by James R Benn
Seven forty.
Christ on a crutch. Twenty minutes until Hannes’s scheduled arrival. Plus, Moe and Lasho, if they managed to intercept Fournier and his escort. We were about to have a grand soiree in the garden, with bullet cocktails. Victor scooted back behind the bushes as I drew my revolver, taking the steps two at a time, wishing I could part the fog and see five feet ahead.
As I came to the corner at the top of the stairs I hesitated, my palm damp and slippery on the pistol grip. Footsteps from the sidewalk sounded against the wet pavement until a dark figure stood before me, his pistol nearly barrel to barrel with mine.
“There you are, Herr Boyle,” Krauch murmured from behind his stooge. He patted him on the arm and the pistol disappeared into the folds of his coat as I stuffed mine into my pocket. “I see you arrived early as well.”
“Just checking the exits,” I said. “I have one man on each. What about you?”
“Two men in two cars up here,” he said, very businesslike. “One car across the bridge, to catch him if he crosses on foot. The other down the road, in case he comes from that direction. One man walking the path along the river, and then Bruno and myself. We will find a spot to hide in the garden.”
“Smart plan,” I said. It wasn’t. He’d wasted five men on perimeter patrol, which would only serve to scare Hannes off. I hadn’t taken into account the Gestapo’s lack of subtlety. “Everyone knows to let the payoff man and his escort in?”
“Yes, yes, if we don’t have Hannes by then, of course. Here, we all have police whistles. Take one,” Krauch said, handing me a small brass whistle. “Sound it if you spot Hannes and we will converge. Remember, do not shoot him.”
“You want him taken alive?” I asked.
“I do not want the invoice ruined, by bullet holes or blood. Now, let us get into position,” Krauch said, stomping down the stairs with Bruno in tow. I was sure Krauch wanted to spare Huber the sight of blood, being such a sensitive guy, but I knew he wanted Hannes in one piece in order to torture him for the location of his stolen loot. I hoped I was right about it being stashed at the railway station; that would allow us to grab it quickly, assuming we found the key on Hannes.
I followed them down slowly, stopping to tie my shoe when I got close to Victor, although with the fog that subterfuge was hardly necessary. As I stood, I realized the fog was not as dense as it had been, and the misty rain had let up.
“Stay put,” I said. “If you hear a whistle, four Gestapo are likely to come down those stairs. Fire a few shots and make them think twice about it, then find another spot to hunker down in. Can you do that?”
“With a great deal of pleasure,” Victor whispered from his hiding place.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” I answered, and ran back to my spot, catching a glimpse of Krauch and Bruno making their way through the flower beds, heading for a line of trees down the slope, close to the river. Maybe they were checking in with their man on the path, or just concealing themselves amid the dark shadows.
Back to waiting.
Eight.
Krauch and his men were still expecting Hannes to arrive an hour from now. That gave me a bit of an edge once I spotted Hannes, hopefully any minute now. They wouldn’t be expecting it, and we were ready. I glanced at the stairs, hoping that Lasho and Moe had made out okay pulling a fast one on Huber’s men. If not, there’d be another wild card to contend with.
Five after eight.
I got up, moving the shrub in front of me to check on Kaz’s position. I strained to see in the darkness.
Then a noise, a dull click.
In the foggy dark, it was hard to tell where the sound came from. I felt adrift in gray-black as I listened for another sound.
A footstep.
I turned around. Hannes was right behind me, his pistol leveled at my head.
His right hand held the gun. His left came to his mouth, a finger raised in the gesture of silence. He didn’t need to worry. I had no desire to have him disturb the quiet night with a shot that would blow my brains out.
“The greenhouse,” I whispered, in my most hushed voice. He nodded.
“Since three o’clock,” he said, grinning at how he’d outsmarted me. “So warm inside on a cold, rainy day. No one around to bother me, either, until that unfortunate guard came along to lock up. Well, too bad for him, but it all worked out. Now, don’t tell me the money is not coming. I would be terribly disappointed.” He edged closer, his weapon centered on my forehead.
