by Robbie, Vic
‘Great dancing,’ he said and lifted the glass to his lips, but it never got there. The bigger German stepped in and swept it out of his hand and it shattered on the floor, showering a man on an adjoining table with whisky and shards of glass. The man made to get up, but friendly hands restrained him from doing something he would have regretted.
Natalie had glanced at him in passing, a smile playing around her lips, but it was now transformed into a look of concern.
‘It would be better if you come with us.’
‘No way, Fritz,’ he said, more dismayed about his drink being spilt.
The bigger German launched himself at Ben and caught him with a perfect right hand flush on the nose, a punch Max Schmeling would have been proud of. No pain, just a blow to his face and he felt a numbness spreading out from his nose. And blood and snot flowed copiously down his shirt and jacket and pooled on the table.
‘Was that necessary?’ he snuffled through the blood as he struggled to his feet. Natalie jumped between him and his two attackers and pushed him back down.
‘Why did you do that?’ she shouted, turning on them. ‘You should be ashamed of yourselves.’
She turned back to Ben. ‘Oh, chéri, you poor man, are you hurt?’
She pulled a handkerchief out of a small clutch bag and, bending over him, mopped at the wound, and the scent on the handkerchief made him feel as if he were about to pass out.
‘Get back,’ she ordered the two Germans as she cleaned his flattened nose. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Same as it was the other day.’
Her eyes were flashing him a warning. ‘Be careful,’ she mouthed. And she placed her right hand on his chest, holding him in place as she went about her work.
‘You’re good at this,’ he tried to say and it only made the blood run more freely.
After several minutes, she managed to staunch the flow of blood and now he began to feel a throb of pain as she stepped back to study her handiwork.
‘Come on, Natalie,’ the German leader moved over to the table but didn’t look at him. ‘My car awaits.’
‘What about this poor man?’
‘My men will see he gets home safely.’ The two Germans agreed unconvincingly.
‘And no more violence?’ she insisted.
‘No.’
‘You promise?’
‘We promise.’
‘There, Ben,’ she said. ‘These men will look after you now.’ And again she smiled and looked as if she wanted to say something but instead turned away.
He watched them leave and the scent of her perfume stayed with him. Only the Major joined them. Horst held back and moved slowly to the exit.
30
The two Nazis stuck close to Ben as they made their way out of the club to prevent him from escaping, and when they got outside Horst was waiting for them. After an intense conversation in German between the three, not a word of which he understood, Horst gave the order to take him into an unlit alleyway running down the side of the property. And he raised a hand in farewell before climbing into a waiting car and being driven away. The larger of the two Nazis held a Luger and rammed it into the small of Ben’s back, forcing him deeper into the alleyway that smelled of sweat, urine and rotting food. A couple of times, he staggered almost losing his balance on the uneven ground.
‘This is far enough,’ the smaller Nazi said and his partner cracked him across the top of his skull with the butt of the gun. Momentarily dazed, he stumbled and dropped to his knees.
‘Give me some light,’ the smaller Nazi ordered his partner, who pulled out a lighter from his pocket, flipped it open and lit it. The fresh Alizé made the orange flame splutter, magnifying the damage to Ben’s face.
He cursed Smee for getting him into this. He said there would be no danger and now he wouldn’t get the chance to tell him he was wrong.
‘It is time you left this island, Yankee boy,’ the smaller Nazi said.
‘No way, Fritz, not until I’m ready to go.’
‘How did I know you were going to say that?’ The German winced as if something he’d eaten had repeated on him. ‘I thought you Americans had more sense. You have a gun pointed at your head and still you are full of kuhscheiße.’
‘It’s not going to look very good you killing an American tourist.’
The bigger Nazi whacked him across the top of his head again with the pistol although not hard enough to put him out.
‘Who said anything about killing you?’ The other one chuckled. ‘Let me give you a little parting gift before we send you back, although you might lose your sense of humour when you look in the mirror.’ He flicked open a switchblade and the long blade glinted yellow in the light from the flame.
