The Darkest Hour

by Tony Schumacher

  After a moment, Jacob nudged Rossett and held out the sandwich.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “It’s for you.”

  “I can share.”

  “I’m all right.”

  The boy looked down at the sandwich and took another bite before carefully folding the paper back around the bread and stuffing it into his pocket.

  “You might be hungry later,” he said to Rossett, who looked away because he thought he might cry.

  A few minutes passed as they steered their way off the main road and into a maze of back streets filled with houses, occasional bomb sites, and tall, narrow warehouses and workshops.

  Eventually, Chivers said, “You’ll need to put the gun away.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re picking someone up.”

  “I’m not a threat.”

  “You are to them. Please, put it away.” Chivers looked at Rossett, who in turn released the hammer and slipped the pistol into his coat pocket.

  They turned a corner and Chivers slowed the car down to a walking pace as they drove along a narrow cobbled street of two-­up, two-­down terraced houses. The street was deserted, and as the evening drew in, one side was dark and in shade while the other clung onto the sunset rays.

  Ahead, on Rossett’s side of the car, two men appeared on the corner of the street. Flat cap pulled down, the big younger man wore an old battered peacoat over a dark blue bib and brace. The arms of the coat were slightly too short, and he was puffing on a roll-­up cigarette that looked like a paper toothpick in his oversized hands. The older man had a full-­length black woolen coat that stopped only a few inches from the ground. His hands were in his pockets and he was holding the coat closed, half hiding his face behind his upturned high collar. He reminded Rossett of a picture he had once seen of Dracula, and he had a sudden urge to tell Chivers to drive on.

  Chivers eased past the pair six or eight feet before he stopped. As he did so, they both leaned forward to study the occupants of the car before separating and approaching it. Rossett turned his head to watch the men, one on either side of the car. They climbed into the backseat, Dracula behind Rossett.

  The car started to move again.

  “How’s it been, George?” Dracula broke the silence. He was well spoken, which surprised Rossett.

  “It’s not been good, I’ve had it ’ard.”

  “We ’eard,” Peacoat piped up in rough cockney. Rossett turned to look at him, noticing for the first time the Browning pistol the man was holding.

  The pistol that was aimed at Rossett from the rear seat.

  “Sterling was after us to buy you back; he said he’d do us a deal for you.”

  “I hope you told him to get knotted?”

  “You stayed in there, didn’t you?” Dracula replied, and Chivers smiled and nodded.

  “Where are we going?” Rossett asked.

  “Don’t worry, copper, you’re all right. Safe as ’ouses,” said Peacoat, less than reassuringly.

  Rossett stared at him, and the man smiled back and gave a little waggle of the pistol. Dracula reached across, gently putting his hand on the gun and pushing it down so that Peacoat had it rested on his leg, still pointing at Rossett, but fractionally less threatening.

  “Just until we get acquainted properly, Mr. Rossett. I’m sure you understand.”

  Rossett nodded at Dracula, then looked at Chivers, who gave him a half smile that was meant to be reassuring.

  It wasn’t.

  SCHMITT SELF-­CONSCIOUSLY FACED the wall as Koehler took off his trousers and pulled on the clean pair Schmitt had brought him. Schmitt thought the wall smelled of Jews, and he felt slightly ill and wished that he’d waited outside.

  He hated these fleabitten hovels. He felt they said everything that needed to be said about the Jews.

  If they can live like this, they must be animals, he thought.

  “What else did the prisoner tell you?” Koehler finally said, and Schmitt turned to face him, expecting him to be fully dressed now. He averted his eyes when he saw that Koehler was still buttoning his fly.

  “Nothing else, really, just that this character they call Windsor believes Rossett and the Jew have some diamonds and that they are going to pick them up before fleeing the country.” Schmitt glanced back to Koehler and was relieved to see that the other man had finally finished dressing. “Oh, and they have an old communist with them, someone called . . . erm . . .”

