The Darkest Hour

by Tony Schumacher

  The pistol sat on the bar like a fat black cockroach, and Beckett found he was unable to look away from it. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, and it briefly crossed Koehler’s mind that the other man might have a heart attack before he could pass the information that was required.

  “Will this Flanagan drag you out into the street in the next two minutes and shoot you in the face?” Koehler whispered, placing his hand gently onto Beckett’s arm once again.

  Beckett shook his head.

  “I will.”

  “Flanagan is a . . . I don’t know, sir. He’s able to get you things, anything you want. He has boats.”

  “A smuggler?”

  Beckett squirmed before nodding.

  “Chivers was buying something?” Koehler gripped tighter.

  “He was. He was buying passage.”

  “Passage?”

  “On one of Flanagan’s boats, sir. He wanted out, him and the other bloke, as far as I know, to Ireland.”

  “When?”

  “This is only what I heard, sir.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight, on the tide, about eleven, from the Pelican Stairs, just next door.” Beckett pointed to the back of the pub, as if Koehler could see through the wall, then used the same hand to wipe his face.

  Koehler leaned back from the bar and turned to look at the other customers. Schmitt picked up his pistol and slipped it into his pocket, staring at Beckett.

  “How many customers are in here?” Koehler murmured to Schmitt.

  “Twenty-­five, maybe thirty, why?”

  “Tell them they are all under arrest.”

  Chapter 62

  JACOB LAY FAST asleep in Kate’s arms, the restocked fire crackled and popped, and the darkness outside pushed against the windows like the sea against a submarine as Rossett listened to the clock in the hall outside chime the hour.

  Eight, nine, ten. He counted the bongs, then listened to the heavy tick-­tock that had dragged throughout the last few hours like chains around a prisoner’s ankles. Chivers must also have counted the chimes, as he moved for the first time in hours and pointed to his wrist, his eyes meeting Rossett’s.

  It was time.

  “Kate, wake Jacob and get your coat and wait in the hallway,” Rossett said.

  Kate looked at him, then at her uncle, then at Rossett again.

  “John, you’re not going to . . . He’s my uncle.”

  Rossett ignored her and looked at Sterling, who had straightened on the settee and was staring back.

  “She is coming with me. If you or your men interfere in any way, I’ll kill her. Do you understand?” Rossett asked Sterling.

  “Yes,” Sterling replied.

  “Don’t doubt me, I will kill her. The boy is my only concern. If you love her, you will remember that.”

  “I don’t doubt you.”

  Rossett nodded, pulled out a handful of bullets from his pocket, and held them out to Chivers.

  “Load the Browning.”

  Chivers took the Browning and the bullets and did as he was told as Rossett stood and walked toward Sterling, stopping just short of the settee and looming over him.

  “Where are the sovereigns you took from me?”

  “What?”

  “At the warehouse, you took the sovereigns. Where are they?”

  Sterling shook his head. “I don’t know, I left them with someone.”

  Rossett thumbed the hammer on the Webley and raised it to point at Sterling’s forehead. Sterling raised his hands and closed his eyes, then opened one slightly to peek out at the black hole of the muzzle, inches from his head.

  “Where are the sovereigns?”

  “In my drawer, second one down.” He pointed across the room at a small writing desk.

  “Thank you.” Rossett walked to the desk and opened the drawer. He found the pouch under an address book and took both out. He placed the book in his pocket and tossed the sovereigns to Chivers, who caught them in midair.

  “For you.”

  Chivers’s eyes lit up and he weighed the bag in his hand.

  “For me? Why?”

  “You earned them.”

  “But . . . I . . .” Chivers didn’t finish the sentence, as if he didn’t want to repeat his own treachery out loud.

  “You did what you did, George, but you were right about one thing. You did it to survive,” Rossett said.

  Chivers looked back at the pouch and then up at Rossett. He made to speak and then closed his mouth, shaking his head again.

  “I need you. This isn’t over. We need you. Are you with us?” Rossett spoke again.

  Chivers nodded and Rossett turned back to Sterling, who sat on the couch, breathing deeply, waiting for the judge’s verdict.

  “I’ve a wife and child,” Sterling said, his voice a whisper.

  “So did I, once,” Rossett replied matter-­of-­factly.

  “Please.”

  Rossett looked at the young maid, who was crying in the corner, sitting so close to death, and then looked back at Sterling.

  “Don’t follow, don’t interfere, or I swear, my vengeance will curse you for the rest of your life.”

  Rossett turned and left the room.

  Chapter 63

  “I WANT EVERYONE, EVERY man we have, down by that fucking pub as soon as possible!” Sterling shouted into the telephone and slammed the glass of brandy he was holding onto the table next to him. “We’ve only got half an hour before they get there!”

  Sterling threw the phone down with such force it bounced out of the cradle and into the spilled brandy. Leigh, who was standing next to him, gently replaced the handset, then watched as Sterling picked up his brandy again and paced a few steps back and forth.

  “What took you so long to get here?” Sterling snapped.

  Leigh tilted his head.

  “I came as soon as you called, sir.”

