Finally, he looked out of the still-open driver’s door toward where he expected Dannecker and Rossett to be.
They were brawling over Rossett’s pistol, face-to-face, rolling around, fighting like animals, the kind of fighting that was going to end badly for one of them.
The Bear didn’t bother shooting. He had other things to be getting on with.
The minute the truck started rolling, Rossett took his mind off what mattered the most.
The immediate threat.
Dannecker.
Rossett lifted his head as the truck started to move, but worse than that, he lifted the Webley. Dannecker didn’t wait for a second opportunity. He kicked back with his left heel into Rossett’s shin. Even before his foot made contact, he threw back his head, looking to make contact with Rossett’s face.
Dannecker missed, but even though his right arm was pinned, he tried to lift his left shoulder to roll under Rossett and into the arm that was holding him down. He didn’t get the chance. The Webley swiped him like a brick.
Dannecker’s head hit the cobbles hard and saved Rossett the trouble of hitting it again. He was out cold.
Rossett lifted the Webley toward the truck, then lowered it again. He’d missed his chance.
The truck was racing for the open dock gates. The policeman and SP dived for cover, but didn’t raise their weapons.
Rossett got to his knees, took a deep breath, and pushed himself up onto his feet. He started walking, then jogging, and then, finally, running after the truck.
He wasn’t going to give up now, not while there was still justice to be served.
The truck had clipped one of the dock walls, snagged the gate hinges, then dragged the gate clean off. One of the shore patrol had been caught by the falling gate, hooked on to the tangled metal, and dragged along for twenty feet behind the truck.
The Bear had plowed on in first gear, oblivious to the shouts, sparks, and shore patrolmen following in his wake.
The port policeman pulled his truncheon and held out a hand at Rossett as he ran toward the gate.
Rossett dropped him with a right without missing a step. The SP were too busy with their fallen colleague to notice what had just happened, but O’Kane wasn’t.
He started running toward Rossett.
Rossett needed to get to the truck and grab the Bear before the Bear made it to the ship. Rossett knew he wouldn’t be able to get to him once he was on the boat, nor would he be able to stop the loading of the gold. If the German could make it up the gangway, he was a free man.
He would lose if the Bear had the U.S. Navy on his side, and Rossett was getting sick of losing.
He was coming up forty feet behind the truck as it stopped near the cargo gangway at the bow of the ship. He saw the back wheels lock and then skid as the Bear threw on the hand brake.
At the head of the cargo gangway Rossett could see several crew members in fatigues already springing into action. The ship’s small loading crane swung over the bulwark.
Rossett lifted the Webley and then noticed that the crew were all looking at something behind him.
He stopped, ducked, turned, and raised the Webley in one quick maneuver. O’Kane was charging at him, pulling the slide of the Browning as he ran.
The gap between them was less than ten feet. O’Kane tried to stop but couldn’t. He slammed into Rossett hard, and the force of the hit knocked both men over onto the ground.
Rossett was winded as he turned, and saw O’Kane reaching for the pistol he’d dropped in the fall.
O’Kane looked up just as Rossett launched himself at him.
O’Kane was good. He rolled with Rossett and tried to push him off. He threw one, then two, then three punches in a tight, hooking, left-right-left combination, but they landed on Rossett’s parrying elbows and upper arms and caused little damage.
Rossett’s forward momemtum carried him over and then on top. He managed to throw a weak right at O’Kane’s face. It landed, but was barely a tap. They locked arms and rolled once, then once again. Rossett managed a glance over at where he had last seen the Bear, then back at O’Kane as he lifted his forearm.
O’Kane did what Rossett knew he was going to do.
He lifted his head off the cobbles as he tried to get on top.
Rossett head-butted him.
Fatigue meant it was more of a flop than a butt. Rossett was so tired it was all he could do to collapse on the other man and let gravity do all the work.
It was weak, but it was enough. O’Kane’s head slammed back on the ground, and his hands dropped limply.
O’Kane was good, but Rossett was better.
Because the two truck doors were wide open, Bauer couldn’t use the wing mirrors to look for Rossett. If he picked the wrong door he was a dead man, so instead, he picked the windscreen.
He emptied half a magazine into the center of the glass in an eighteen-inch spread, braced his back against the seat, and used both feet to kick the windscreen through.
He was out through the hole and onto the hood ten seconds after the truck had stopped.
He dropped to the ground and lay flat against the concrete. He scanned with the MP40 and looked for a sign of Rossett, hoping for a chance to shoot him through the gap under the truck.
He could see O’Kane, flat on his back, drowsily wafting a hand to his bloody nose. He could see the shore patrolmen, tending to their colleague by the fallen gate. He could even see Dannecker, flat on his back, out in the street, fifty yards away by the car.
He could see it all, but he couldn’t see Rossett.
“I swear to God, if you move one fucking inch”—Rossett sucked in a breath—“I will blow your head clean off.”
The Bear didn’t move.
Rossett had felt completely wiped out back in the goods yard. Now, after the fight with Dannecker, the sprint, the fight with O’Kane, and then, finally, the jump and the climb over the truck, he knew he was running on empty.