“It’s coming,” I said. “Anytime now.”
“Good,” he whispered in my ear, grabbing me by the collar and turning me around. “Because if not—” The cold steel of the barrel ground into my neck. I was beginning to get irritated with this routine. Not to mention the murder of an innocent security guard. What did he mean about it all working out?
“There,” I whispered, as footfalls echoed in the stone stairway. Please let it be Lasho and Moe, I prayed, invoking all the saints I’d ignored since the last tight spot I was in.
The shadows drew closer. It looked like them, but it was impossible to tell. Hannes stepped out from behind the bushes, dragging me along. He stuffed the gun into his pocket, probably worried about spooking them. He waved, his left hand still clenching my collar and dragging me along with him.
I had about two seconds. I grabbed the whistle in my pocket and gave it one long ear-piercing blast. Hannes slugged me with his right hand, knocking the brass whistle flying, his other hand still grasping my collar.
Stupid, I thought, as the blow to my jaw sent stars pinwheeling across my clouded vision. He should have shot me. I stumbled and rolled away from Hannes, expecting him to come to the same conclusion. I reached for my revolver as other whistles shrieked and shouts sounded from every direction.
A pistol shot cracked, then another, two flashes in the fog not ten feet from me.
“Victor, stay put!” I yelled, then darted away into the flower beds in case my voice drew a bullet. “Lasho, Moe, hide!” Again I moved, running low, trying to figure Hannes’s best hope of escape. I was between him and Krauch; Victor had the stairs covered, and Kaz was at the other entrance.
I ducked behind a rosebush. What that protected me from, I had no idea.
The guard. Hannes had said something about the guard he’d killed. Keys. He would have had keys to the university building up the hill. Keys that would get Hannes in the door and out to the street. Hannes would know we had the exits covered, so that was his best bet to get away.
Shots again, this time from the stone staircase. Victor was firing at the Gestapo, who blew their whistles, the sound carrying as they retreated back up the steps. I ran to Kaz, gasping out a message for him to follow me. We ran up the hill, past the greenhouse, heading for the rear of the building.
“Halt!”
Krauch stepped out, his pistol leveled. Two men stood behind him. Bruno and the guy from the path. It had to be.
“He’s going out through the building. He has keys,” I said, starting to move.
“I said halt.” Krauch’s gun was still aimed at my gut. He spoke to Bruno, who vanished, heading toward the building. The other man stepped closer, revealing himself to be Ernst. None of us signaled any recognition.
“What’s going on?” I asked, although it was obvious.
“We no longer need you, Herr Boyle. I have more men than I claimed, I am afraid. They are securing all exits now. It is a shame the traitor Hannes had to kill you. But not before he executed another worthless Pole,” Krauch said, turning to Ernst, waving his pistol in our direction.
Ernst took our revolvers, his mouth set in a thin grimace. He didn’t look me in the eye, a bad sign. I glanced around, hoping for anyone to come to our rescue. It didn’t seem likely. Victor was at his post, with Lasho and Moe taking cover as I’d told them to.
“Schiessen,” Kr
auch said, snapping out an order that I was pretty sure meant shoot. Krauch walked away, leaving the dirty work to Ernst.
“Herr Kriminalinspektor,” Ernst called out, sounding somewhat more formal than the situation called for. Maybe he was going to file a complaint.
“Ja?” Krauch said, irritation evident in his tone as he turned back.
Ernst raised my revolver. And shot Krauch twice, in what heart he had.
Before Krauch’s body hit the ground, Ernst handed our pistols back to us.
“Erschiesse mich,” he said. Kaz was the language expert, but it sure sounded like he wanted us to shoot him. “Bitte.”
“I get it,” I said to Kaz. “Tell him thanks, and I’m sorry.” Kaz spoke a few quick words, and Ernst answered, then gave me a grim nod. I raised my revolver enough to shoot him in the meaty part of the thigh. Ernst was a stocky guy, and as long as I missed the bone, he’d be okay. I squeezed the trigger.
