Paradise Gold: The Mafia and Nazis battle for the biggest prize of World War II (Ben Peters Thriller series Book 2)

by Robbie, Vic

  ‘I checked you out,’ she giggled and held a hand to her mouth as if sharing a great secret. ‘All those books you were supposed to have written…’ She shook her head. ‘If I can find out so can the Nazis.’

  A lazy yawn suggested it didn’t bother him.

  ‘I’m on your side,’ she breathed. ‘Anything you tell me is safe with me.’

  He removed his hand and leant back in the chair. ‘Not if the Nazis arrest you and interrogate you. They’d soon know everything I told you. It’s better you don’t know anything about this.’ And he was thinking after this trip he would sever all connections with her to keep her safe.

  Disappointment flashed in her eyes. ‘I think you’ve just answered my question.’

  He exhaled and wondered what she thought was the truth when he didn’t have any idea himself.

  On the drive back, she was more subdued, whether she was concentrating harder because of the drink or was dwelling on the moment when he believed their hearts touched. They had been driving for several miles in silence when her eyes widened and she whispered: ‘I think we’re being followed. A car has been behind us for the whole journey. It lets others pass, but it’s keeping pace with us, probably about a hundred metres back.’

  To get a better look, he twisted in his seat. A truck was following them with a family packed into the tiny cabin and he could just make out, further back, a large black Citroen with two occupants. He watched it for several minutes and it seemed content to stay behind the truck.

  ‘I think you may be right,’ he said, facing the front. ‘I wonder who they are?’

  ‘Nazis,’ she spat out the word.

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘I can almost smell them from here.’

  He looked at her, needing more proof.

  ‘They’re using one of the secret police’s cars.’

  There were no turn-offs, nowhere to divert down to check if they were being followed, although he didn’t want to be caught in some quiet country lane. They might be safer with people around them. Perhaps she was wrong and it was just a car making its way to the other side of the island. But now, having met Natalie, his paranoia was increasing at every turn and his head felt like it was being gripped in a vice. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could keep an eye on them. ‘They’re still there,’ he confirmed.

  Ronnie clenched her teeth and put her head down and the car began to pick up speed and he heard every bolt in its frame straining. He put a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t. The last thing we want is to break down out here. We’re not going to be able to outrun them anyway.’

  As she eased her foot off the accelerator, the truck pulled alongside with a blast of its horn and lurched past them, swaying dangerously. And the family shouted and jeered at them as some of them hung out of windows giving them an assortment of finger signs. He glanced back at their pursuers, but they didn’t close the gap and he was sure they were waiting for their chance to pounce. They would be armed and he swore at his stupidity for leaving the pistol at the bottom of a drawer in the hotel. Still the Nazis didn’t make their move and he wondered were they just following them or would they strike before they reached the next town. As they turned into a long sweeping right-hand bend and were least expecting a move, their pursuers accelerated and brought their sedan right up onto their fenders and he could see the occupants and their brutal faces.

  ‘Can’t you go any faster?’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’

  The Citroen swung out and drew alongside with the passenger signalling they should pull over.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t slow down,’ he said. ‘They want us to stop. If we do, we’ll be defenceless.’

  She hunched over the wheel trying to coax some more speed out of her car and it began to shake and rattle with the effort. ‘It’s no use,’ she shouted and sounded defeated. ‘I can’t get any more out of this.’

  He leant over and pushed the steering wheel to the left. The car wobbled, almost toppling over, and veered across the middle of the road. The two cars came together with a tearing and screeching of metal, and he saw the alarmed look on the face of one of their pursuers. The collision pushed the Citroen off the road and it scraped along a bank – the grass and shrubbery slowing it – and it fell behind.

  ‘Aha.’ She waved a triumphant fist. ‘It worked.’

  It was a short-lived success. The Citroen was back on the road and reeling them in. If they could stay ahead, they might be safe once they reached the next town a couple of miles away. At the end of another straight, they entered a long bend, this time moving left.

  ‘Merde.’ She stood on the brakes.

