The Darkest Hour

by Tony Schumacher

The top deck was heavy with cigarette smoke and, aside from the rumble of the engine below, utterly silent. Koehler glanced at the faces around him, although few met his gaze.

  “I apologize for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll have you moving as soon as possible,” Koehler announced in impeccable English as he reached the HDT man, who was holding an identity card in his hands.

  “Heil Hitler!” the HDT soldier shouted so loud it caused Koehler to jump. “We’ve found this geezer, sir. He seems shifty to me, thought you should take a gander.”

  Koehler took the identity papers from the soldier and studied the picture, then the man to whom it belonged.

  The photo and papers looked in order, although the address the man was living at was given as Dartford, southeast of their location but not beyond the realm of possibility for him to be traveling on the bus. It was only when Koehler compared the photo on the card with the man once more that he saw the cause for concern.

  The man had a fresh black eye, a massive lump clearly visible behind his left ear, and dried blood on his top lip and shirt. Koehler smiled.

  “Rough night, Mr. . . .” Koehler read the papers and then looked down again. “Mr. Hunter?”

  The man glanced up to and then away from Koehler.

  “I fell over at work yesterday.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I’m a docker.”

  “It says here you are a laborer.” Koehler studied the ID card and showed it to the man.

  “I labor at the docks.”

  Koehler passed the card to Schmitt and walked away.

  “Bring him,” he said as he reached the top of the stairs.

  He knew a liar when he heard one.

  Chapter 36

  AS KOEHLER STEPPED off the bus, a German sergeant came across at a jog.

  “Sir, the police have found a body and shell casings. It looks as though there has been some sort of gunfight near a warehouse not far away.”

  “Do they know who it is who was shot?”

  “That’s just it, sir. He wasn’t shot. Apparently, he had his throat slashed.”

  Koehler turned to Schmitt and the English prisoner.

  “Take him back to Charing Cross. I’ll go to the warehouse and join you there later.”

  The sergeant drove Koehler to the warehouse. It was only five minutes away from the roadblock, and the street outside was full of police and a wagon unloading some HDT men. Koehler told the sergeant to wait and made his way toward a uniformed police inspector who was talking to some constables outside the warehouse’s sliding doors.

  As Koehler approached, he saw the glint of brass spent cartridges in the gutter and leaned down to pick one up. He was studying it as the inspector walked over and saluted.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Ernst Koehler, major, SS,” Koehler replied, still studying the cartridge.

  “Ah, sorry, sir. I’m Brady, inspector over at Wapping.” Brady flicked a casual salute, which Koehler ignored. Brady watched Koehler a moment before speaking again. “I’m not sure, sir, but I think they are out of a Thompson.”

  “You do?” Koehler replied, still looking at the shell casing.

  “Yes. I, er . . . I fired a fair few in the war myself, and these look familiar.”

  Koehler nodded. He studied the casing and smelled it before looking up and down the road.

  “Do we know what they were shooting at?”

  “There are bullet holes in the wall next to the alley over there, and, by the looks of it, although it is only a guess, I’d say they sprayed at someone running across the road.”

  “Why do you say that?” Koehler looked at the inspector, taking notice of the medal ribbons on his tunic for the first time.

  “If you look at the cobbles, sir, and the way the trail of bullets runs down the wall, I think it was long burst.” The inspector mimed firing a machine gun as he spoke, drawing it across the road and toward the alley. “I think they were shooting at someone who ran across the road from the doorway there to the alleyway over there.”

  “Did they hit them?” Koehler followed the silent trace of imaginary bullets and looked toward the alleyway, where he could see fresh brick exposed by ragged bullet holes.

  “There is some blood in the alley, but I think that belonged to the shooter, not the shot at.”

  “Why?”

  “I found a small pool behind some bins, but it is this side of the bins. I’m only guessing again, sir, but I’d wager whoever was shot at was chased into the alley where he made some sort of stand, forcing the ­people chasing to take cover. There are more casings in the alley, plus we found an empty magazine on the floor.”

  “Do you think the person being chased is still around?”

  “I doubt he would have managed to break into any of these buildings. Most of them are pretty secure to prevent theft. My men have had a good look around and we’ve not found sign of forced entry. My bet is that he got away. The alleyway opens out into another street, and beyond that, he could have gone anywhere.”

  Koehler stared at the alley for a moment, then nodded his head before turning to look at the warehouse behind him.

  “They said you had found a body. Do we know who it is?”

  The inspector produced an ID card and passed it to Koehler.

  “Upstairs, sir. Whoever it was met an awful end. He had his throat cut with a broken mug. There was still a piece in his neck when we found him.”

  Koehler looked at the inspector and then back at the card.

  “Do you know him?”

  “No, sir, never seen him before, but . . .”

  Koehler looked up.

  “But what?”

