The Sweets of Pillage, can be known

To no one but the Thief—

Compassion for Integrity

Is his divinest Grief—

Emily Dickinson

*.*.*.*.*.*

Alfie Burke was, understandably enough, in no particular hurry to go back to England, and retrieving elderly bank robbers from the heart of Germany was not exactly Central Command's first priority. So he stayed at Stalag 13 for a week or so, mostly in the tunnels, drinking endless cups of tea, chatting amiably with anyone who crossed his path, and putting Newkirk through an accelerated master class in thievery with a rigor that would have done credit to a drill sergeant. Or Torquemada.

"After all, dear boy," he said serenely. "One never knows when an opportunity for mischief might pop up, and I can't be everywhere at once."

Newkirk just nodded, his attention mostly focused on the job at hand— and the key word there was 'hand,' singular. Alfie had him, quite literally, picking locks with one hand tied behind his back. He'd already been drilled in an exhaustive list of types of safes, types of locks, types of explosives, and the methods each required, but with the exception of the fairly elementary example in Klink's office, there were lamentably few opportunities in camp to expand Newkirk's education much beyond the theoretical.

Hogan had not looked at all favorably on Alfie's almost reasonable-sounding proposal that the two of them take a field trip to the Hammelberg Bank one fine evening for additional practice, although he'd had the decency to close the doors before vociferously questioning the sanity of both teacher and pupil. Alfie had sighed, acquiesced, brewed yet another pot of tea, and done what he could with what he had.

Which was quite a lot, actually. Alfie really was as skillful a thief as his reputation claimed, maybe even better, and he was an exacting teacher. If Hogan didn't actually know for a fact that they had spent more time in the Kommandantur that week than Klink had, it was because he was carefully choosing not to know it; he simply could not count on being able to smuggle Alfie back into Germany if another such situation occurred. He needed Newkirk to absorb as much of what the old man had to teach as he could in the time they had.

And he did. He didn't say much that week, not to anyone; he just buckled down and worked as hard as he could, and maybe even a little harder than that. If Alfie's offhanded comment that he could have just as easily radioed the instructions from London had been intended as a challenge, then it was a challenge that had been accepted, and Newkirk was pushing himself past his limits with a sort of stoic desperation he barely even understood.

He did understand that if it came down to a choice between dying and failing to live up to the trust the Colonel was placing in him, he knew which he'd rather. And the same went for Alfie.

Kinch's unobtrusive announcement, late one afternoon, that Alfie's transportation out of Germany had been arranged for that night was something of a shock for all concerned.

"Oh, goodness," Alfie said, with open regret in his voice. "Are you certain I can't stay a few days longer? I have so enjoyed my visit here."

"And we've enjoyed having you," said Hogan, meaning it. "But I'm afraid not. London's sending the sub, and it isn't like you can just catch the next one if you miss it."

"What a pity," he said. "But I suppose it's time I was getting along. If nothing else, I'm nearly out of tea."

"Can't have that," Hogan said. "I really do appreciate your help. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh, I doubt that. I've worked with a great many crews in my time, but yours is one of the best I've ever seen. It's been a real pleasure. I hope you'll keep me in mind if you decide to go into the business after the war."

"That's quite a compliment," Hogan said, and chuckled. "If we ever happen to need to rob any banks, you'll be the first one we call."

Alfie laughed, too. "I look forward to it! But here and now, what's the procedure for getting me home? I can't imagine I can fly out the way I flew in."

"No, it's a little more labor-intensive than that," Hogan said. "We'll take you out of the tunnel tonight and bring you to a rendezvous point with the local Underground; they'll get you to the coast, and from there it's a short hop back to London."

Alfie sighed, just a little. Yes, a short hop back to London, and from there an even shorter hop back to Pentonville Prison. He wasn't looking forward to that. "Very good. Well, that will be quite a little adventure, I'm sure. I'll just go get my things in order. And perhaps there will be time for a nice cup of tea before I leave."

He tapped the secret spot on the bunk frame and climbed down into the tunnel, to the room he'd been using. There wasn't much to be put in order, really. There was his little bag of tools, the last few spoonfuls of tea, and his coat and hat, and he sighed again.

Newkirk, still smelling slightly of grease from a KP shift, hurried into the tunnel. "Allo, Alfie," he said. "What's the next lesson going to be, then?"

"There isn't one, I'm afraid," he said. "I'm going back home this evening, so class is dismissed."

Newkirk forced himself not to react. "This evening? That's… sudden."

"It's just as well. I've taught you everything I know; it's just a matter of putting it into practice when the opportunities arise." He picked up the leather bag, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then offered it to Newkirk. "You've officially left school. Here's your certificate."

He didn't move for a long moment, then finally, almost reluctantly, took it. "Cheers, sir," he said awkwardly. "I'll do my best."

"You'll do splendidly," Alfie corrected him. "You've got a gift, dear boy. You always did. With a little practice, there won't be a bank in the world that's safe from you."

Newkirk frowned. "…Always?"

"Absolutely," said Alfie, with a paternal pat on the shoulder. "You're probably the finest cracksman I've ever trained. Even as a youngster, your potential was obvious."

There had been a time, and not so very long ago, either, when he would have given anything to hear Alfie say those words. Anything. Now that it had finally happened, it was a bitter, hollow triumph. Almost against his will, Newkirk heard his own voice replying; it would have been hard to say which of them was more surprised at what he said.

"Then why did you throw me out?" Newkirk had promised himself he wouldn't do this, had sworn he wouldn't ask. So much for that. "Why didn't you want me? Back in the day you couldn't kick me to the curb fast enough. If I wasn't worth my keep then, I can't imagine that being years out of practice has helped."

Alfie's jaw actually dropped. He didn't answer, just stared at him with an expression of dawning horror on his face.

"You didn't want me," Newkirk repeated. "You never bothered telling me what I'd done wrong, but after that first big job, not only was I off your crew, but none of the others would touch me with a barge pole. If I was so bloody wonderful, why did I end up on the rubbish heap?"

Alfie blinked a few times. "Is that really what you think happened?"

"It's what I know happened. I was there, remember? Look, I'm grateful for the lessons this week, and for the tools, and God knows I'm even more grateful you were willing to come all the way over here to handle a job I'd've funked on my own. We all are. But can we just leave it at that and forget the false compliments?"

At that unfortunate juncture, Carter stuck his head in the door. "Hey, Alf—are you almost ready to go? Colonel Hogan says that if you come up right this second, there's time for a cup of tea if you promise to drink it really fast."

Alfie cleared his throat. His voice was rusty anyway. "Thank you, my boy, but on second thought, I don't think I'm all that thirsty after all. I'll be up in a few minutes."

Carter looked from Alfie to Newkirk and back, and made the snap decision to pretend he hadn't noticed the tension in the air. "Oh, um. Okay," he said. If Alfie was passing up a chance at a cup of tea, things had to be really bad. "And Newkirk, the Colonel says that if you want to do the honors, the pick-up point is the old barn. Otherwise I'll take him."

"No, no," Newkirk said. "I'll do it. Do me good to get some fresh air."

"I'll say," Carter said cheerfully. "You smell like what we had for lunch. Right, I'll go tell LeBeau he can take the kettle off the stove."

With that, he beat a slightly hasty retreat, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him.