  Another Citroen was parked across the road, not allowing them any space to pass.

  ‘Look out, we’re going to hit it.’ And he raised an arm to protect his head.

  ‘I’m trying, I’m trying.’ Ronnie shouted, terror straining her voice, and the car shuddered and complained as the brakes bit hard, sending them into a long skid on the road that dust had made treacherous as ice. He closed his eyes, but the impact never came and when he opened them he realised they’d stopped just feet from the parked car. Any relief lasted only seconds as the pursuing car ploughed into the back of theirs, propelling Ronnie forward crashing her forehead onto the steering wheel.

  He was shaking uncontrollably as he reached over to Ronnie and when he touched her she slumped down to her side with her head coming to rest on the window.

  Someone pulled open his door, and Horst’s head ducked into the car. ‘We meet again, Herr Peters.’

  38

  Paradiso met his men in the lobby of their hotel, and they stared at him in thinly disguised amazement. He wore a Panama on the back of his head and the loudest shirt they had probably ever seen. He completed the ensemble with tight, striped shorts showing off the unhealthy whiteness of his legs, and leather sandals. Joey almost said what he was thinking and Benny, gauging the mood, laid a restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder.

  ‘What, eh?’ Paradiso queried as his men stood open-mouthed and spread his arms wide.

  ‘It’s just you look as if–’ Benny said, trying to suppress a creeping mirth that was threatening to engulf him ‘–you’re on vacation’.

  ‘What do you think this is, you dumbfuck, eh?’ He put down the small shoulder bag. ‘Remember, it’s our cover.’ And he shook his head as if this was something he would sort out at a more opportune time. ‘We’re goin fishin, boys.’ He attempted a note of gaiety in his voice and looked around to see if anyone was listening. ‘We’re goin to spend the day at sea, have a few beers and catch some big ones.’

  ‘But, boss–’ Joey interrupted.

  ‘Shaddup, it’ll do you good, blow some of the fuckin cobwebs out of your goddamn head.’ He picked up his bag and strode past them and out into the morning sunshine where the limo was waiting for them.

  Once in the limousine, Joey couldn’t leave it alone. ‘So where are we goin for this fishin, boss?’

  ‘Since when did you care a fuck about where we’re goin, eh? If I told you, it’d only confuse you.’

  Benny joined in on the joke with a hesitant laugh and Joey’s eyes dropped, realising when the boss was in this kind of mood it was better to give him a wide berth.

  Paradiso shook his head and to keep him onside added: ‘We’re goin to the north of the island, Rivière, which used to be a centre of smugglin and I’m told the fishin is great.’

  Worried he had upset his boss, Joey nodded with false enthusiasm. Paradiso wasn’t watching, instead looking out his window. ‘I’m told we’ll land a big fish there,’ he said in an almost dreamy voice.

  ‘Never did like fishin,’ Joey grumbled quietly. ‘Pointless, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Your fuckin concerns don’t fuckin concern me. What do you think you’re here for, eh? Anybody would think you were on a fuckin vacation.’

  He lit a cigarette and opened his window and the smoke blew back in his face, giving him a
double hit of nicotine. Joey was a klutz, but a good soldati and he knew how to kill. Could shoot a man in front of his wife and kids and it meant nothing to him, like taking a piss. He had never liked working with associates, people like Durant, it made him nervous. You couldn’t trust them; they didn’t have the same goals, the same culture. If it were up to him, he would take him back to Long Island and finish the job, but for the time being his bosses thought otherwise. There was probably a bigger picture here and perhaps it was better for him if he didn’t know the whole story. As someone once said: ‘They can’t get you for somethin you don’t know.’

  Neither Benny nor Joey dared to interrupt his thoughts for the rest of the journey. When they came down the narrow winding road into Rivière a man of indeterminate age, with a stubbly grey beard and a small fisherman’s cap perched on the side of his head, greeted them.

  ‘I’m Louis,’ the fisherman introduced himself, extending a hand that Paradiso pointedly ignored. Jeez, the man smelled of fish and he would never be able to get it off his hands.