‘Do your worst, Shorty, with me on my knees we’re about the same height.’
The bigger Nazi grabbed his arms while Shorty snatched a handful of his hair. Pulling his head forward, Shorty placed the point of the blade in the soft skin under his left eye. ‘A little reconstructive surgery. After I am finished, not even your mother will recognise you.’
The voice came out of the dark. It was American and loud and he recognised a New York accent. The Germans wheeled around in surprise.
‘Do you really want to do that, you dumbfuck, eh?’
Unsure of his next move, Shorty paused but didn’t remove the knife from Ben’s eye. ‘Mind your own business and go away. You don’t want any trouble.’ And he turned to his colleague ‘Was ist das wort, dumbfuck?’
His colleague shook his head.
‘Funny, some people think “Trouble” is my middle name.’ The man emerged from the shadows. He was big and moved with the assurance of somebody who was used to handling difficult situations. He was one of the noisy Americans from the club, all dressed in lurid, open-necked tropical shirts with matching flamboyant pants.
Although he was concerned the German might decide to stick him anyway, the man’s intervention lifted his hopes.
‘Look, I’ve no worries if you guys have a difference of opinion and need to sort it out,’ the American said laconically. ‘But I’ve got to help out a fellow citizen, you understand?’ He looked beyond Shorty, who swung around to see one of the American’s colleagues slip a wire over his partner’s neck and pull it tight while his compatriot relieved him of his pistol.
Shorty swung back to face the American, who seemingly oblivious of the knife, stepped forward and jabbed the German in the chest with a large fleshy forefinger. ‘You think you can stick my friend here anyway? Go ahead. Be my guest, you dumbfuck, but we’ll have to do the same to you.’
He stepped aside and looked straight at Ben like an old friend. ‘You okay, buddy, eh?’ And introduced himself. ‘Tony, Tony Paradiso and these are my friends Benny and Joey, my partners in crime.’ He smiled mirthlessly.
‘Ben Peters.’
‘Okay, Ben, what’s going down here, eh? Are these dumbfucks trying to lift your wallet, eh?’
‘Much worse.’
‘Eh?’ Paradiso glanced at one of his friends, who’d a foot on the German’s neck. ‘Who are these idiots?’
‘They’re Nazi agents.’
‘Hey, are you a spy, eh?’
‘I’m nobody.’
‘Doubt it, there are damn few innocents here. Shit, this is not good, guys. If we rough up these dumbfucks, it’s going to screw our vacation and all our plans will be shot to pieces. Capiche?’
Paradiso chuckled at his pun and shook his head in wonderment at his own wit, and Ben wondered if he might switch sides and stab him for the Germans.
‘It’s all my fault,’ he said, getting to his feet, sensing the German was losing the stomach for a fight. ‘I said something about their boss’s woman while she was dancing and they took offence. Guess I’d had too much to drink.’
Paradiso raised a hand, not regarding that a crime. ‘Not surprising. She’s one hot babe. I’ve got a problem here. If we walk away, these bastards are going to do a bit of sculpting on you
r face if you’re lucky and rip you open if you’re not. Afterwards, they’ll come for us and it’s not going to be good. Whichever way you look at it, we’re fucked.’
The American stuck his hands deep in his pockets and wandered back and forth mulling over what to do next. ‘Anyway, buddy, what are you doing here, eh? You came in with us on the same plane and went off with a sweet-looking woman.’ He laughed lewdly, imagining what they’d done together. ‘How is it all the women look great in a strange town, eh?’
‘I’m a writer. No mystery, just researching a book on Martinique.’ He was beginning to tire of his cover story.
‘Gee, you dumbfucks,’ Paradiso shouted to his men. ‘Did you hear this guy, eh? He’s a real writer.’ And he turned back to him. ‘Do you know Hemingway, eh?’
Ben laughed and they all joined in except the Germans.