  “Chivers?”

  “That’s it, Chivers. Apparently, Windsor had this Chivers held for questioning. Did Rossett say anything to you about the diamonds?”

  “We didn’t really have much of a discussion. Things were a little tense,” Koehler replied.

  “Do you think Rossett has them?”

  “No. I think he is looking for them, the same as we are.”

  Schmitt considered this for a moment. He pulled back the net curtain to inspect the street outside, then let it go and checked his fingertips.

  “I didn’t think Rossett was the sort of man who would be interested in getting rich. He struck me as someone who believed in the cause.”

  Koehler shook his head and sat down to fasten his shoelaces.

  “You really have no idea about Rossett at all, do you?” Koehler said as he tied his laces.

  “I know he has worked for us without a problem until these diamonds came on the scene.”

  Koehler finished tying his laces and looked at his colleague.

  “Rossett doesn’t ‘believe.’ Rossett just does whatever job he is told to do. If someone in charge tells Rossett to kill Germans, he kills Germans. If someone in charge tells Rossett to round up Jews, he rounds up Jews. Jesus Christ, if you told Rossett to paint London yellow, he’d do it without question. The man doesn’t think, he just does whatever he is told to do, he’s a machine.”

  “Until yesterday?”

  “Until yesterday.”

  “Well what happened yesterday?”

  “He woke up.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I’m afraid we put him back to sleep.” Koehler replied, staring at Schmitt, dead eyed. “Permanently.”

  “We have to find him first.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “What about the diamonds?”

  “We take them out of his dead hands.”

  “And then?”

  “Then? Well, we will cross that bridge when we come to it, don’t you think?” Koehler left the question hanging and Schmitt considered an answer but didn’t speak. He just nodded and returned to looking at his fingertips for signs of dirt.

  Chapter 46

  CHIVERS PULLED THE Mercedes up outside a timber yard surrounded by a high brick wall. Peacoat jumped out, unlocked the gates, pushed the far one open, and dragged the near one out of the way as the Mercedes drove into the yard, out of sight of the road.

  Rossett got out and checked his surroundings, reaching for Jacob’s hand as he did so. The yard was surrounded on three sides by bomb sites and derelict warehouses. It looked as though before the war the yard had been a loading bay for the warehouses, but now it was all that was left of whatever businesses had been here.

  Peacoat was pulling the gates closed and locking them again, and Rossett realized they had chosen the spot well, as it provided excellent cover for any sort of clandestine operation. There was little passing traffic, and he imagined few ­people would ever need to visit the area unless they were there to do business with the yard.

  He glanced around. The yard was filled with reclaimed timber, stacked according to size in long rows, some of which were almost ten feet high and sixty feet long. Chivers had parked the car between two of these rows, and at the end of it, Rossett could see a brick-­walled office that backed onto one of the outer walls.

  Dr
acula got out of the other side of the car and smiled at Rossett.

  “Once a policeman always a policeman, Sergeant Rossett?”

  “Just having a look around.”

  Dracula smiled and beckoned Rossett to follow him toward the office. Chivers got out of the car, winked at Rossett, and waited for him to walk ahead.

  The clear evening was rapidly becoming a cold one, and when Chivers coughed again the old man’s breath condensed in the air and the cloud extended a long way before it disappeared into the sky. Rossett shivered in the thin woolen coat and squeezed Jacob’s hand as he walked behind Dracula.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” the boy replied, but Rossett didn’t believe him.

  Dracula stopped at the office door and produced some keys; he looked back at Rossett as he unlocked the door and smiled again.

  “Would you be so kind to give my associate your gun, Sergeant?”

  “No,” Rossett replied, unthreatening but unflinching.

  “It’s merely to set my mind at rest. I know you are a man of considerable talents when it comes to violence.”

  Rossett glanced at Chivers, who shrugged back at him.