  ‘The boat’s ready for you,’ Louis said, pointing at a craft with a multi-coloured hull. ‘Got fishin rods, some beer and food. We’re goin to be out there for some time.’ And he pointed across the water as if they hadn’t noticed the ocean.

  Joey made himself useful by helping Louis cast off and the boat, trailing a stream of black smoke, made steady progress out into deeper waters. Once land was almost out of sight, Louis shouted ‘This’ll do us’ as he dropped anchor and busied himself distributing rods to his passengers, ensuring there was plenty of bait.

  Paradiso grabbed himself a beer from the icebox and went for’ard, finding a spot where he could sit and feel the warmth from the deck and leant his back against the wheelhouse. He shouted over his shoulder. ‘You dumbfucks better do some fishin or somethin otherwise you’re goin to get fuckin bored out here. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.’

  Louis came up to check he had everything he needed and Paradiso, forced to make some small talk, said: ‘Quiet out here, very peaceful.’

  ‘Yeah, out here I feel like a free man,’ Louis said. ‘Back there on the island –’ he gestured over his shoulder ‘– what with those Vichy bastards and the Nazis, I’m a prisoner.’ Louis squinted in the sunshine as he studied him. ‘Be careful now.’

  His hand went automatically to his gun harness that he wasn’t wearing. ‘Whadya mean, eh?’

  ‘Don’t be fooled if it feels quite cool out here. It’s the Alizé.’ He felt foolish. ‘The wind may cool your skin, but the sun’s still burning.’

  He rolled over onto his side, ending the audience and Louis wandered away leaving him alone. Jeez did the guy smell of fish. He closed his eyes and immediately she was there. The big blonde from next door. She was naked, which he supposed was okay because every time he saw her she was naked as the day she was born. The only time he saw her with clothes on was when she visited his wife. It was becoming pretty regular and he enjoyed banging her as long as he could drown out her incessant chatter. Their assignations were getting more intense than perhaps he wanted and now with hubby, the Marine, coming and going they were arranging nights away together and even once, a weekend. It was risky although it added to the excitement. She enjoyed doing something she shouldn’t be doing. He’d even thought about leaving his wife for her, but on some nights when he returned from the blonde his wife was waiting and asking for it, too. It couldn’t get any better. Why limit yourself to one when he could have both?

  ‘Hey, boss,’ Joey was saying. ‘This fishin sucks. I put down a line and I pull up a fuckin fish and then I put down another line and pull up another fuckin fish. These creatures have no fuckin brains. And what’ll I do with all this fuckin fish. There’s only so much fuckin fish you can eat.’ And he helped himself to another beer.

  ‘Probably bigger brains than you, you fuckin dumbfuck,’ he muttered under his breath.

  And so it went for the rest of the afternoon. A cloudless sky melded with the blue of the ocean and the sun was relentless. After a while, they all found a corner of the boat where they could get some shade. And, apart from getting up for a beer, they dozed in fits and starts while Louis worked endlessly repairing the gear on his boat.

  As the sun sank into the ocean, sending an orange current rippling towards them, the temperature dropped dramatically and he wished he’d brought something other than shorts. Night fell like a guillotine and he had an overwhelming feeling of being alone as an eerie silence enveloped them, broken only by the rhythmic sound of water lapping against the boat’s hull. Usually, he faced every assignment with confidence. This one worried him. He was unsure how it would turn out, although he would never admit it. He lit another cigarette to steady his nerves.

  ‘No lights,’ hissed Louis.

  He glared at him. Who did the dumbfuck think was paying him?

  ‘At this time of day sounds can carry for miles, light even farther. We don’t want any Vichy patrol boats finding us. They shoot first and ask questions later – if there’s anyone still alive.’

  He stamped out his cigarette on the wooden deck and received another look of disapproval from Louis.

