by Robbie, Vic
‘The Resistance leader?’
‘No. That’s impossible.’ Von Bayerstein waved away the idea and made to leave the room.
‘Wait.’
The General stopped although he didn’t face him.
‘I might be able to help.’ He sensed he had his attention. ‘You want Raymond badly,’ he said stepping away from his guards and went over to Natalie and placed a comforting hand on her head.
Von Bayerstein turned slowly. ‘Explain.’
‘I can lead you to him.’
‘How do you propose to do that?’
‘I can get to him. I can flush him out into the open and then you can do whatever you want with him.’
Von Bayerstein gave a hollow laugh. ‘Why do you think you will succeed where my men have failed?’
‘Because he’s met me and I think he trusts me. He knows I’m on his side.’
Deep in thought, von Bayerstein nodded and glanced at Horst as though for guidance. ‘It is possible, it might work.’
‘In return, you must release Natalie and give us free passage off the island as neutrals.’
‘You are in no position to bargain, but if we could get Raymond, it might well be worth it. We could crush the Resistance on the island once and for all.’
‘I would need your word as a gentleman you’d free us,’ he persisted.
Von Bayerstein dropped his cigarette on the stone floor and stubbed it out with his foot. ‘Very well, we will play your game. We have nothing to lose. But for the time being we will arrest your American friends and Natalie will stay in the barrel. That should focus your mind on what you have to do.’ He signalled his men to let him go and, as Ben reached the door, the General added: ‘You have little time. A day or so at the most,’ he waved his hand, ‘before she is eaten alive.’
46
Mont Pelée, Martinique: Monday, November 17th, 1941
Paradiso stood outside a remote farmhouse on the lower slopes of Mount Pelée awaiting the last group of his men to arrive. He greeted each arrival with a respectful nod of the head before they were taken inside for food and drink. Escorted by members of the Resistance, they had travelled in small groups of no more than four so as not to arouse suspicion. Some came from Dominica in the north, making landfall at Grand Rivière, while others arrived from the island of St Lucia in the south. There were forty in total and none of them was armed. Each carried false papers showing they originated from Puerto Rico and he knew of every one of them. Some he had worked alongside. Those he’d not worked with came highly recommended by colleagues he trusted. Some looked what they were, hard men; others could disappear in a crowd. To a man, they were well trained and knew how to kill. He was confident they could easily take care of the Nazis in Fort Desaix, but he wasn’t so sure of the Resistance’s capabilities.
‘The volcano is more than 4,000 feet high,’ Jean-Paul, one of Raymond’s lieutenants was telling him, ‘and a killer.’
He lit a Lucky Strike while he surveyed their surroundings he supposed some might describe as ruggedly beautiful, but he wasn’t really listening.
‘Almost forty years ago it erupted,’ Jean-Paul continued undeterred, ‘and it engulfed the town of Saint Pierre, which some called the Paris of the West Indies. Around thirty thousand people were killed in a matter of minutes.’ He clicked his fingers to emphasise how quick it had been. ‘Look up there, it blew off the top of the mountain.’
He automatically followed his hand although he was more interested in the security of their present location. The dumbfuck pissed him off. A history lesson was the last thing he needed now. Jean-Paul had insisted they were safe as police and government patrols rarely ventured here, and lookouts had been posted to warn of any unwanted visitors to the area. He realised that once down in Fort-de-France they would be vulnerable if the Resistance were anything less than as efficient as they claimed to be. The whole operation turned on the element of surprise. If the Nazis got a hint of their presence, they’d be dead meat.
He didn’t like working in wide-open spaces. A city boy, he preferred the backdrop of buildings, operating in backstreets where they had plenty of cover. He had never doubted himself going into a hit, but this was different, far bigger than anything he’d ever attempted. Usually, plans were made down to the last nut and bolt and palms were greased. This was alien to him and there were too many variables and he was relying on people he didn’t know. That made him nervous.
