The War Heist

by Ralph Dennis

  “He will have to catch up on his sleep later. Wake him now.”

  “Yes, Mr. Leveque.”

  “I will be in my room. We will talk first and have breakfast later.”

  He walked back down the hall without looking back.

  The hotel dining room opened at seven. Johnny Whitman reached the lobby a few minutes after the doors were opened. He stopped at the desk. The clerk saw the five-dollar bill that was folded and covered by Johnny’s hand. “The Frenchman, is he still registered?”

  “Mr. Leveque?”

  “That’s the one.” He moved his hand, and the clerk covered the bill and slid it toward himself.

  “He is still registered.”

  “Did he say how long he’d be staying?”

  “Perhaps until the weekend.”

  Johnny nodded and walked into the dining room. He’d finished his eggs and toast and was on his third cup of coffee when Tom entered.

  Tom pulled his chair in close to the table. “The French guy is still here.”

  “How much?”

  “Huh?”

  “How much did you give the desk clerk?”

  “Two dollars.” Tom looked puzzled.

  “That damned clerk is getting rich. He’s licking his lips right now and waiting for the Frenchie to come down and pass him a few more dollars and ask if we’re still in the hotel.”

  “What does he want?”

  “What does everybody want?” Johnny said.

  The waiter brought the breakfast menu. Tom ordered orange juice and coffee.

  “What does everybody want?” Tom asked after the waiter moved away.

  “Something for nothing. Cream off the top of the jar. Milk from the cow you don’t own. Pork chops off somebody else’s pig.”

  “All right,” Tom said, “but what, exactly, does this one want?”

  “I’ve got a feeling we’ll find out today.”

  “When?” The waiter brought the juice. Tom had a sip. It had a strong metallic taste, as if the can had been opened the day before and it had been stored in the can overnight. He drank it anyway.

  Johnny shrugged. He held out his empty cup when the waiter brought Tom’s cup and the coffeepot. “For it to matter, it’s got to be today. He waits until tomorrow, and he’ll have his answer without having to ask the question.”

  When they passed through the lobby a few minutes later the desk clerk smiled and nodded at them. The nod was so low it was almost a bow.

  The rain had stopped. It was still gray and damp. Johnny and Tom walked through the back lot, dodging puddles of water, and took a left down a narrow street.

  “It ought to be here,” Johnny said.

  “The next block.”

  Down the street, on the right, Richard Betts stepped to the edge of the road and flipped a cigarette in a high arc. “Been waiting for you a time,” he said when they were closer.

  He led them into the building that had housed the seed-and-feed store. Gunny Townsend and Vic Franks were seated on the tailgate of one of the Bulldogs. Harry Churchman stood to one side. He held one of the Thompsons, the muzzle carefully pointed toward the back wall.

  “You’re up early,” Johnny said.

  “We found that the café down the street opens at six,” Gunny said.

  “Gunny thinks this soft life’s getting to him.” Harry carried the Thompson to the rear of the other Bulldog and placed it on the tarp.

  Johnny nodded down at the tarp. “What do you think?”

  “Gunny’s satisfied,” Harry said, “and that’s good with me.”

  Tom counted heads. “We waiting for the Gipsons?”

  Harry shook his head. “They wanted to sleep in and I wanted some peace from them.”

  Richard Betts laughed. “The way I hear it Harry wants to adopt them for good and forever.”

  “Somebody’s got to support me in my old age.”

  “If you live that long,” Johnny said.

  “If they live that long.” Harry worked a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped his hands carefully. “I’ve got some tales I could tell about those two in Halifax.”

  “Save them for some long winter evening,” Johnny said. “I think we’ve got important matters to talk about.”

  “It’s today,” Harry said.

  “When?” This was from Richard Betts.

  “We’ll get to that.” Harry folded the handkerchief and stuffed it in his pocket. “The news you won’t like is that the estimate of the take just went down. Nobody is going to be a multimillionaire.”