  “Give me the gun.” Peacoat stepped forward and Rossett looked at the Browning that the other man was holding less than twelve inches from his damaged ribs.

  Rossett half turned to Peacoat.

  “Here.” Rossett lifted his left hand, showing he intended to reach into his pocket slowly and carefully. “Just mind that Browning in my busted ribs.”

  Peacoat smiled, and Rossett looked down at his pocket to get the gun. His left hand moved slowly and deliberately, and his right, like a conjurer’s, whipped back and across the Browning, pushing it away. Peacoat twitched in surprise and looked down at the rattlesnake right that was now holding the Browning and twisting it down from his grasp.

  It was then, just as Peacoat’s head turned, that Rossett punched him in the throat.

  Peacoat’s legs collapsed under him and he crumpled to the ground, blindly grasping at his throat as he tried to find his breath.

  Rossett turned to Dracula, who stared at Peacoat and then at the Browning in Rossett’s hand.

  “As I said, you have considerable talents.” Dracula spoke slowly.

  Rossett put the Browning into his right pocket and nodded to the office door.

  “Shall we?”

  “Why not?” Dracula smiled in return and walked into the office as Rossett took hold of Jacob’s hand again and followed him.

  Dracula flicked the light switch and walked around the wooden desk that sat in the middle of the room. He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk, but Rossett chose to stand by the window that looked out onto the yard. He nodded to the chair and Jacob reluctantly let go of his hand and took the seat instead while Rossett stared out the window, watching Chivers help Peacoat into a sitting position outside.

  “Don’t worry about him, Sergeant, he’ll be okay.”

  “I’m not,” Rossett replied, still watching outside.

  “Can I offer you a drink?”

  Rossett turned to look at Dracula, who had removed his coat and was standing by a filing cabinet in the corner. He shook his head and watched, one hand on the Webley in his pocket, as the other man opened the top drawer and took out a bottle of Scotch and two glasses, then closed the drawer and took a seat behind the desk.

  Rossett kept his hand in his pocket and looked back outside, to where Peacoat was now on his feet. The big man was still holding his throat and in visible discomfort, but Rossett could see he was fuming from the way he kept pointing to the office and shaking his head.

  Rossett wondered if he should just kill him, then wondered when even thinking such a thing had become normal for him.

  “Mr. Chivers told me that you need our help.”

  “I need a car.” Still looking out the window.

  “And?”

  “Maybe some money. I don’t have any.”

  “Maybe?”

  Rossett didn’t like the way this was going.

  “What’s your name?” Rossett asked.

  “My name isn’t important.”

  “You know mine.”

  “Everyone in our line of business knows your name, Sergeant.”

  “Timber merchant?”

  Dracula shrugged and smiled at Rossett, and then glanced to the door as Chivers walked in.

  “You’ve upset him outside.” Chivers said to Rossett as he tapped Jacob on the shoulder and moved the boy off the chair to take his place.

  “Would you like a drink, George?”

  “Cor, not ’arf.” Chivers rubbed his hands together in anticipation and Dracula poured him a drink. He picked it up and drank half of it in one gulp, grimacing and twisting his head as the Scotch went down and clenching a fist to his chest.

  “The sergeant was telling me what he needs, George.”

  “Can we sort him out?” Chivers’s voice was raw from the whiskey.

  “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement of some sort.”

  Rossett had been waiting for this. Communists or not, these men were the same as everyone else: they wanted some of the diamonds, if not all of them.

  “I would have thought I’d earned a car, at least. If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be rotting in that cellar.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Dracula half nodded and swirled the Scotch in his glass, then leaned back in his seat. Rossett glanced out the window and saw that Peacoat had gone. He moved away from the window into the corner opposite the door. If the big man had found another weapon, Rossett didn’t want to present himself as a target through a window. He decided that if the man came through the door with a gun, he was going to kill him before he had a chance to use it.