Any doubts were pushed to the back of his mind as he forced himself to concentrate on the positives – like the gold. It was always about the gold. Had been since he first heard the blonde talking about it. He imagined holding one of the bars, caressing it like you would a woman, and now he was almost within touching distance of it. If it went well, his bosses had promised a hefty bonus. No figures mentioned. He could rely on them to be generous. He had also decided to award himself a bonus and would make sure a gold bar returned with him to New York. Thoughts of gold conjured up images of the blonde waiting for him on her bed, and it was making him feel horny. And on the periphery of his dream his wife was waiting like a bit-part player in the wings. She had set her mind on a house out in the suburbs with those goddamn white picket fences where they could raise their kids and keep them away from the evils of the streets. That wouldn’t be a problem. He would be able to afford it and she’d be happy in the suburbs while he enjoyed himself in the city.
‘Boss,’ Benny came out from the house.
He turned to face him, flicking away the cigarette butt with a thumb. ‘How’re the men doin, eh?’
‘You know how they can get,’ Benny said. ‘Unsettled. Nervous because they ain’t packin. Feelin a bit naked.’
He agreed. He didn’t like being separated from his Colt. ‘Tell the dumbfucks to relax, eat and have a drink.’ He glanced at Jean-Paul. ‘When will we get the gear, eh?’
‘It’ll be here very soon,’ Jean-Paul assured him.
‘Then we’ll get our hands on the gold.’ Benny’s eyes sparked at the prospect.
If only he knew. No one was going to see it let alone touch the stuff. Well, apart from him, of course. Their mission was a straightforward termination operation. Eradicate the Nazis to give the Resistance a clear run. The only gold his men would see would be in the fillings of their teeth when they looked in the shaving mirror. After the gold was shipped to New York or wherever was decided, the men would be paid well for their work. He would have his little souvenir and take it back to the blonde and lay it between her massive breasts while he fucked her.
Raised voices and the laughter of his men enjoying a joke emanated from the farmhouse. He chuckled to himself. The Nazis had no idea what was coming their way.
47
Fort-de-France, Martinique: Monday, November 17th, 1941
Horst and two others escorted Ben back to the main gate and, as they walked down, two more men followed them in a crawling black Citroen.
‘Do not try to make a run for it,’ Horst warned him with a sneer. ‘You would be killed before you got off the island and my colleagues,’ he gestured with a backwards nod, ‘will track your every move.’
Ben glanced at the car with a sense of foreboding.
‘How are you going to draw Raymond out of his lair?’ Horst asked.
‘I have a plan,’ he lied, wondering what his first move would be. He didn’t want to deliver Raymond on a plate to the Nazis, but he’d do everything possible to gain Natalie’s release. It was a forlorn hope. And he didn’t believe he could outwit the Resistance leader who had evaded the Nazis and the island’s secret police for so long.
While everything inside the Fort appeared dark and brooding, the day outside shone bright with promise. Below was the beautiful blue of the bay and it was as though he’d stepped out of a nightmare into a different world. Never before had he so welcomed the breeze on his face and tasted the freshness of the air. He walked down the slope and turned a corner putting him out of sight of the Fort’s sentries, and an over
whelming urge to flee overcame him and he almost broke into a run.
A car cruised alongside. ‘Bonjou, are you going my way?’ Ronnie leant over the passenger seat and smiled up at him. ‘I’m cheaper than a taxi.’
‘What kept you?’ He grabbed the door handle, yanked it open and jumped in. ‘Get out of here as fast as you can.’
‘Pa ni pwoblèm, no problem.’ She grinned and stamped on the accelerator and the little car lurched forward and when she came to a junction she drove straight through without looking left or right.
‘Why did they release you?’ she asked, turning to look at him and smiling conspiratorially as if he’d a secret to share. ‘Where’s Natalie?’
She saw the answer in his face, and she knew it wasn’t good. Her voice dropped. ‘Where to?’
‘Just drive, until I work something out.’
She flashed him a quizzical look. ‘Anything I can help with?’