  “What went wrong?” Gunny said.

  “Somebody got nosy at the pier. The Gipsons did one hotbox and had to back away.”

  “Shit.” Richard Betts did a little kick that spread a small cloud of dust. “I knew we couldn’t depend on those Gipsons to do any more than pick their noses.”

  “It’s not small pickings,” Harry said. “That one boxcar holds two hundred cases of gold, and each case weighs something on the other side of a hundred pounds.”

  “What’s it worth?” Betts said.

  “It might be anywhere between ten and twelve million. That depends on exact weight on each case.”

  Gunny said, “It ain’t what we planned on.”

  “Maybe.” Harry looked at Johnny and then at Tom. “But I had some time to think about it and I ain’t going to whine about a million or a million and a half.”

  “Still …” Gunny began.

  “Don’t be a dummy. Anything it takes a dozen boxcars to cart here, it’ll take a dozen boxcars to take across the border.” Harry lifted a hand and pointed it at Vic Franks. “What’ll these trucks haul?”

  “Two hundred of those crates,” Vic said.

  “Say we got to cross open country?”

  “Less,” Vic said.

  “Any trouble with a hundred cases?”

  “A snap.”

  Harry nodded. He was done. He turned and looked at Johnny.

  Johnny grunted. “No matter how we look at it, it’s spilt stinking milk. The Gipsons didn’t do all they were supposed to. No way we can change that. Any bitching to be done, let’s do it now and get it over with.”

  The truth was it hadn’t gone down too well with Johnny either. He’d had his own hard time swallowing that one boxcar.

  And he thought about Lila. Wouldn’t that anger her? A girl who never had more than a hundred dollars at a time, and she was going to scream and cry that she’d been robbed.

  If he could find her after they crossed the border. He’d left her in New York City with the rest of his cash. She was supposed to stay there and find a job if she had to. The rest of it was waiting. If she did that.

  Of course, if it came off he wouldn’t have any trouble finding her. He’d have trouble losing her.

  “It’s locked in,” Tom said. “A fact is a fact. Either we accept it and do the job or we back off and forget it.”

  “Those fucking Gipsons,” Gunny said.

  It was the statement that took all the steam from it. Agreement from everybody, and the anger went away. What could you expect of those Gipsons anyway?

  “We came this far,” Harry said.

  “I’m still in,” Vic said. Richard Betts dipped his head in agreement. Gunny said, “All right, what’s a million or two more?”

  “When?” Vic said.

  Johnny dropped his head.

  “That’s the big problem,” Harry said. “We don’t know for sure. Today. That’s all we know.”

  “More guessing?” Gunny pursed his mouth and spat. “This whole operation is put together like a Tinkertoy.”

  “Could be we could find out something at the train station. The train carrying the gold will have a clear track. What we have to find out is whether there’s been any schedule change for trains leaving Halifax. Maybe it won’t be exact, but it can give us a time slot.”

  Harry tilted his head toward Vic. “You take the first watch at the station.”

  “Two hours?” Vic hea
ded for the door.

  “Richard is next up,” Harry said.

  Vic reached the door and swung it open. The gray-haired man from Montreal stood there. He was flanked on each side by one of his men.

  Vic turned around. “Captain.”

  “Go on to the station,” Harry said.

  Henri stepped through the open doorway. “He will have a long wait.”

  “What’s it to you?” Johnny said.

  “Nothing. I could not, however, help hearing the last part of your conversation. These old buildings have more holes than solid places.”

  Johnny waved Vic back into the building. Gunny backed slowly toward the tailgate of the Bulldog and put a hand behind him until he touched the stock of one of the Thompsons. Henri watched him and there was a flicker of recognition. He gave Gunny a thin smile. Then he turned toward Johnny.

  “I think it is time we discuss a merger. I know a few facts and you know other ones. It could be that we could do business.”

  “I don’t think so,” Johnny said.

  “I know when the train leaves Halifax.”

  “When?”