  “Well, sir, all this is just guesswork on my part.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t think these ­people were local villains, sir. I’ve worked here for a long time, and I know what it’s like, the black market and all. But this—­this is strange, sir. I think we’ve stumbled onto something completely different.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, there appear to be cells in the basement of this building, and the room where we found the dead man, it looks like it was some sort of interrogation room. It had a table with a bolt through it plus a reinforced door with a half-­boarded-­up window. Also, in the room outside, there are bunk beds, almost like a barrack room.”

  “What do you think it was, Inspector? What do you think happened here?”

  “I think this was a resistance center, and they had a prisoner here who broke out.”

  Koehler studied the inspector for a moment and then looked back down at the ID card, flicking it in his fingers before looking back up.

  “Find out who owns this building and who it was rented to. Search it from top to bottom for any clues as to who was here last night. When you’ve done that, ring me at Charing Cross.”

  The inspector saluted, and both men turned and headed in opposite directions. After a few paces, Koehler stopped, turned, and called out to the inspector, who was walking back into the warehouse.

  “Brady?” The inspector stopped and turned back to Koehler. “Have you ever been over to Charing Cross?”

  “No, sir. Why?”

  “We might have an opening available rather soon. Remind me when you call. We need to meet up for a cup of tea sometime soon.”

  Chapter 37

  “DIAMONDS?” KATE SUDDENLY realized she’d spoken too loudly and quickly looked around the tearoom before leaning in close to James Sterling.

  “Good lord, Kate, could you say it a tiny bit louder?”

  Kate’s cheeks reddened, and she took a sip of tea before collecting herself and leaning in close again.

  “Rossett has diamonds?”

  “He knows where they are, at the very least, and we need them
.” Sterling opened a silver cigarette case and offered it to Kate, who shook her head, before he took one out for himself and lit it. He leaned back from the table and took a drag, then blew the smoke extravagantly into the air.

  Kate waited for her uncle to complete his survey of the room, watching as he foppishly drummed his fingers on the table while looking at the nearby diners. She wasn’t fooled by the casual nature of his glances. She knew Sterling would be scrutinizing every face, ensuring that there was nobody close whom he didn’t recognize. She was used to this charade; she’d met him there once a week, every week, for the last two years. Same table, same old ladies dotted around.

  Sterling acted like an indulgent uncle whenever she arrived. Often they would discuss nothing but fashion or gossip about film stars, but other times she would slip him important information about what was happening at the ministry. What her bosses, and her lovers, were scheming. In turn, Sterling would nod, never make notes, and let slip details that she would then pass back to the selfsame German lovers.

  She was a double agent. The problem was, she’d been one for so long, she didn’t know whose side she was on anymore.

  Sterling took another drag and then leaned in close, as if he were about to tell her a secret about one of the girls in the typing pool. Kate leaned forward to listen, smiling and nodding, playing the part.

  “It appears that Rossett struck gold when he found the little Jew boy. The child had pockets full of gold and a diamond.”

  Kate’s eyes widened.

  “I spoke to the boy, and he told me that Rossett was going to take him to get the rest of the diamonds when he broke him out of the jail,” Sterling said.

  “So, does Rossett know where they are?”

  “I think the boy, or whoever is the guardian, has told him, as payment for getting him out.”

  “Where are they from, these diamonds?”

  “You know what those Jewish Johnnies are like. They’d have hidden all sorts of things once they knew Jerry was rounding them up. I’d imagine the boy’s parents have hidden them somewhere, and the one the boy had was some sort of down payment. What you told me about the boy being stuck in Charing Cross suggests that Rossett cocked up somewhere down the line and needed to break him out. It was just lucky for us he decided to break out our chaps while he was in there.”

  “Where are our men?” Kate asked absentmindedly, stirring a sugar cube into her tea.

  Sterling smiled and stubbed the cigarette out, even though it was only half smoked.

  “Here and there, safe enough. Most of them had only been in the country for a week or two when the Germans picked them up. How they found out about them so quickly, God only knows.” Sterling looked up from the ashtray as he spoke, right at Kate.

  She sipped her tea but didn’t flinch under the old man’s eyes. She’d played this game too long to let a look of guilt betray her. She put her cup down and picked one of the sandwiches off the plate in front of her. She remembered how her uncle James had fixed her with the same look when she was a child. She hadn’t looked away then, and she wouldn’t look away now. “So what now?” Kate asked.

  “Well, that’s where you come in, my dear. We need those diamonds; we need them very much. The money from Canada is starting to dry up as the Americans lose interest in a British resistance. The bloody Yanks are forging ties with the Germans over trade, and we are becoming an inconvenience. Every time the Germans find an American gun, it leaves Uncle Sam with a lot of explaining to do. Plus, so I hear, things aren’t going well for the government in exile in Canada. Clement bloody Attlee wants to link up with the commies and Churchill won’t hear of it. They’re more interested in fighting each other than the Germans, which means our only way of getting weapons is via the Irish, and they, naturally, aren’t too keen.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Indeed. We need those diamonds, Kate, and I hate to admit it, but your German friends have more chance of finding Rossett, and the diamonds, than we do.”