‘Tell you what we’ll do, Ben.’ Paradiso gave him a hearty slap on the shoulders. ‘We’ll get you a taxi back to your place and you can keep the Kraut’s knife to sharpen your pencils.’
‘What about these guys?’ he said almost beginning to feel sorry for them.
Paradiso’s smile chilled him. ‘We’ll put them somewhere they won’t be found, at least not until we’ve finished our business here.’
31
Von Bayerstein talked a lot on the journey back to Fort Desaix, although he never discussed the altercation with Ben as if those events were not worthy of mention. They sat in the back of his limousine and the Major rode up front with the driver and, to ensure their privacy, he instructed the driver to raise the screen between driver and passengers.
The General held Natalie closer and several times brushed kisses over her cheeks and squeezed her hand. If she’d allowed him, he would probably have taken her then and there in the back of the limo and afterwards thrown her out before they reached their destination. She knew she must play him like a fisherman does a Barracuda. Keep him at a distance although not too far because he might slip the hook. Patience was important. When the target was growing tired of the struggle, reel him in close for the kill, but carefully because Barracudas are dangerous at close quarters. To give a man what he wanted too quickly would mean being discarded just as fast. The longer you made him wait, the harder it was to walk away. She would have no choice but to give him what he wanted in time, although it must fit her schedule.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, his hand coming to rest on her knee.
She gave him a practised smile. ‘Just how strange it is we met like this so far from Europe, chéri.’
‘Yes, we could have met in Paris.’
‘In different circumstances.’
‘Perhaps, although our meeting is opportune.’
She smiled again and put her hand on his as if she thought the same. ‘It would have been impossible in Paris, a Frenchwoman consorting with Germans. I’d become an enemy of the French people.’
‘They will have to get used to it once this war is over.’
‘Wars never solve anything – they’re just politics gone wrong.’ She pulled away from him, but not far enough to lessen his ardour.
He laughed heartily and his monocle, which was attached by a ribbon to a button on his jacket, popped out. ‘It is true. I like you, you have everything a man could want.’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘I meant beauty and a rare spirit.’ And he thought he might enjoy breaking it.
A coolness crept into her voice. ‘Don’t be fooled by what you see. I’m not just a dancer in a seedy nightclub. There’s much more to me.’
‘I look forward to discovering that. So you were not dancing in Paris?’ He glanced out of the window, willing the car to go faster.
She shook her head and looked down at her lap as if ashamed of what she had become. ‘This is just a means to an end.’
‘Please explain.’ His face hardened and she noticed the scar reddening.
‘I was a schoolteacher in Abbeville when your troops invaded my country. The schools were closed and my parents sent me to Paris thinking I’d be safe there. I wasn’t, of course.’
‘If I had been there, I would have saved you.’
She patted his hand and rewarded him with a smile. ‘I’m sure you would have. Some people took pity on me and they helped me get a boat to England and I lived there for a time. After your Luftwaffe had bombed London, I knew I wouldn’t be safe there either.’
He showed no emotion as he shifted in his seat to face her. ‘So how did you end up here?’ His demeanour appeared friendly, but she could imagine how quickly it could turn into an interrogation.
‘Martinique was French and the government had sent the country’s gold reserves here for safe keeping so if it was okay for the gold, it must be for me.’
He looked at her as though he thought there should be more to her answer then laughed, nodding in agreement.
‘I couldn’t find a job teaching so I ended up at the club.’ She pursed her lips as though it were a matter of fate.
‘So you are doing this until something better comes along?’
‘I think I’ll try to get into America.’
‘Perhaps something better has already come along.’
Here we go, she thought, he was moving into bartering mode. You give me something I want, and I’ll give you something you need. Perhaps it was time to reel him in.
Her eyebrows were raised, questioning, and he blustered as if his mouth had lost control. He cleared his throat. ‘All I meant was it is very fortunate our paths have crossed.’
Okay, give him some slack, and hope. She leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. ‘You’re very, very sweet, chéri.’ And she gripped his hand all the tighter.
