table, rehashing critical steps of the plan. Being in Austrian, and later in German-speaking Swiss territories, they were able to converse in German without arousing suspicion. Of course, speaking his native tongue was easy since Stephan's birth. Adina talked with an ever present Hungarian accent, sometimes over-correcting herself to sound Austrian. The English woman spoke with surprising fluency, albeit Berlin rather than Vienna. The Turkish mustache man, who could technically understood the fine details, wasn't so fast on the slangs; it seemed like Mr. Nafiz spent considerable efforts studying, but not immersing, in the language. Because pulling out guns and gas masks around dinning was considered rude, Schwarz took several demonstrations to his private cabin. Somehow, Stephan found himself in wider space with four others in Schwarz's room, than being stuck with Eshref Nafiz in his bunk hole. The first thing to double check were guns. Stephan really did not need to explain his standard intelligence issued kit, and when he did, he told the others that his Frommer Stop took 9mm cartridges. Going through Evelyn Grey's revolver, Schwarz wasn't particularly impressed with it's lack of modernness, but relented on a classic German production. Finaly, there was Nafiz's vintage gun bag. "Martini-Henry?" The handler raised his eyebrows. "How did you even find a cut-down rust-bucket like that? And tell me you brought the ammo, because our man in the field sure won't have any." Another concern brought up was driving. Eshref, again, got the short stick from Schwarz. He shook his head hearing the Turk never having significant motor vehicle operations during all of his army career. In his defense, Stephan knew the Ottoman forces never got motorized in the first place. Heck, even the Germans and Brits, the industrial leaders of Europe, couldn't weaponize land vehicles until that monstrous [i]tank[/i] thing rolled onto the Somme. At this point, Schwarz's "well, that's unfortunate" felt more like putting down Nafiz than anything constructive. Maybe their boss felt his stubby goatees were under threat against some fine Turkish fur. So it was decided that Evelyn, who actually drove rickety ambulances through war zones, should take the wheel on this one. This was not wise to Stephan. Seriously, who would let an ex-British subject control their own means of transportation? "Sir," Stephan raised his hand, "I can take over if the lady doesn't wish to." He did not want to look at Evelyn while saying that, so Stephan kept his eyes trained on Schwarz. "I think the lady will be fine." Schwarz dismissed. "Is that right, Miss Grey?" Third topic was secrecy. For the sake of not attracting attention, everyone was to speak strictly English once they exit Switzerland. Hahn Schwarz did half of his briefing in English just to drive the point home. Stephan had to give Schwarz his due. For all his outward unpleasantness, he managed a fine Southern US accent when it counted. "When won't you accompany us?" Stephan asked, feeling like he was the only one with a modicum of curiosity. "You know, sir, you'd have no problem talking your way through anything." "Well," Schwarz started, then he paused. "Someone got to anchor the operation. I need to be there, Switzerland," he pointed to the snow-peaked Alps basked in dusk light, "to monitor important channels." Turning to tug down the blinds, Schwarz pulled out a small bottle of golden liquor from his drawer. Damn bastard didn't even bother to share; Stephan liked to imagine Mr. Handler was drinking hot urine. "You don't need to worry about me." Schwarz resumed after a long drag. "What you do need to worry about, however, is sending the proper telegram." A code book was passed over by Adina. "This is the address and the channel is here." Their handler marked one particular page. "These are the cipher; never send me anything unencrypted. Mr. Burkhart; see to it." Of course, the book was given to the man with actual number crunching capabilities. "And one last thing," Schwarz reminded. From his coat pocket came a sleek, gilded business card. "Gunther Ansel?" "Yours truly; auto enthusiast. Also known as Acosta's best friend." [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img][/center] Adina immediately grabbed the agents' attentions upon exiting the briefing. Schwarz was safely locked inside his room, no doubt having the night of his life with that alcohol and some strange squeaky noises. Their Hungarian secretary led them back to the dinning car, where the last round of late snacks were being served. Puzzled by Adina going to the lavatory immediately, Stephan