He grunted and grabbed his leg, managing not to fall over. It was a through-and-through, leaving neat entrance and exit holes in his now blood-soaked trousers.
“Danke,” I said, gripping his hand. Ernst smiled through clenched teeth, then said something in German, pushing me away as soon as he finished. We bolted, rushing to find everyone before the whistles sounded again.
“Ernst said we should hide, quickly,” Kaz said as we looked for Moe and Lasho. We found them behind a neatly trimmed hedge and we all scurried off to Victor’s hiding place.
“What the hell is happening?” he asked as we squeezed in with him.
“No time to explain,” I said, turning to Moe. “Everything go okay with Fournier?”
“Yes. We had to tie up his minder. Fournier’s waiting at the café where you and Kaz ate.”
“Okay. The place is swarming with Gestapo. Hannes is probably in the building. They’re surrounding it,” I said.
“Krauch?” Victor asked, gripping his pistol.
“Dead. Sorry we couldn’t let you do the honors,” I said. “But we still have to get out of here alive and find Hannes.”
“He’s probably going to try for the train station,” Kaz said. “If we were right about his plan.”
“The Gestapo men have the place surrounded,” I said. “We’re trapped in here.”
Then the whistle sounded. Three long sharp blasts, followed by a short one. The sound came from where we’d left Ernst.
“Ernst,” Kaz said. “That’s why he said to hide. He’s calling the troops to him.”
“Who the hell is Ernst?” Victor asked.
“A German,” Lasho said. “Gestapo, but a good man. Strange, is it not?”
There wasn’t time to discuss the concept of a decent Gestapo agent doing us a good turn, then asking me to shoot him. Heavy feet thundered down the stairs, and I put my hand on Victor’s pistol, lowering it as we held our breath while a pack of Krauch’s men headed to their dead boss and grievously wounded partner. I hoped Ernst laid it on thick. Maybe he’d get a medal.
“Come on,” I said, once the coast was clear. We ran up the steps, making it to the sidewalk and the wide roadway that led to the bridge and the railway station beyond. Automobiles moved slowly, the thin slits in their covered headlights showing little more than pinpricks of lights appearing and disappearing in the gloom. The fog had lifted and I felt the beginnings of a breeze as the raindrops began to solidify, hitting the ground in heavy splats.
“We probably have a minute’s start on Hannes before he figures out the team has been pulled away,” I said. “Moe and Lasho, go around the gardens and make your way to the path along the river, in case he heads out that way. If nothing happens, head to the café and give Fournier his payoff.”
“If we see Hannes?” Moe asked.
“Kill him. Get the invoice and any keys he has in his pockets. We’ll meet at the train station. Go,” I said.
Without a word, they trotted off, going the long way around the university building. Where Hannes would be making his exit anytime soon. He’d know about the whistles and what the signal meant. It was his only chance. Police sirens sounded from across the river, drawing closer. The gunfire had gotten someone’s attention.
“Come on,” I said, crouching low and running in the road, keeping the occasional parked car between us and the building. It was three stories tall, the gray granite dark and blurry against the rainy night sky.
“Here,” I said as we came to a side entrance. “Kaz. Watch the door.” He knelt by the bumper of a car. Victor and I went around to the front, where steps led up to the double-door main entrance. I took up position there and sent Victor to the next corner. I figured Hannes would avoid the side where Kaz was as too obvious, and Victor’s side as too far away from the bridge. That left the front door. I was ready.
All the windows were dark. The only light came from the occasional solitary vehicle on the road. The sirens wailed, still sounding far away. If I were Hannes, I’d get a move on.
If I were him. I realized I wouldn’t go out any of the doors. Talk about obvious. A window would do just as well. Drop quietly to the ground and take off. I scanned the front of the building, all windows dark and shut up tight. No movement anywhere.
Crack.
A single gunshot. Then another. From Victor’s direction.
Tires screeched on the roadway as a driver slammed on the brakes, as if avoiding some maniac darting across the street. A dark form came around the corner, headed my way. I stepped onto the sidewalk, revolver at the ready. I aimed, but held my fire. Whoever it was stumbled, then regained his footing.