  ‘We gotta listen out for boats,’ Louis warned. ‘If they’re patrol boats, we’ll hear them coming from a long way off and then we’ll have to work out from which direction. If they think we’re here, they’ll switch on their searchlights and open up with the machine guns. If they do, make sure you lie flat on the deck and stay there until I tell you we’re in the clear.’

  They heard nothing. The Alizé increased in intensity and brought with it a light mist, swirling and changing shapes so several times he was convinced he saw something. Yet when he looked again, it had disappeared.

  It came at them on the starboard side when they were least expecting it, emerging from the mist like a ghost ship. It made no sound and showed no lights and for an instant he wondered if it were really there or a trick of his already febrile imagination. The other boat was much bigger than theirs, and on deck a handful of men were clutching machine guns.

  39

  They pulled Paradiso up onto the boat, followed by Joey and Benny, and all the while the men with guns watched them carefully.

  ‘Hey, don’t ya know we’re all on the same side here, eh?’ Paradiso spread his arms and gave them his widest smile, glancing around the deck for a reception party.

  With a muffled rumble, the boat’s engines were engaged and its bow lifted out of the water as it gathered speed, rocking him back on his heels. And it made a long turn, leaving the fishing boat and Louis in its wake.

  ‘Come,’ one of the men gestured to him and when Joey and Benny tried to follow, the others, looking so nervy they might shoot if someone sneezed, barred their path.

  The sailor led him down some steps and into the boat’s main cabin where a big Martinican sat cross-legged on a large couch with his arms stretched out along the back. In contrast to his men on deck, he seemed totally relaxed and in control. Before him on a glass table was a bottle and two glasses.

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ said Raymond, who didn’t introduce himself or get up to shake his hand. It only reinforced his belief that they saw him and his men as the hired help, here to do their dirty work.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable.’ Raymond ushered him into a chair with a wave of a hand and then dismissed the other man.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘What is it, eh?’

  ‘Local rum, it’s special. Here we make it from sugar cane juice rather than molasses as you’ll get elsewhere.’ Raymond poured generous measures into the glasses. ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘I guess so, the head honcho.’

  ‘Be careful, it’s strong.’

  To tell him to be careful was the worst thing anybody could say. He would have preferred a beer, but he’d take the man’s rum and show him it was no big deal.

  ‘Let’s try it.’ He picked up the glass, studied the liquid for a second and swallowed it in one gulp a
s Raymond looked on, a broad smile creasing his face. He could feel the rum making its way through his body, burning every intestine.

  ‘Jeez.’ He coughed. ‘It sure has a kick to it,’ he gasped, his face flushing and his eyes watering.

  ‘I was going to tell you it’s a special bottle – seventy percent alcohol, that’s 140 proof to you.’ Raymond poured some more and the neck of the bottle clinked on the glass. ‘Have another.’

  This time he took it more carefully. ‘Santé.’ When in Rome etcetera, he thought, taking a sip and the liquid still burned his innards.

  ‘Are we ready to go, eh?’ he said and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He could’ve done with some ice to put out the fire in his gut, but he knew to ask for it would be admitting defeat.

  Amused at his discomfort, Raymond nodded. ‘Your men – there’s about forty of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’re all in Dominica now and will move when you’re ready.’

  ‘What about your men, eh?’

  ‘We’ve around three hundred, maybe as many as three-fifty.’

  ‘For Christsakes, is that all? We were promised more.’

  Raymond raised his hands to calm him. ‘Good men. They’ll get the job done.’

  His look glowed with a sheen of cynicism. ‘I’ve heard that before.’ They may be good and dedicated to the cause, but they were amateurs, unlike his men who knew how to kill. ‘Are they all armed, eh? I mean guns, not pitchforks.’

  Raymond ignored him. ‘We’re ready to die to win back Martinique.’

  ‘Three-fifty against a whole garrison of French soldiers, not to mention those Nazi bastards.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t like gamblin with odds like those.’

  Disappointed at his reaction, the Martinican gave him a hard stare. ‘Nothing has changed from when your people and Durant got together to plan this. We don’t need any more. This isn’t going to be a full-scale assault on the Fort.’