decided to eat first and ask later; no way he could resist fruited biscuits. When no sign of Adina persisted after two minutes, Burkhart chose to break the awkward silence. "So, nice wea-" He stopped himself mid speech, realizing how painfully mediocre the conversation almost went. "Uh, Miss Grey. Your German was very fluent, for an Irish lady." Stephan played with his biscuit nervously, unwillingly grinding crumbs onto the tablecloth. "Have you lived, perhaps studied in Germany? I have spent time in England, Bath; it was quite a time to travel back then." Enough time went by just for Evelyn to answer, followed right after by Adina returning to her seat. "Sorry. I had to, you know." She shrugged towards washrooms. "Anyways, listen." She leaned closer into the table. "Mr. Schwarz had been acting [i]furcsa[/i] recently. He had been drinking, wondering and exchanging communiques with unknown sources. It was like he changed persons since his brother was killed and his son went missing." "I'm saying you should only contact him, us, when it is absolutely safe to do so." Adina feigned interest in her tea when a group of drunks slurred [i]danque mêméx[/i] past her. "Don't give out precise locations; you've never heard this from anyone." "So, lady Evelyn." Adina brusquely switched conversations. "Does Ireland still have its own nobility? And you sing? Have heard of [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnVXb5f8Duo][i]Irish Blood[/i][/url], by Ada Jones?" It would be as if the group only ever talked about casual topics. [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img][/center] The first night was uneventful, and so was the second day. By the middle of day two, their trains have transferred over Zurich, which dropped off Hahn Schwarz and Adina Tividar for their grand Swiss telegraph adventure. The agents themselves boarded another Swiss train, a mostly French speaking one, for Toulouse. Now only the three of them, Stephan grumbled at still bunking with the Turk man. Not that he had anything against Eshref, but just the fact that the entire room tend to smell like Anatolian meatsticks all throughout the night. Within the privacy of their room, Stephan could converse freely in German, which should a blessing for Nafiz as well, given his English was even less effective. Evelyn was also invited to discuss some finer details, which drew questionable stares about why a red-headed noblewoman would enter a narrow cabin with an Austrian midget and the middle eastern meathead. Important topics like the exact route from Seville to Gibraltar was discussed, in addition to rehearsing their roles. Mission-unrelated discussions were had as well. Stephan, for one, cherished the chance to show off his fantasy novels with someone other than senile grandmothers. "You've got to read [i]Jorwen the Red-Bear[/i]!" Stephan recommended the book like a book salesman. "It's just pure action next chapter; mercenaries versus snow demon lackeys! Sevine the Huntress and Marcel the Prude are real delights; I hope they don't perish." The world outside was far less delightful than luxury trains and escape novels. France was a country at war; it's scenery painted just as such. Despite not traveling through battlegrounds, there splayed visibly derelict farm houses and towns. One [i]ville[/i] the train stopped in was like a ghost town. Few frequented the streets, as if they were ghouls in their miseries. The sky was clear blue, yet, the air was anything but clear. As steam cleared from the train engine, a group of limping soldiers stared blankly at the passengers. These men, mostly young under layers of mud and blood, stood from a whole world away; many missed significant pieces of their body. "I heard there was a great desertion last year," Stephan remarked, "lots of French soldiers gave up and ran away." He wanted to rehash patriotic propaganda; "a complete rout!" or "we showed them!" But looking at the hollow faces staring into oblivion, he could not bring himself to say a single thing. [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img][/center] Trains would change again a day later; now a Spanish carrier with a significantly different flair. During the last night on the French train, Stephan asked about the Sinai and Palestine campaign. In was curious to hear Nafiz describe desert warfare. "How was it possible for this Indian, the [i]Sikh[/i], to kill two targets with one bullet? While jumping off a citadel, spinning and not aiming? Did he actually shout [i]get wrecked[/i] as it all happened?" The question was referring to the British-Egyptian newspaper Schwarz read