by Vic Robbie
‘We’ve arranged one of our best rooms with a view of the ocean for your stay here and we hope you’ll have a pleasant time.’
Alena went weak at the knees and stumbled as if in a faint and he caught her elbow.
‘Some water, please, for my wife,’ he asked the woman at reception. ‘We’ve had a long and challenging journey.’
The spacious room would have been perfect if they’d time to enjoy it with a king-size double bed and in the far corner a couch and coffee table and a small writing desk. Double doors opened out onto a balcony overlooking the park and with a view of the ocean. A door led to a smaller room with a single bed and he dropped his bag there. ‘This will be perfect for me,’ he said and hoped she’d hear the disappointment in his voice.
She returned an apologetic smile. ‘I must have a bath, I feel filthy,’ she apologised, ‘and I must get Freddie to bed, he’s so tired he’ll sleep forever.’
He changed his shirt and jacket, gave his face a hand wash and flattened his hair. ‘I’ll go downstairs and scout around, it’ll give you time to freshen up. Keep the door locked and whatever you do don’t open it to anyone. Good night, Freddie.’
He took the stairs so he could check out the possible exit routes if they had to make a run for it and as he descended he heard the tinkling of a piano and a murmur of voices. He stopped on the mezzanine floor, which afforded a view of the lobby, and scanned the faces of those waiting there, but he wasn’t sure just who he was looking for.
As he descended to the lobby, someone behind him cleared his throat.
‘Mr Peters, if I may, Mr Peters?’
He started and wheeled in fright at the mention of his name.
The commissionaire opened his arms apologetically. ‘I’m sorry to bother you with this,’ he said. ‘It’s your car...’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s still right outside the entrance and it’s, it’s...’ His voice trailed off unsure how to put it.
Ben laughed. ‘I understand, don’t worry I’ll move it.’
The commissionaire looked relieved and smiled.
‘It’s a very valuable car so I must put it somewhere safe.’
‘Don’t worry, sir,’ the commissionaire replied. ‘We can put it somewhere no one will see it and I’ll personally make sure it’s secure.’
He crossed the lobby following the sounds of music drawing him into the piano bar and as soon as he entered he felt the whole of the room’s eyes on him. It was long and narrow with tables and chairs down both sides and an aisle up the middle leading to the carved wooden bar stretching the width of the room. A man in a tuxedo picked out notes on a grand piano while a tall blonde in a long dress and glass in hand leant over him. The clientele was mainly male and conspiracy crackled in the air with cliques sitting together and talking in hushed voices. There had been raucous laughter, yet as soon as he entered it fell silent and he knew they were watching as he made his way to the bar. He ordered a Scottish malt and the barman, probably taking pity on his dishevelled appearance, poured an extra large one and served up a glass jug of water with a small bowl of ice.
‘What’s happening here?’ he asked the barman.
‘Just the Germans celebrating again,’ he grimaced and shrugged. ‘Yesterday it was champagne because they’d invaded Paris. Today they’ve driven British and Canadian troops out of Cherbourg, Brest and St Malo.’
The barman shrugged again and gave the impression he would have spat on the counter if he could get away with it.
He found an unoccupied table in a corner beside the bar and by now the others weren’t interested in him anymore and from where he sat he could see the whole room and anyone entering. The Scotch was an Ardbeg, one of the peaty malts from the Isle of Islay and one of the strongest, retaining the maximum flavour. Adding a touch of water to open it up and help it to breathe so it released the taste and aroma, it turned cloudy and he let it settle before raising it to his lips. The first sip caught the back of his throat making him cough and it burned all the way down and from then on it was liquid gold.
He remembered Cooper’s note and fished it out of his pocket. In an extravagant scrawl, Cooper welcomed them to Portugal suggesting they meet at 10 am tomorrow in the lobby.
Under his breath, he cursed Bernay for getting him involved in his madcap scheme. Before all this, his life had been relatively straightforward. Do his job at the bank and in his own time explore the delights of Paris and write in his yellow notebooks. Now he was lurking about hotel lobbies playing spies and facing danger at every turn. There again it wasn’t all bad, he raised his glass in a silent toast. Bernay had introduced him to Alena and his priority was to get her and Freddie over to England. Escaping Portugal could prove to be the most dangerous part of this affair.
62
ALENA opened the door to the hotel room after several minutes of his soft, but insistent, tapping. Wearing a white towelling robe and a broad, confident smile, she’d wrapped a towel around her head and her skin glowed.
‘I won’t be long,’ she said softly and returned to the bathroom closing the door behind her with a click.
He wandered over to the window and opened the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony. All he wanted was to sleep, a long and sound sleep without dreams. Although he felt more tired than he’d ever been in his life, he found the night air and the scent of the ocean invigorating. The more he breathed in, the higher it seemed to lift him. From the balcony, he could see the lights of the casino sparkling in the park’s fountains and several miles away the fishing harbour of Cascais. To his left, the black of the ocean with here and there a lone light twinkling and bobbing on the sway. The sounds of traffic on the Avenida Marginal and the occasional honking of horns drifted up on the warm breeze and he heard voices and laughter and music far away.