‘Don’t know,’ he said and adjusted her rearview mirror to check if they were being followed. There was no sign of the black Citroen. ‘The Nazis are holding Natalie and she’ll die within the next 24 hours unless I can get her out.’
He watched her countenance change from concern to fear and finally to tears as he recounted recent events. ‘Those bastards, how could they do that?’ She bit her bottom lip and placed a comforting hand on his arm.
He couldn’t answer, shaking his head and feeling an almost uncontrollable anger and frustration. Every minute brought her closer to a horrible death.
‘We must be able to do something to help her?’ Her eyes were wide and desperation spread across her face. And her knuckles were white as her grip tightened on the steering wheel.
‘Earlier you said you knew nothing about the Resistance,’ he said, and she flashed him a warning look. ‘I met Raymond and he seemed a decent person. Surely he could do something to help?’
‘I doubt he‘d risk his people for one person,’ she said. ‘This is war and there have to be sacrifices.’
‘Whatever happens, the Nazis will kill Natalie, even if she does gets free of that damn barrel.’ He threw back his head and exhaled noisily. ‘And they’ll certainly kill me before I can leave the island. There’s no escape, but I’m not giving up.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘You know a lot of people on the island. Can you let it be known what’s happening to Natalie and that I’d like to meet Raymond again. It’s a longshot, but I’ll try anything.’
He looked in the rearview mirror again – the black Citroen was about a hundred yards back.
‘I–I–don’t know.’ She shook her head and looked defeated. ‘I don’t know where these people are, and when you were kidnapped, you said they took you to Dominica.’
‘I can’t think of anyone else I can go to.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not worried about myself. But Natalie shouldn’t have to go through this.’ And he shivered at the thought of insects making their way into his body.
‘Okay, I’ll try.’ She slowed the car down and turned to face him. ‘I can’t promise it’ll work, though. I’ll speak to some people who might be able to reach the Resistance.’ She shook her head. ‘If this doesn’t work then … then Natalie is lost.’
‘I’ll come with you?’
‘No, no, I’ll drop you off at your hotel and you can wait there for me. It could take a couple of hours at least to contact them. Then maybe…’ Her words faded away.
On the drive back to the hotel, they spoke no more. He ran through his options, no matter how outlandish. And he kept coming up with the same answer. He glanced at Ronnie, who was biting her bottom lip as she always did when she was concentrating.
What he needed more than anything was a stiff drink and he was disappointed the hotel’s terrace bar was closed and returned to reception. ‘I’m in desperate need of a drink,’ he told the bored receptionist, employing what he thought was his most appealing smile. ‘Can you help me?’
‘The bar’s closed,’ she said and resumed her interest in the paperwork before her.
‘Please,’ he pleaded and the thought of not having a drink made him want one all the more.
She sighed, realising he wasn’t going away, clicked her tongue and picked up the phone and after some time muttered some words into it.
‘Go to the bar,’ she said and shooed him away with an outstretched arm. ‘Go.’
Dutifully, he made his way out to the terrace and the barman, who looked as if he had just been awoken from a deep sleep, glared at him.
‘Scotch, please.’
The man disappeared and returned minutes later with a bottle, perhaps saving himself from being disturbed again, a bucket of ice and jug of water and banged it down on the table before him. Ben poured half a glass and took a large gulp, letting it warm him all the way down. Perfect, he thought to himself, and then he noticed the black Citroen with two men in the front seat had pulled into the car park.
~
Back in his room, Ben showered and changed his clothes still smelling of the cell at the Fort. He sought out the map and the pistol he had received from Natalie. He studied the map for several minutes, identifying the areas where they’d been held and the courtyard, but there was no location for the gold or where the Nazis were billeted. The gun was loaded and, looking along its barrel, he took aim at a vase of flowers. He stuck it in his waistband and folded the map and put it in a pocket. Without help, it would be impossible to rescue Natalie. He wouldn’t be able to get past the gates and even if he did he couldn’t move around inside the Fort without being detected.