The French soldiers on guard duty at The Fort snapped to exaggerated attention when they saw the General’s limousine approaching. He ignored them as the limo swept through the gates and climbed the hill into the Fort, drawing up in front of an imposing house tucked away in a corner of its grounds. And, as they alighted, he took her arm and escorted her inside.
‘Welcome to my humble quarters.’ He spread his arms.
His butler welcomed them and immediately removed a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and opened it expertly with a fat pop. And she realised this was a well-rehearsed ritual. The butler filled two glasses carefully and handed them to von Bayerstein. He took them over to Natalie, who had sat down on a sumptuous chaise longue, and perched beside her before turning, his face now serious. ‘A toast to success.’ He raised his glass and she thought he looked ridiculous yet so far harmless. She’d been in a similar situation with another German officer in Paris. Although he hadn’t been as high ranking as von Bayerstein, he was more influential as a member of the SS. He was better looking and quite charming although when he realised he wasn’t going to get what he expected he became violent and she had to deal with him.
She didn’t raise her glass. ‘I hope you don’t mean to Germany’s success in this war.’
‘Something much more important, I meant to our friendship.’ He clinked her glass and gulped it down and held the glass out for a refill before bending forward and kissing her full on the lips.
‘Chéri, you’re so forceful,’ she giggled, moving away just enough so he couldn’t repeat the action without making a concerted lunge at her.
‘Apologies, mam’selle.’ He coloured. ‘When I look at you, I forget myself.’
‘Not at all.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I like a forceful man, it’s so attractive.’ She turned away and placed her empty glass on a table. ‘In the car you talked about the French gold…’
He couldn’t recall that, but no matter, he was pleased because it was a subject he could discuss with some authority. ‘Yes?’ His question hung in the space between them.
‘I can’t imagine France’s gold reserves.’ She held her arms wide apart and looked up at the ceiling in wonderment. ‘They must take up the whole of the Fort.’
‘Not quite.’ He laughed.
‘They are considerable, worth around twelve billion francs.’
‘You are the richest man in the world, chéri.’ And her fingers fluttered in the air as though imagining his great wealth.
‘I am when I am with you.’
She ignored that. ‘I’ve only seen gold watches and necklaces and rings in a jeweller’s shop and they can be quite dazzling. But all those gold bars…’
‘It is not just ingots of gold, you know.’
‘Really?’ And she moved closer to him so he could smell her scent and feel the softness of her breath on his cheek.
‘There are pieces of jewellery, candlesticks, coins, anything you can think of made from gold. It is really like a pirate’s treasure.’
‘Imagine,’ she said and put a hand to her breast. ‘It almost makes me feel faint.’
‘Would you like me to show you my treasure?’ von Bayerstein said, getting to his feet.
32
Fort-de-France, Martinique: Friday, November 14th, 1941
The noise sounded like someone having their entrails forcibly removed. It woke Ben from a fragmented sleep in which he was being pursued by demons so terrifying that even when he opened his eyes he could still see their hideous faces. He groaned. What time was it? He recognised the sound. Had he asked Ronnie to pick him up? Why did she keep pressing on the horn of her little yellow car? He cursed her and felt guilty. Whatever, he had no intention of showing up. He had a massive hangover, a dry one caused by heavy metal. He buried his head under the pillow and hoped she would lose interest. There was no reason for him to go anywhere. There were no deadlines, no timetables and no agenda, and probably no future on the island, and anyway it would be wise not to show his face for a few days. He was attracting too much attention. In a couple of days, he had been kidnapped, almost certainly by the Resistance, and beaten up by Nazis and he wasn’t keen to find out who wanted to abuse him next. Perhaps if he spent the day in bed recovering from his wounds, his cuts and bruises would disappear so he’d no longer look like a mediocre boxer the morning after a hard fight. And he didn’t want to have to explain to Ronnie what had happened. He was beginning to question Smee’s judgement. Did he have any inclination this might happen? But for the intervention of his compatriots, he would have been on a one-way ticket to God knows where.