On returning to the bedroom, the bathroom door remained shut and he decided to get into his room and just collapse on the bed and welcome oblivion. As he put his hand on the doorknob, he heard Alena come back into the room and she walked towards him smiling and her eyes glinted jade green in the diffused light. She’d dispensed with the towel around her head and her damp hair looked darker and was tousled around her face.
‘Freddie’s in there, please don’t disturb him,’ she said her smile growing wider, ‘he needs his sleep.’
He looked around wondering where he’d sleep.
‘Anyway, it would seem strange to the chambermaid in the morning if a husband and wife were sleeping in different rooms.’
He couldn’t move. Those eyes mesmerised him. She loosened the robe and let it slip to the ground. Stepping out of the garment, she walked over to him, her hands reaching around his neck and pulling him close so he felt her softness and smelled a hint of Chanel. He traced the outline of those high cheekbones and the dimple like a perfect scar with his thumbs.
‘Thank you, Ben,’ her voice was as smooth as warm honey, ‘for all you’ve done for us.’
Her lips appeared swollen and slightly parted and he put an arm around her waist and with the other pulled aside her hair. Kissing the silk of her neck, he felt her relax into his arms as if this was the first time for a long time she could give herself completely. And she lifted her head until those green eyes were inches from his and her mouth reeled him in.
She reached up pulling him closer, but he stopped her, pushing her away and holding her at arm’s length. Appreciating her beauty, he knew this was what he’d wanted from the moment they’d first met in Bernay’s office.
‘You don’t have to do this, Alena.’
‘Oh, I know,’ she chuckled and flung her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. The force of her passion pushed him against the wall and she pinned him there, kissing and nibbling at his mouth and his ears with surprising intensity. Her eyes were glazed, and a kink of blonde hair hung enticingly over an eye like a half-open curtain inviting him to explore what lay behind. With a whimper, she again forced her mouth on his, her scen
t filling his head and he felt he was drifting as in a dream. Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, she pulled at them until she stripped him of it. Her mouth moved on down his chin and the vulnerable softness of his neck to his bare chest, teasing his nipples with her teeth. Her nails dug into his skin as his hands ran over her curves, down over her waist and the ripeness of her buttocks and he pulled her into him so her pelvis felt his hardness.
She pushed back against his body and, unbalanced and giggling, they toppled over onto the bed.
63
THE girl kept falling against him, leaning over on her ridiculously high heels and losing her balance. Rafe Cooper had been attracted to her by her luxuriant black hair stretching halfway down her backless dress and an ample cleavage escaping from the sides of her halter-top so she always had to rearrange herself.
He found it hard enough to insert his key in the lock of his apartment when drink had not been taken, but it had been, and copious amounts, and many varieties. Tomorrow he would dedicate himself to his work. The woman and her son and the platinum would be safe with him and they would be looked after with an efficiency only he knew he was capable of. His motto in life was to never refuse a drink or sex and tonight was for other delights. Life was too short for anything else.
‘Stand still,’ he ordered the girl in Portuguese because she spoke no English, ‘for God’s sake.’
The girl giggled and fell against him giving him a sloppy wet kiss. At the third attempt, he inserted the key and heard the click and the door swung open and they both almost fell in. He reached for the light switch and nothing happened.
‘Oh, no, not another bloody power cut,’ he said and the girl just giggled and he added in Portuguese. ‘Watch your step in the dark.’
He saw the yellow flash before he heard a popping sound and the girl flew backwards against a wall and slid into a sitting position with one arm above her head and a ragged hole in her forehead.
He screwed up his eyes to accustom them to the dark and just made out someone sitting in his favourite armchair facing the door.
‘Hello?’ he asked with surprising coolness. ‘Who are you?’
The intruder made no response.
‘What do you want?’
The man lit a candle and the flickering light glinted off his steel-rimmed spectacles. He sat legs crossed with the pistol in his lap and it pointed straight at him.
‘I’m your contact from head office and you’re rather late,’ the intruder said with the disappointment of an unhappy parent.
‘Oh, good, pleased to meet you.’ Rafe now remembered the Northern accent on the telephone before looking again at the girl to convince him it had really happened. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘This operation’s on a need-to-know only basis. The fewer who know about this, the better.’
‘For God’s sake man, she doesn’t know anything about it. I met her only tonight.’
‘Can’t be too careful.’ The intruder lifted a glass taking a sip of Rafe’s favourite vodka. ‘There are more German spies here than fleas on a badger’s arse.’
Rafe blustered. ‘I’ve got everything under control. Tomorrow we’ll transfer the platinum from the Bentley and take it down to the waterfront on Monday in time to meet the plane.’
‘Good, it sounds as if you’ve thought of everything.’
Rafe thought so, too. He was pleased with his planning.
‘Well, almost...’
‘Oh?’
He made to step closer to the man, but the pistol moved in his hand and he thought better of it.
‘Your German pals in cosy Estoril may be top rate in your eyes, the problem is we’re going to have to deal with another Kraut, who’s an altogether different kettle of fish.’
‘Who?’