He was sprawled on the truck cab’s roof, the Webley hanging limp at the end of his arm, being aimed by gravity directly at the Bear, who was lying below it on the ground.
Rossett risked a quick look at the men on the ship. One of them shook his head in disbelief, while another puffed out his cheeks.
They were impressed.
Rossett gulped another breath and looked back at the Bear.
“Slide the weapon under the truck. Do it now.”
“Lion, there is—”
“Do it, Bauer.”
The Bear considered his options, then slid the MP40 away as instructed.
“Hands out, wide, wide as you can get them, and get your face flat on the ground.”
“Lion, you know there is—”
“I swear to God, Bauer, just do it.”
The Bear did as he was told.
Rossett slid off the roof of the cab onto the ground next to Bauer. He landed hard, so hard his legs folded underneath him and he ended up on his arse.
He should have known it was never going to be that easy.
He hadn’t seen the knife.
The Bear had kept it in the truck cab for when the time came to finally cut the ropes and tarpaulin securing the gold. He hadn’t realized he would need it to fight for his life.
He slashed at Rossett, who scurried away from the blade’s reach as quickly as his arms and legs could manage.
The Webley clattered on the cobbles as Rossett tried to make enough space to lift it. The Bear chased after him on all fours, the final throw of the dice giving him a spurt of energy and carrying him forward.
Rossett kicked with his feet as the blade flashed, then slashed, left and right. It spun in the Bear’s hand, almost too fast to see as he switched his hold to a reverse grip.
The Bear jumped.
Both hands out, the right holding the knife, aiming for Rossett’s chest, looking to end it once and for all.
Rossett managed to pat the Bear’s knife hand away. He felt the tip of the blade slicin
g through his coat, jacket, and shirt, then dragging across his skin.
It cut, but it didn’t cut deep enough.
The Bear set his left hand onto Rossett’s chest and tried to bring the blade back into play.
The Webley was quicker than the knife.
The Bear flinched as he felt the pistol under his chin.
Both men were gasping for breath, staring into each other’s eyes, the Bear on top, Rossett underneath.
“Drop it,” Rossett said softly.
“Shoot me.”
“Let me do my job. Drop the knife.”
Bauer blinked. A moment passed. Rossett felt his finger tighten on the trigger, then heard the knife clatter onto the quayside.
The fight went out of Bauer.
It was over.
Rossett rolled out from under him, all the while pushing the Webley into the jaw of Bauer. The German flopped onto the quayside, eyes closed, chest heaving, and Rossett shuffled a few inches back, then pulled out Jimmy’s handcuffs. He shook them, snapped the first one on Bauer’s left wrist, then dragged the second one around roughly onto his right. Once the handcuffs were tight, Rossett dropped his head a couple of inches and took a deep breath.
After a few seconds, he lifted the Webley and dragged first himself and then the Bear to his feet. It looked like most of the ship’s crew had come out onto the deck to watch. A few of the men by the cargo hatch were now waiting on the gangway, unsure of what to do. Rossett used the Bear as a shield as they stared at him.
He stood still, taking in the scene, before looking up to the bridge, where the captain of the ship and two officers were standing.
“I’m a British police officer, and this man is my prisoner!” Rossett shouted toward the bridge over the low rumble of the ship’s diesel engines. “I don’t want what’s on the truck, and I’ll not interfere with your passage. I’ll just take my prisoner and leave you to go on your way.”
Nobody replied.
Rossett slowly started walking toward the gates, all the while still using the Bear as a shield. They managed only five small steps before O’Kane appeared from behind the truck with a bloodstained handkerchief held under his nose.
“You do not give up, do you?”
Rossett angled the Bear so that he was holding him between himself and O’Kane, then made sure O’Kane could see the Webley.
“I just want Bauer. Do what you want with the gold, but give me Bauer and Dannecker.”
Finally the Bear spoke. “You made me a promise, O’Kane, remember? You gave me your word.”
O’Kane lowered his bloody handkerchief and gestured that the crew on the gangway should start unloading the gold.
The crew looked at Rossett.
He took a few steps back from the truck and O’Kane, gesturing that they could do their job.
The crew leapt into action. They came down the gangway quickly. Rossett took another step backward and then moved to the other side of the truck, putting even more cover between himself and the ship. O’Kane had mirrored his movement, and when Rossett emerged on the other side, he found O’Kane waiting with the two remaining armed shore patrolmen.
Everyone except Rossett had their guns lowered.
“You broke my nose.” O’Kane held up his handkerchief as proof. “Nobody ever broke my nose.”
Rossett didn’t reply.
O’Kane held up the handkerchief for the SP to see, then stuffed it in his pocket. He looked at the SP nearest to him and nodded his head toward Rossett.
“Tell him who you are.”
The SP looked at O’Kane. “Are you sure?”
“It’s okay.” O’Rourke nodded encouragingly. “Tell him.”
The SP paused, like he was searching for the right words, and then spoke.
“I’m Sergeant Norris Edwards of the British Royal Marine Commando, and this is Corporal Ian Clark.” Edwards nodded his head to his colleague.
“What?” Rossett and the Bear said it in unison.