  “He had a gun in my face, Leigh, a gun held in my face in my own home!” Sterling shouted so loudly spittle flecked his lips and some landed on Leigh’s face.

  “Should I get someone to remove Johnson and Wilson, sir?” Leigh finally spoke.

  “Who?”

  “The men Rossett killed, sir.”

  “Get your car and get your arse down to Wapping. Johnson and Wilson can wait.”

  “Do you think it wise, sir, after what Rossett said to you? I’m thinking about your niece.”

  “There are many victims in war. My niece may end up being one of them. Now get going and fucking kill him!”

  Chapter 64

  A THICK FOG WAS rolling in off the Thames as Kate’s Volkswagen made its way slowly down Wapping High Street. Rossett squinted into the gray, trying to make sense of the shadows and shapes that drifted into focus and then melted away again like ghost buildings in dreams.

  Chivers had called the wrong turn twice as they crept along, and now he waited until the last moment before pointing over Kate’s shoulder and indicating the correct turn into the road the pub sat on.

  Rossett spoke for the first time since they’d left the house.

  “Park here, I’ll go look first.”

  “Flanagan won’t let us down,” Chivers replied.

  “It isn’t Flanagan I’m worried about,” Rossett said, wiping the side window with the back of his hand and looking out.

  Kate pulled to the curb and shut off the engine and lights. Rossett took out the Webley and replaced the spent cartridges he had fired at Sterling’s.

  “If you hear anything or see anything you aren’t sure about, just go. If I’m not back in five minutes, just go. I’ll find you, and we’ll try again another time. Understood?”

  Kate nodded. Rossett opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air. He looked up and down the
empty street as far as the blanket of fog would allow, then leaned back into the car and gestured to Chivers.

  “Give me the Browning.”

  Chivers handed over the pistol and Rossett dropped it into his pocket, before looking into the backseat at Jacob, who sat silently with only his face showing above a thick scarf and coat.

  “I’ll not be long, all right?”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. You’ll be safe soon.”

  “With grandfather?”

  “With me.”

  The boy nodded and Rossett nodded back, both accepting that their fate lay in the hands of others.

  Rossett looked at Kate and then Chivers. “Five minutes.” He didn’t wait for a reply before he closed the door.

  Rossett’s steps echoed off the pavement as he walked casually down the street. He stopped on the corner of Wapping Wall and lit a cigarette, listening to the night as the flash of the match died down.

  On the river he could hear bells and the occasional ship’s horn, but from the land side all seemed to be silent. He looked up at the towering warehouses that ran along Wapping Wall and backed onto the river. All were in darkness. Such was the thickness of the fog that he couldn’t make out the tops of the buildings or even the far side of the road. A whisper of wind was shifting the odd shadow, and as Rossett walked toward the pub, buildings appeared out of the mist like vague memories.

  He stopped short of the Prospect of Whitby and tilted his head to listen. He could just make out voices and laughter, and he glanced back over his shoulder and took a few more paces toward the pub entrance.

  “Hey, are you the copper?”

  Rossett turned to see a man, wrapped up against the cold, standing at the end of a narrow alley, barely two feet wide, that ran alongside the pub. The man stepped back into the dark as soon as Rossett saw him.

  Rossett approached the alley. It was almost completely black except for a narrow band of fog visible at the other end. A horn wailed on the river, sounding closer than before, and Rossett realized that the alley led directly to the bank of the river.

  “Yes,” he whispered, unable to see the man he was talking to.

  “I’m the boatman sent to fetch you. Where are the others?”

  “At the end of the street. I’ll get them.”

  “Be quick, the tide’s already half turned.”

  Without replying, Rossett turned and walked back along Wapping Wall toward the car, glancing over his shoulder as he went. All was quiet, the fog providing privacy and comfort for the cautious traveler.

  Rossett could hear the car engine running when he reached the high street. The headlamps were still off and he bent slightly as he approached to check that all was well inside.

  Kate smiled through the windshield when she saw him, and he found himself smiling back. He opened the door and leaned in, looking first at Jacob and then at Chivers.

  “They’re there. We don’t have long.” He pulled the front seat forward and helped Jacob out, then tugged Chivers free from the cramped space and out onto the pavement.

  “I was thinking, you and the boy, you’ll need these.” Chivers held out the pouch with the sovereigns.

  “No, George.”

  “I took a ­couple, to get home like, but I thought . . . well, the lad, ’e’ll need a start.”

  “No, keep them. You’ve earned them,” Rossett replied. Chivers nodded and slipped the pouch into his overcoat.

  “Yeah, well, maybe.” Chivers held out his hand to Rossett, who shook it firmly.

  “Thanks, George.”

  “You shouldn’t thank me, not the way I’ve behaved.”

  “The way we’ve all behaved,” Rossett replied, looking the other man in the eye.

  Chivers turned away and bent down to hug Jacob, who stood, confused, on the pavement next to them.

  “You write me a letter, boy, when you get to your new ’ome.”

  Jacob didn’t reply. He just held the old man close and reached as far around Chivers’s neck as his little arms would allow.

  On the other side of the car, Kate stood on the pavement, wearing a white woolen coat with a fur collar. Her blond hair and the white wool made her stand out against the fog like a dash of white paint on a gray canvas. She smiled at Rossett nervously.