‘He’s called Ludwig Weber and he’s a right mean bastard. They say he’s working on orders from the very top. They want this woman and kid badly. I don’t know whether he’s going to kill them or take them back to Germany. She has a big secret the Krauts don’t want to get out.’
‘So when’s he due?’ He tried to work out how it might alter his plans.
‘He’s here already with a sidekick and they’ll stop at nothing to get the woman and child.’
Rafe felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘Peters and the woman are probably already at the Palácio. I left a note saying I’d see them in the lobby at ten tomorrow.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the man. ‘That’s a shame. The Krauts are probably planning right now to pick them up.’
He gave out a groan and felt his knees weakening.
‘Where’s the car?’
‘What?’
‘The car, man, with the platinum?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose it’s in the hotel car park.’
The man exhaled noisily as if it wasn’t the answer he expected. ‘Let’s hope for your sake we haven’t lost everything.’
He hadn’t known about this other German and it made things much more difficult.
‘Keys?’
He made to throw his apartment keys to the man.
‘No, not these. You told me about the lock-up where we’ll be able to switch the platinum. Let me have those.’
He reached into his pocket and then hesitated.
‘Why? This is my shout, I’m supposed to be in charge.’
‘Of course you are, I was thinking I could go on ahead and set it up while you’re picking up Peters and the car.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Rafe and threw him the keys, which the man caught expertly with his left hand.
‘Always was a good slip fielder,’ he said.
Rafe suddenly sparked into action and turned, opening the door to the apartment.
‘I’d better get over to the hotel and tell them they’re in danger,’ he said stepping out into the stairwell.
The man was caught off guard and sprang to his feet and followed him out of the door. ‘Wait for me,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Rafe didn’t realise how close the man was behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and a push. Suddenly, he was flying forward down the long flight of stone steps and he clawed at the air with his hands in an attempt to arrest his fall. He landed with a sickening thump at the bottom, his head twisted in an obscene fashion, and the man ran down the steps and knelt beside him to check he was dead and walked away whistling.
64
GROUPS of guests and couples milled about the hotel lobby, some anxious to be seen and others desperate not to be. And around the fringes several individuals lurked, any one of whom could have been Rafe Cooper.
After a good night’s sleep and the luxury of having breakfast served in their room, he felt ready to face the day with renewed optimism. Alena had been determined to get Freddie to eat his meal, but he was more interested in the pasteis de nata, the local delicacy of small custard tarts. And he kept asking when he could play on the beach.
Although anxious to get things moving, Ben couldn’t approach anyone and ask them if they were a British agent. He bided his time surveying the scene from the mezzanine before summoning up enough courage to go down to the lobby. Standing by a pillar that protected his back, he had a good view enabling him to size up anyone approaching him. At the back of the lobby, a man in an ordinary grey suit polished his steel-rimmed spectacles as if it was the most important thing he had to do all day. When he finished, he replaced them and glanced up and on seeing Ben gave him a half wave of recognition.
He walked over.
‘Mr Peters? Ben,’ the man greeted him and pumped his hand. ‘Jolly glad you made it. And the lady and the boy?’
‘Yes, all in one piece just about,’ he said. ‘You must be Rafe Cooper?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ said the man. ‘My name’s Herbert Brown, Rafe’s colleague. He asked me to take it from here.’
Neither of them made eye contact so intent were they on scanning the lobby for possible dangers although n
o one gave any sign of being at all interested in them.
‘And the plat – ahem – car?’ Brown blurted out seemingly not at all bothered about who might overhear their conversation.
He laughed. ‘A bit battered, but it’s all there in one piece more or less.’
Brown nodded with a twisted grin understanding his meaning. ‘Good, marvellous. Now we must move fast. The Nazis have been tracking you from Paris and they are here in Estoril. I don’t know where although they may well be in the lobby right now. Where’s the car?’
The commissionaire had been true to his word. Embarrassed at having the Bentley on display, he’d driven it around to the back entrance and parked it out of sight behind a hedge.
‘Did you lose any of the platinum en route?’ Brown asked as they climbed into the car.
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Perfect, that’s perfect.’
He started up the engine and as they moved out of the car park, he noticed the rattling and banging and myriad other noises seemed to be worse than ever.
‘Which way?’ he asked.
Brown hesitated. ‘Just a minute, let me get my bearings.’
It was only a short drive to the garage, which was perfectly positioned for what they were about to do. Set in a secluded lane, it wasn’t overlooked by any other properties. It was deserted as they drove up and Brown got the double doors open after much fumbling with his keys and Ben manoeuvred the car in and up onto the ramp.
Before he’d got his door open, Brown raised the ramp and bent under the car inspecting its underside, whistling in appreciation at what he saw. ‘Marvellous, marvellous. They did a good job, it looks as if it’s all here.’
The tone of Brown’s voice disturbed him. ‘Tell me,’ he asked, ‘I understand why you want the bullion, but why are you and the Jerries fighting over Alena and Freddie?’
Brown didn’t respond. He’d managed to open one of the bags and extricate an ingot of pure platinum and stared at it with such intensity as though nothing else mattered.