“We’re Royal Marines, and this is a Free British Navy vessel.”
“British?” Rossett looked at O’Kane.
O’Kane shrugged. “Most of them, yeah. Some of the officers and crew are American and Canadian, but most are Brits.”
“Who are you?” The Bear took a half step forward from Rossett as he stared at O’Kane.
“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Paddy O’Rourke, and you are one genuine pain in the arse.” O’Rourke lifted his Browning and fired one shot.
Rossett staggered back as the Bear slipped through his hands and onto the ground. A dot of blood above his left eye gave a small clue to the damage the bullet had done to his head. Rossett limply lifted his Webley as he staggered to the right, then looked down at the Bear as he wiped his own face clean of German blood.
It took him a full five seconds before he looked back at O’Rourke.
“You’re English?” was all he could think to say.
“Irish Canadian actually, but close enough.” O’Rourke flicked the safety, and slipped the Browning into his pocket. He raised his hand to show Rossett it was empty. “You look done in, Inspector.”
Rossett looked up at the truck and saw that the crew had already started to remove the wooden crates from the back of it.
He turned back to O’Rourke, who was still holding up his hand and calming him.
“Put the gun down, John, we’re on your side. This is a British operation, organized by the government in exile. You’ve been fighting your own side.”
“Iris?” Rossett wiped his cheek and then looked at his fingertips.
“Her father knew, but nobody else. It was safer that way.”
Rossett looked at the gun in his hand, and for the first time in a long time didn’t know what to do with it.
O’Rourke nodded. “Please . . . put the gun away.”
Rossett dropped the gun to his side and released the hammer with his thumb.
“Dannecker?” he asked quietly.
O’Kane nodded to one of the SP. “Go and see to the major.”
The SP drew a razor-sharp commando knife from inside of his tunic and stalked away toward where Dannecker was still lying in the road outside of the dock. Rossett watched him go, then looked back at O’Rourke.
“No loose ends, that’s how we prefer it. You understand?”
Rossett thumbed the hammer on the Webley again.
O’Rourke held out his hand and smiled. “No, honestly no, you’re amongst friends. You can relax now.”
Rossett considered what O’Rourke had said but still didn’t drop the hammer. Instead, keeping the gun at his side, he looked over at the men swarming over the truck bed unloading the gold.
“What’s going to happen to Iris? Will she get the bounty on the gold?” Rossett turned back to O’Rourke.
“No.”
“No?”
“She works for us. She’s one of us. This is British bullion. It belongs to the country, the country she is fighting for.”
“So all that stuff about paying a bounty and being loyal?”
“If she had delivered the gold to me, she may have got some sort of reward. But the thing is: Iris didn’t. You did.”
Rossett shook his head and took a few paces over to the truck. He rested his back against the radiator and sank down to sit on the fender. He was exhausted, almost too tired to think. His body ached and his head pounded from the stress and exertion of the last few days. He heard a splash over by the quayside and looked across.
The two shore patrolmen were walking toward the truck. Rossett looked out into the street beyond the gates and saw that Dannecker was no longer there. O’Rourke followed his gaze, then their eyes met and O’Rourke shrugged.
“Like I said, no loose ends.”
“What about repercussions? Dannecker dead, Bauer dead, Becker dead, and the soldiers at the bomb site? The Germans will come down hard on Liverpool. Everything I’ve done has been aiming to prevent that.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” O’Rou
rke looked at the back of the truck as the crane swung away with a full load of crates on pallets. “Dannecker lost control here. The shooting of the consul, the bomb, your partner Neumann, and then him disappearing. All of that will make it easy for us to spread disinformation. If we can drag the Americans into it, the Germans will want to keep it quiet, and you never know, a new commander might be good for the city.”
“I wish I had your optimism.”
O’Rourke nodded, checked the load again, and walked over and took a seat next to Rossett on the fender.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the concrete beneath his feet. After a moment, he turned his head and looked at Rossett. “There is an empty bunk on the ship.”
“What?”
“You’ve done your bit here. Why not take it?”
“Go?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What are you going to do here?” O’Rourke straightened a little. “Your partner is dead, and you’ve been involved in havoc in Liverpool. Even if you can talk your way out of it, you’ll just be back to square one, working for the Germans.”
“I wouldn’t be welcomed by the government in exile.”
“You’re a hero.”
“I’m not a hero.”
“You’re the closest thing we’ve got to one. You could do a lot of good, John; you could help rally the troops. Plus, it would give the country a lift to see you standing with the king. Imagine it, the Lion rising again. The papers and the Free BBC would love it. I was ordered to bring back the gold, but if you come back with me, you’d be just as valuable.”
“So I just run away?”
“You don’t run away.” O’Rourke nodded his head toward the back of the truck. “That gold will pay for weapons that will win this war, but they won’t win it on their own. Great Britain needs you. If you get on that ship, you’ll be back here one day, and when that day comes . . . you’ll be on the right side again.”
“What about Iris? You could have taken her away from this.”
“I would have, if I’d had the chance.”
Rossett didn’t reply.
An Army of One: A John Rossett Novel Page 36