  Henri shook his head. “Do you mind if we close the door? I think you will remember how I feel about keeping my business private.”

  “Close it, Vic.” He waited while Vic allowed the three men inside and then latched the door. “Say what you’ve got to say.”

  “Cards on the table,” Henri said. “I think that is how Americans talk in cowboy films. Isn’t that right?”

  Johnny stared at him and didn’t answer.

  “Very well. I will show my cards. I know that it is a matter of the British Crown jewels.”

  Behind Henri, Vic took one step forward. His mouth was open, as if he intended to deny it.

  Johnny moved first. “I guess you’ve got us there, Frenchie,” he said.

  Tom turned slowly and looked at the other men grouped behind him. He dropped his left eyelid in a wink.

  “And I think I can assume that you have some plan to stop the train here at Wingate Station?”

  “Another good guess,” Johnny said. “This Frenchie guesses real good.”

  “And there are other valuables involved besides the Crown jewels?”

  “Might be,” Johnny said.

  “I will make a deal,” Henri said. “I will give my help and my protection, and for that I will take the Crown jewels. You and your men can share the other valuables.”

  “No deal.”

  “Then a division of the Crown jewels?”

  Johnny looked at Tom. Tom nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Then I suggest we do the rest of our talking at the hotel,” Henri said. “It is more comfortable there.”

  “You lead the way.”

  Tom stepped in front of Johnny. “When does the train leave Halifax?”

  “At seven tonight.”

  Use the sons of bitches. Dumbasses.

  Johnny and Tom walked toward the hotel with the Montreal man, Henri. Behind them, left under the command of Harry and Gunny, the Frenchman’s two men were being worked into the unit.

  Half of the Crown jewels still equals nothing.

  “I trust there are no hard feelings about our troubles to this point?” Henri stopped in the center of the back lot.

  “Of course not,” Johnny said.

  Henri looked at Tom.

  “No hard feelings,” Tom said.

  “That’s good.” Henri placed a hand on each man’s shoulder and they began to walk again. “You have led me a merry chase since Montreal.”

  “Well, that’s done now.”

  The Crown jewels. Jesus Christ, how dumb can you get?

  MacTaggart was up at six. His shoes were still damp and his raincoat soaked in patches. It didn’t really matter, he found when he stepped outside. The rain was lighter, hardly a mist now.

  The watch stood in a plumb line the length of the train. Much better, he mumbled as he passed them.

  Away from the pier and the train, he followed his nose. He found an open mess and had his breakfast with a table of casuals, seaman waiting for their new ships. A couple, he found, were going to H.M.S. Emerald.

  A few minutes before seven he was back at the train. He watched the last stragglers from the starboard watch return from the overnight leave. Several of them remembered him from the voyage and waved and called to him before they climbed the gangplank to the Emerald.

  He sat in the open doorway of an empty boxcar and waited. At 7:50 he heard the sound of marching boots, and the new work detail appeared around the end of the train and headed toward him.

  At 8:00 exactly the Emerald piped the port watch to handle cargo. The unloading and loading began again. It didn’t take much time. The last boxcar was loaded by 1040 hours.

  MacTaggart locked these last boxcars and waited until the guard was posted once more.

  The sun was out. It was going to be a beautiful day. He found Sub-Lieutenant Carr in the wardroom of the Emerald. Carr drew him a cup of tea and brought it to the table.

  “I assume you’ve changed your mind, Mac.”

  MacTaggart had a scalding taste of tea and gave Carr a puzzled look.

  “Take a few hours of leave with me.”

  “In that wicked city?”

  “It’s not wicked, Mac,” Carr said, “unless you know where to look.”

  “And you do?” He looked at Carr. Hardly more than a boy yet. He could have been MacTaggart’s son or his nephew. Carr blushed and looked away. “It’s a fine offer. The truth is that I need a pen, some paper, and an envelope.”