  Kate bit a tiny piece of sandwich as Sterling casually watched two uniformed German officers take a table on the far side of the room. One looked across and raised a hand, and Sterling waved back with his handkerchief, relaxed, ever the English civil servant, upper-­class establishment all the way.

  “How do we know the Germans are looking for him? They may not even know he took the boy out of Charing Cross.”

  “Koehler’s not a fool. He’ll have put two and two together.” Sterling fingered a sandwich and frowned as he spoke, folding the bread back down and leaving it on the plate.

  “If he hasn’t? I can’t tell him, it would be too dangerous,” she said.

  “Don’t you worry, they’ll be looking for Rossett soon enough. I’ve seen to that.”

  “So, you need me to let you know what the Germans know?”

  “I do. Dear girl, I want you to work your charms on those chaps of yours to find out exactly what is going on, everything they know, as soon as they know it. We need to get to Rossett and his little Jew before the Germans, and you are going to do whatever they want to make sure we do.”

  “Anything?”

  “Yes, anything. Remember, this is for your country.”

  Kate didn’t reply, but her face must have given away her thoughts, because her uncle reached across the table and touched her hand.

  “What you do is very important, Kate. We appreciate your hard work.”

  “I wonder sometimes . . .”

  “What?” Sterling squeezed her hand.

  “I’m not happy, doing what I do.”

  “My dear, none of us are happy, but this is a war.”

  “It isn’t. We lost the war, Uncle James, look around you.” Kate gestured and accidentally caught the eye of one of the German officers, who smiled at her.

  She smiled back.

  “We lost the country, but we still have the real king, we still have some of our empire, and we still have our government in Canada. They are still fighting.” Sterling was barely whispering now.

  “I don’t see them fighting now, at least not here.”

  Sterling lifted his teacup with his free hand and took a sip, then placed it carefully down.

  “A war is fought on many fronts and in many ways. ­People like me and you have to trust those above us to make the right decisions while we follow our orders. I admit, things can sometimes seem bad, but you have to remember, we aren’t just fighting for ourselves, we are fighting for the generations that will follow. America shan’t stand by forever. They’ll soon see that fascism needs to be stopped, not embraced. And when they do, you will see, our weapons supply will start up again and all over Europe ­people will start fighting back. I promise you.”

  Kate frowned. “What if they don’t? What will we do then?”

  “We will keep fighting regardless. Me, you, and anyone else who will follow, we will keep fighting.” Sterling squeezed her hand tighter still. He was smiling, looking away from the table, and she turned to follow his gaze.

  The older of the two German officers approached the table and held out a hand to Sterling, who stood up and took it.

  “Sir James, what a pleasure to meet you here.”

  “General Kruger, how wonderful to see you.” Sterling bowed his head. “Have you met my niece?”

  Kruger bowed and wetly kissed Kate’s hand in an ostentatious show of chivalry.

  “The general is awfully high up in the German-­British combined command, my dear. Maybe he can entertain you for a while; I really must dash.”

  Kate beamed a smile at the general, who, in return, bashfully held out his hands and then took the spare seat nearest to Kate at the table. Sterling stood.

  “Until next week?”

  “Until next week, Uncle,” she replied, hating herself a tiny bit more as each week went by.

  Chapter 38
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br />   KOEHLER MADE IT back to Charing Cross police station about an hour after he had left Schmitt with the prisoner.

  Once inside, he headed straight down to the interrogation rooms and, nodding to the guard standing outside, walked straight into the long thin room where twenty-­odd hours earlier he’d sat with Rossett after he had been detained outside the station.

  Less than a day and so much had changed.

  He found Schmitt and another younger, heavyset Gestapo man seated, drinking coffee, while Hunter, the man off the bus, sat staring at the table, hands neatly folded in front of him.

  Schmitt rose to meet Koehler, drawing him aside and whispering, “We’ve taken his fingerprints and someone is checking out his identity, but I’ve not started questioning him yet. I was waiting for you.”

  Koehler nodded, dragged Schmitt’s chair around the table until it was positioned next to the prisoner, and sat down. He took out his cigarettes, lit one, and placed the others on the table in front of the prisoner.

  “Take one.” He nodded to the cigarettes.

  “No, thank you, I don’t smoke,” Hunter replied.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” replied Koehler, wafting the smoke away from the prisoner extravagantly. “Excuse me.”

  Hunter shook his head a little and returned to looking at his hands.

  “Is there anything I can get you? A drink, maybe?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “If I were you, I’d have a drink while it is on offer.”

  Hunter shook his head again, and Koehler shrugged his shoulders before leaning in very close to him, his lips close to the man’s ear.

  “You see, these two gentlemen at the other end of the table are going to torture you, so, while you can, I’d recommend you eat and drink and make merry—­well, as merry as possible under the circumstances.”

  The prisoner looked up at Schmitt and then at Koehler before returning his gaze to his hands.

  “I haven’t done anything. I was on my way to look for work. I don’t know why I’m here.”