At first, he thought Natalie’s accusations were a fiction to convince von Bayerstein to free her. Now he wondered if there was an element of truth in what she said. She obviously knew he was on a mission. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have met in the forest. Did she believe it was different to the one Smee had sent him on? Admiral Robert? Was that why she’d given him the map and the pistol? And how did she know about the photographer taking a picture of Durant shaking his hand at the Rockefeller Center? Was there a reason why Smee had introduced him to Durant?
48
Brooklyn, New York: Monday, November 17th, 1941
The address Durant had been given by an anonymous caller was a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, which from the outside appeared to be empty. He stood on the sidewalk, studying the big windows naked of drapes and the flaking paintwork, and it gave out the sour smell of neglect. He glanced down the street either side of the building. It looked like an ordinary weekday morning. There was no one lurking like they shouldn’t be there, apart from him. Sighing, he climbed the steps and knocked on the door and its coloured glass inserts rattled. He wondered why there was all this cloak and dagger nonsense in the intelligence business. He had never met Steegan in a normal environment like a conventional office. Every time he chose different, obscure locations, some of which had been positively weird as though he were playing a game that dictated every meeting place had to be more bizarre than the one before.
No answer.
He knocked again, harder this time, wondering if he’d got the right address. This was hardly in Steegan’s class. The glass rattled again. There was no movement or noise from within. He stepped back and looked up at the windows. He decided he would give it one more go and if no one answered, he would get the hell out of there. He raised his fist to knock again when a voice from behind said: ‘Ah, there you are, we’ve been waiting for you.’
A young man carrying what appeared to be a bag of bagels said: ‘You’ve come for the interview.’ He handed over the bagels to Durant, brushed past him, pulled out a key ring from his pocket, and opened the door. With his foot, he pushed away a pile of mail that had accumulated on the mat and ordered: ‘Follow me.’
Still carrying the bagels, he followed the man up a flight of stairs, through an archway and into a large room looking out over the street. The only piece of furniture in the room was a straight-backed wooden chair and, after retrieving his bagels,
the young man pointed towards it. ‘Sit.’
Voices from what sounded like several people rose and fell from an adjoining room. He waited about fifteen minutes before the door opened and the young man looked in and seemed surprised he was still sitting there. The door closed and almost immediately opened again and Steegan walked into the room.
‘What the–’ he started.
Steegan stopped him with both hands raised and his palms facing him. ‘No names, walls have ears.’
‘What here?’
‘Yes even here. If the British can tap into Nazi conversations in Europe, anything is possible. And as sure as the Yankees are going to win the World Series, they know what we’re doing, so somebody’s going to be listening.’
‘It’s not radio…’
Steegan put a finger to his lips. ‘Sssh. No names, no place names, nothing.’
There had been no recent contact with his Senator and he was now beginning to worry why. The Senator was his one point of contact and without his support he would be on his own. The other committee members, who were privy to this secret, would disappear back down their rat holes. That left him and Steegan, but on whose side was he?
Pacing up and down, Steegan glanced out of the window several times before coming back to the centre of the room. He studied him carefully. ‘Can you stop it?’ he whispered in something akin to a death rattle and at the same instant an outburst of laughter from the adjoining room seemed to be mocking them.
‘What?’ He was confused but Steegan just stared at him. ‘Why?’ He was pleased with how smoothly the operation was progressing. Raymond was enthusiastic because he saw this as his one chance of overthrowing the Vichy administration and returning Martinique to the Free French. And even if it weren’t official, an unofficial operation sanctioned by American sources was better than nothing. It provided much-needed firepower and more importantly sent out a message to the people on the island they had America’s backing. The Senator was also enthusiastic even if a great number of people in government and the services, as well as those out in the country, would be opposed to the project. Once the Germans were defeated, the Senator was convinced he would be acclaimed as a national hero for having had the foresight to mastermind this brave and dangerous mission.