  “Sergeant Rossett, I’ll make you a deal. You can have a car, plus forty pounds right now. In return, I ask for half the diamonds and gold you find. You will take Mr. Flynn with you as security on the deal, pending settlement,” Dracula said, looking out the window himself.

  “Mr. Flynn?”

  “My associate outside.”

  “No. I go with Chivers, nobody else.”

  Chivers looked up at Rossett and then back to Dracula, nodding in agreement at the suggestion.

  “I’ll go with ’im; it’ll be better all round that way.”

  “No, George, I’m afraid not.” Dracula leaned forward and pulled open a drawer on his desk. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  Rossett almost felt the Browning coming out of the desk before he saw it. He watched as Dracula drew back the hammer on the automatic before it was clear of the drawer. Rossett fired his Webley through his coat pocket, hitting Dracula in the center of his chest and knocking him over backward before the other man had a chance to level the gun at Chivers. Dracula fell out of sight onto the floor behind the desk.

  Rossett’s ears were ringing after the boom of the Webley, and he pulled the gun out of his pocket and looked first out the window and then around the other side of the desk where Dracula was lying on his back, still half in his chair where it had fallen back under him, his arms spread like a fallen angel, dead eyes staring up.

  Chivers was silently moving his mouth in shock, unable to believe what had just happened. Jacob was crouching, covering his face, in the corner.

  “Chivers!” Rossett shouted, and the old man raised his head. “Get Jacob.”

  Chivers looked back to where Dracula had been, then slowly his eyes found Jacob in the corner.

  Rossett looked out to the rapidly darkening yard. Somewhere outside, Flynn would be wondering what was going on.

  “There’ll be some money in the cabinet,” Chivers said from the corner of the room, where he was holding Jacob, shielding the boy’s eyes from the spreading pool of blood that was creeping under the desk toward t
hem.

  Rossett crossed the room quickly, pulled open the top drawer of the filing cabinet, and found a small cashbox.

  The box wasn’t locked. He found about three pounds in change, pocketed the money, and dropped the box onto the floor.

  “What about a car? Do they have transport here?”

  “A van, they’ve got a van. The keys will be in the desk.”

  Rossett ripped open the desk drawers, glancing up and out the window as he did so and then back to the drawer. He found some keys and put them in his pocket. Kneeling next to Dracula, he went through his coat and found a wallet, which he stuffed in his pocket, then took the man’s wristwatch and slipped it on.

  It fleetingly crossed Rossett’s mind that stealing from the dead was becoming the norm, but he forced the thought from his mind so that he could concentrate on the matter in hand.

  He ejected the magazine from the Browning in the dead man’s hand and pocketed it, then stood up and crossed to the door, switching off the light.

  He looked out across the yard, but couldn’t see Flynn or the van.

  “Where do they keep the van?”

  “Parked down one of the lanes between the timber.”

  “Which one?”

  “How the bleedin’ ’ell do I know? I’ve not been ’ere for weeks.”

  Rossett looked out into the yard again and then back at Chivers. “I’ll go get the van. Wait here.”

  “Be careful. He’ll have a gun by now, and it’ll be a big one.”

  “A machine gun?” Rossett asked.

  “At least. This is where they hide ’em, in the stacks of timber; ’e’ll ’ave been diggin’ one out while we was talkin’.”

  Rossett nodded and looked outside again.

  “Stay here.”

  Rossett crouched as he ran outside. Head down, he made for the nearest stack of wood and slammed into it, gasping as he jarred his ribs. He swept the lines of timber high and low opposite him with the Webley, but could see no sign of Flynn. He checked that the keys in his pocket were there and then started to move along the aisle toward the center of the yard.

  The timber aisles were about eight feet wide. Rossett guessed they were that way to allow the van to reverse into any of them from the cleared square at the center of the yard. It would make unloading the van easier, plus it would save carrying the timber farther than was necessary. He decided that from the center square, he’d be able to see along most of the lanes at once, and from there he’d find the van.