It was Victor, one arm bloodied.
“Across the street,” he gasped. “He came out a window. I didn’t see him.”
“Tell Kaz,” I yelled, and headed out into the street, straining to catch sight of Hannes making his getaway. Not to mention any cars careening my way.
I angled left, figuring he’d turn the corner and head across the bridge. I came to the main road, squinting and trying to catch a glimpse of him. I headed toward Kaz, finally seeing him and Victor, who was still clutching his pistol in his good hand.
The screeching sound of tires again, behind me. This time it had to be Hannes crossing over. I turned and ran, wondering if I’d been wrong about the railway station. The car beeped its horn as I ran past, and I was disappointed I hadn’t heard the thump of a body hitting the pavement. I heard Kaz shout, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.
The sirens were closer. I chanced a glance back and saw what Kaz was yelling about. Police lights coming across the bridge, bright and vivid as the wind and rain blew off the fog drifting up from the river. Hannes definitely wasn’t going that way.
Not over that bridge, anyway. But there was the rail bridge, not far from the Lorrainebrücke. I’d seen it earlier, the steel lattice-work span a clear contrast with the solid concrete roadway.
I had to find it.
I ran across the lanes of traffic, slipping on the wet pavement, in a hurry to catch Hannes and also avoid the polizei, who were probably on the lookout for guys with guns running around their city. I took a side street across from the gardens, hoping it would lead to the other bridge. I passed houses and a restaurant, and then the street curved away, making room for the railroad bridge.
High above me, tall columns held up the elevated bridge. Thirty, maybe forty feet tall. With no way up. I ran along the street, straining to find an access point. There was nothing in sight, just the smooth concrete plinths.
But not where it spanned the river. I ran back, darting between buildings, searching for the riverside path. The curved steel span was anchored on the riverbank, not far from the path. I jumped a fence and slid down a muddy incline, ending up in the backyard of a house tucked right under the bridge.
There he was. Raincoat flapping as he ran, making for the base of the span, where the steel framework ga
ve plenty of handholds for a motivated climber. And Hannes had motivation; the train station was directly across the river. He was up into the understructure quick enough, grasping handholds, feet shuffling carefully along the narrow edge of the truss. I didn’t dare shoot, not even a warning shot. If he dropped into the river, the current would take him and all his secrets. I didn’t yell his name either, for fear of startling him or letting him take a few potshots at me. I wasn’t too crazy about taking a chance with that swift current myself.
So I ran for the base of the span, ditching my trench coat and hat for freedom of movement, hoping that Hannes wouldn’t look back. I pulled myself up and instantly slipped on the wet metal girder. I got up again, more carefully this time, and figured the chances of Hannes turning to look back were slim. I was terrified enough two feet off the ground.
Rain pelted my face as I edged along, grabbing beams and pulling myself forward as the span arched upward. There was no way to take a step; I had to adopt the same shuffling motion as Hannes with only about four inches of flat surface jutting out from the massive steel girders. It looked a lot easier from a distance.
I was out over the river now, the water raging beneath me, wind and water buffeting my body and conspiring to tear away my handholds and sweep my feet off the slippery steel. Hannes was at the apex of the span, about to start the downward slope to the far shore and safety. When he got there, he was bound to look back.
And see me, a sitting duck.
“Hannes, you bastard!” Victor’s harsh scream came from behind, startling me as I pulled my body forward. I froze, grabbing the rough painted metal as tightly as possible. I took a deep breath and saw Hannes slip a bit himself, then turn his head to the riverbank.
A shot, and I heard the ricochet as Victor’s bullet went wide and struck steel.
“No!” I shouted, but Victor fired again, another missed shot. It was some distance for an accurate pistol shot, but he might get lucky, and we’d lose everything. Victor was in a rage: from his gunshot wound, from the stress of the chase, from his loss at the hands of the Gestapo, maybe from all the wrongs and secrets he’d endured. Whatever it was, he was out of control, and as he began to climb the girder I knew his anger would not sustain him, not with one bad arm.