  “Well?” Rossett asked. “I need to know; the tide is turning.”

  Kate looked down the street, then back at him. Rossett thought she was crying but wondered if it was a trick of the fog.

  “I’m ashamed,” Kate said softly.

  “Don’t be.”

  “For what I’ve done, before this.”

  “I’m ashamed, as well. The tide is turning, Kate. We can catch it if we hurry.”

  Kate looked down at the pavement.

  “Will you hate me?”

  Rossett shook his head. “New beginnings.”

  Kate took a deep breath.

  “Okay, new beginnings.”

  Chivers took a step back, waving at Jacob, who waved back.

  “You shouldn’t go home,” Rossett said to the old man.

  “I’ll be all right. I’ve been in worse trouble. It’ll be my missus I’ll ’ave to watch out for.”

  “Won’t she be with the Germans?”

  “They won’t be able to put up with ’er. They know they need me outside, doing what I do, and they know I need ’er with me to do it. I’ll fix things up.”

  “Take care.”

  “Time to go,” said Chivers, taking one last look at the three of them and then walking away into the night.

  Chapter 65

  “ARE YOU SURE?”

  “I think so, sir. It’s difficult to see.”

  Koehler leaned over the shoulder of the young soldier and tried to look out the window at the street below. The fog was getting thicker by the minute, making his idea of having snipers cover the pub entrance seem more and more ridiculous as each minute passed.

  “You saw someone walking down the road?” he asked the young soldier again.

  “In the wrong direction though, sir. He was walking away from the pub, not toward it,” the soldier replied, eye pressed up against the telescopic gunsight, rifle scanning the street below.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Koehler. “Relocate, one floor lower. Pass the word.” Koehler stepped back and out of the way of the young soldier, who jumped up from the burlap sack he’d been lying on, gathered his things, and charged off, whispering to the others dotted around the floor of the warehouse opposite the pub as he went.

  Koehler checked his watch again. It was a few minutes after eleven. He looked out the window at the pub, a hundred feet away, and considered the possibility that the manager had been lying, but then discounted it. Schmitt had spent an hour with the man in the cellar of the pub. There was no chance that he wasn’t telling the truth. Rossett was coming. All Koehler had to do was make sure Rossett didn’t get on a boat, and most important, that the diamonds didn’t either.

  ROSSETT HAD PLANNED on their walking back to the pub, but at the last minute he decided to drive: if something went wrong with the boat and they needed to escape the scene, a car was quicker than running. Kate drove slowly with her lights off toward the Prospect, and Rossett leaned forward in his seat brandishing both pistols, the Webley and the Browning.

  “Pull up so that the pub is on your side of the car, half on the curb by the alley.” He pointed into the fog with the Browning, and Kate followed his directions. When she was a few yards away, she killed the engine and coasted to a stop at the mouth of the dark alleyway.

  “Are you sure this is it?” Kate asked, looking out into the gloom.

  “Get out,” Rossett replied. “Take Jacob out on your side and head straight into the alleyway.”

  Kate opened the door an inch before Rossett spoke ag
ain.

  “Wait.”

  “What?” Kate looked at him.

  “Here.” Rossett put the Browning down in his lap and took the handkerchief containing the diamonds out of his pocket. “Take five, and leave me two. Just in case.”

  Kate did as she was told and placed the stones inside her glove.

  “I’ll give them back to you on the boat,” she said gently before opening the door fully and pulling Jacob out through the gap.

  “THERE! THE CAR by the pub.”

  Koehler nearly fell as he rushed to the window to look. The sniper pulled at the wrought-­iron frame of the window to try to open it, but it held fast. Behind them four other soldiers raced down the stairs for a better view.

  Koehler pushed his face up close to the window. The fog bank shifted again so the pub opposite almost disappeared, but then slowly, ever so slowly, a white Volkswagen Koehler knew well shimmered out of the night like a mirage.

  “It’s them. Get ready.”

  “The window, sir. It’ll mess up the shot!” The soldier was still pulling at the window frame.

  Koehler looked at the car and then at the soldier.

  “Break it!”

  THE SOUND OF glass smashing caused Rossett to turn as he stepped out onto the street. He crouched and made his way quickly to the rear of the car, both pistols out, scanning the warehouses opposite. Some broken glass tinkled onto the pavement and Rossett looked up to see from where it had fallen.

  “John?” Kate called from the alley behind him.

  “Go!” Rossett hissed.

  He heard Kate’s footsteps along the flagstones, echoing off the high walls, moving away toward the river. Rossett started for the alleyway.

  Then he heard the shot.

  “DID YOU GET him?” Koehler squirmed behind the soldier like a child at a fair, desperate to see what was going on.

  The sniper chambered another round.

  “I don’t know, sir. It’s very foggy. I think—­”

  “Has anyone else got out of the car?” Koehler interrupted, but none of the other snipers replied, too busy taking up positions and smashing their own panes of glass. “Can you see him?” Koehler pulled on the sniper’s shoulder. The young man shrugged him off, silently cursing his commanding officer for throwing off his aim.