  “That’s easy.” Carr left the wardroom. He returned a few minutes later and placed the writing materials on the table. He added a fountain pen. “I’ve just filled it.”

  “Thank you.” MacTaggart turned a sheet toward him and wrote 2 July 1940 at the top of it.

  “A girl, Mac?”

  “At my age?” He smiled at the boy. “No, a lady.” It stopped the pen in his hand. It was odd, thinking of Peggy and speaking of her as a lady. Still, the distance they’d gone together, and he was changed. Perhaps it was time that it happened. He wasn’t a young-blood anymore.

  Carr finished his tea standing. “I’ve got a few matters that need my attention. I’ll check back in a time and see if you’re done with it. You are, and I’ll use my influence with the mail officer to see it’s put on the next ship heading home.”

  Dear Peggy:

  I think this is the 20th letter I’ve written you. The other 19 were written in my head to pass the time, and when I see you again I’ll tell you about them. I am in Canada. What I can see of it is beautiful.

  I have not seen any Indians yet. I will be disappointed if I’ve come this far and don’t see any.

  Sub-Lieutenant Carr, after thirty minutes, tapped on the bulkhead next to the doorway. He wore his leave uniform and carried a raincoat over his arm. “Done, Mac?”

  “As good as.” MacTaggart added a line or two to complete a thought and then he signed it. He folded the sheets and placed them in the envelope. A few moments to address it, and he carried it to Carr. He didn’t seal it.

  “I suppose the mail officer will want to read it through and censor it.”

  “You give away any military secrets?”

  “Not a one.”

  Carr wet the flap and sealed the envelope. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m the mail officer. It’ll go with the crew’s mail on the next ship. You’ve got my word on it.”

  “That’s good with me.”

  They climbed the ladder to the main deck. Carr led the way toward the gangplank.

  “You sure about the tour of town, Mac?”

  “Perhaps on the way back.” He waved a hand toward the train. “The job’s not done yet.”

  They shook hands at the head of the gangplank.

  “It was good sailing with you, Mac.”

  “Good luck, son.”

  He left the Emerald and settled in his day-coach seat for a long afternoon of
waiting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  The door closed behind the captain and the major and the French guy. Harry dropped the latch in place and walked back into the center of the old building. His eyes were on the ground. He stopped and bent over and picked up a piece of wood about the length of a ruler. It had probably been a part of the trim in another section of the seed-and-feed store.

  He squatted and used the edge of the piece of wood to smooth and clear a space about two feet square. Then he used the broken end to draw a map. “Here’s how it looks to me,” he said.

  The others formed a circle around him and stared down at the map.

  “Gunny.”

  Gunny stepped over the drawing and squatted next to Harry. There was a wheeze to his breathing, and Harry gave him a long stare. “You all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Too much night air. I think it’s a cold.”

  Harry used the stick as a pointer. “Location A.”

  “I see it.” Gunny took a deep breath and held it. He could hear the flutter, the rattle, but he hoped that Harry didn’t.

  “Vic.”

  Vic Franks edged to the left side of the map and looked down at it.

  “Location C.”

  “Got it.”

  Harry looked up at the other men. The two new men stood shoulder to shoulder. The short hairy one with the fat lip that was beginning to scab had the look of a man with a sour stomach. “You,” he said.

  The man’s lip darted out and licked at the scab. “My name is Jean.”

  “You’re with Gunny.” He nodded at the other man, the tall one with the bald head. “That one?”

  “Pierre,” Jean said.

  “Pierre’s with Vic.” Harry moved the stick pointer and touched Location A. “Here, Gunny, west of the train depot. A spot half a mile or three-quarters of a mile away from the train station. Have a look at the terrain. Pick a place to blow the tracks. That way we cut off the town from the west, from Quebec and Montreal.”

  “All right, Harry.”

  Harry pointed a finger at Vic. “Same with you. Half a mile or three-quarters from the depot. We blow the tracks there and we seal the town from the east, from Halifax.”

  Vic nodded. “Whatever you say.”