out back in Vienna. En route to Seville was another neutral country. Unlike Switzerland, Spain had its own woes outside of the war. A fever devastated the country, claiming unseen amounts of lives since the Black Death many centuries ago. Sanitation posters hung everywhere, from public train cars to the stations, it was clear the severity of this flu forced Spanish authorities to take things very seriously. Passengers coughing a little too often were escorted off to quarantine, and those deemed healthy were handed masks to prevent infections. Compared to the military grade gas masks he was issued, Stephan couldn't help but laugh at the flimsy paper. The agents did not catch any flu, though that didn't prevent them from catching the attention of railroad authorities. A grim cadre of inspectors pinned our agents down in the train. As the flutter of dull coats swept towards him, Stephan was confronted with a sudden urge to seek the urinal. Bottoming out on two cups of orange juice, a bowl of cereal filled milk and a large cup of coffee wasn't the best idea, in hindsight. So when the inspectors begun questioning in a language he had no clue about, Stephan had even less clue as to how he could answer them. Showing them his ticket was apparently insufficient. Digging out the Spanish phrasebook only resulted in it being slapped out of his hands. At that point, Stephan began to fear the people ahead of him were Allied spy hunters. No way they could figure who he was this fast? Or could they? If they have, then they're simply toying with him... Thankfully, the situation was defused by Grey and Nafiz. Their Spanish was just as non-existent as Stephan's. Yet for some odd reason, a series of gestures, pleads, the occasional threats and the frequent awkward dictionary recital managed to get the agents back on track. Suppose calmer heads tend to break through more often, or at the very least, not having a near-exploding bladder made things a lot easier. Right on time; Seville appeared towards the end of the second day through Spain. Finding and reaching Acosta's garage was easy, but, Acosta was not there. Running the garage was a woman. Based on her limited English, she was either the wife or cousin of Acosta, or both. In contrast to elaborately dressed clowns fighting bulls, which Stephan saw plenty of posters depicting (and someone actually herding oxen through the streets), good old fashioned "family love" seemed almost normal in this part of Europe. For some reason, it was also normal for the absent Spaniard to spend weeks in Valencia. "Flying", that's what Acosta's cousin-wife told them. She had a brochure to back it up. By the looks of it, Acosta was charting airmail routes to Tunis. All that mattered was getting the damn car. Showing the business card did not fully convince their contact. Instead, the Spanish woman insisted on some more than generous "tips". Thirty Pounds had to be forked over between the three of them, and she remained reluctant. Enough was enough. Stephan figured she either cough up the vehicle or was a con, or worse, trying to dupe out a money trail for potential foes. Hell, did she even know Schwartz? She said "they friended in potato catching, mountain dew and dog tings"; sounds like she's simply blurting out every English word she could muster Eventually, Mrs. Acosta(?) handed over the car with Eshref's "persuation". The car was a 1916 Ford Model T, the Tudor sedan model with two rows of seats and a convertible, semi-rigid roof. Riding it to Gibraltar was fast and smooth. To her credit, Ms. Grey was an excellent driver. Though that didn't stop Stephan from requesting the wheel. What was originally concern for his safety and Evelyn's reliability gradually changed to wanting to try out this slick automobile. Cruising through the Spanish countryside brought a sense of thrill, it was the freedom and speed he never experienced while chauffeuring officials through Vienna. As he rolled up his sleeves to feel the refreshing wind on his arms, Stephan made a mental mote to take a road trip when the war is over. The last night before Gibraltar was spent in a rustic lodge, somewhere in south-western Spain. This village was close enough to their destination that less than three hours of driving remained. On the gala day, the Ford Model T rolled up to Gibraltar checkpoint near noon. They were back to a wartime country. Sandbags, barbed wires, and even a machine gun guarded the road. Khaki clad men filtered foot and vehicular traffic with rifle in hand; a pair of them came alongside Stephan, Eshref and Evelyn. "Identifications and destination." The soldier ordered.