Paradise Gold: The Mafia and Nazis battle for the biggest prize of World War II (Ben Peters Thriller series Book 2) (18 page)

P
aradiso met
his men in the lobby of their hotel, and they stared at him in thinly disguised amazement. He wore a Panama on the back of his head and the loudest shirt they had probably ever seen. He completed the ensemble with tight, striped shorts showing off the unhealthy whiteness of his legs, and leather sandals. Joey almost said what he was thinking and Benny, gauging the mood, laid a restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder.

‘What, eh?’ Paradiso queried as his men stood open-mouthed and spread his arms wide.

‘It’s just you look as if–’ Benny said, trying to suppress a creeping mirth that was threatening to engulf him ‘–you’re on vacation’.

‘What do you think this is, you dumbfuck, eh?’ He put down the small shoulder bag. ‘Remember, it’s our cover.’ And he shook his head as if this was something he would sort out at a more opportune time. ‘We’re goin fishin, boys.’ He attempted a note of gaiety in his voice and looked around to see if anyone was listening. ‘We’re goin to spend the day at sea, have a few beers and catch some big ones.’

‘But, boss–’ Joey interrupted.

‘Shaddup, it’ll do you good, blow some of the fuckin cobwebs out of your goddamn head.’ He picked up his bag and strode past them and out into the morning sunshine where the limo was waiting for them.

Once in the limousine, Joey couldn’t leave it alone. ‘So where are we goin for this fishin, boss?’

‘Since when did you care a fuck about where we’re goin, eh? If I told you, it’d only confuse you.’

Benny joined in on the joke with a hesitant laugh and Joey’s eyes dropped, realising when the boss was in this kind of mood it was better to give him a wide berth.

Paradiso shook his head and to keep him onside added: ‘We’re goin to the north of the island, Rivière, which used to be a centre of smugglin and I’m told the fishin is great.’

Worried he had upset his boss, Joey nodded with false enthusiasm. Paradiso wasn’t watching, instead looking out his window. ‘I’m told we’ll land a big fish there,’ he said in an almost dreamy voice.

‘Never did like fishin,’ Joey grumbled quietly. ‘Pointless, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Your fuckin concerns don’t fuckin concern me. What do you think you’re here for, eh? Anybody would think you were on a fuckin vacation.’

He lit a cigarette and opened his window and the smoke blew back in his face, giving him a double hit of nicotine. Joey was a klutz, but a good
soldati
and he knew how to kill. Could shoot a man in front of his wife and kids and it meant nothing to him, like taking a piss. He had never liked working with associates, people like Durant, it made him nervous. You couldn’t trust them; they didn’t have the same goals, the same culture. If it were up to him, he would take him back to Long Island and finish the job, but for the time being his bosses thought otherwise. There was probably a bigger picture here and perhaps it was better for him if he didn’t know the whole story. As someone once said: ‘They can’t get you for somethin you don’t know.’

Neither Benny nor Joey dared to interrupt his thoughts for the rest of the journey. When they came down the narrow winding road into Rivière a man of indeterminate age, with a stubbly grey beard and a small fisherman’s cap perched on the side of his head, greeted them.

‘I’m Louis,’ the fisherman introduced himself, extending a hand that Paradiso pointedly ignored. Jeez, the man smelled of fish and he would never be able to get it off his hands.

‘The boat’s ready for you,’ Louis said, pointing at a craft with a multi-coloured hull. ‘Got fishin rods, some beer and food. We’re goin to be out there for some time.’ And he pointed across the water as if they hadn’t noticed the ocean.

Joey made himself useful by helping Louis cast off and the boat, trailing a stream of black smoke, made steady progress out into deeper waters. Once land was almost out of sight, Louis shouted ‘This’ll do us’ as he dropped anchor and busied himself distributing rods to his passengers, ensuring there was plenty of bait.

Paradiso grabbed himself a beer from the icebox and went for’ard, finding a spot where he could sit and feel the warmth from the deck and leant his back against the wheelhouse. He shouted over his shoulder. ‘You dumbfucks better do some fishin or somethin otherwise you’re goin to get fuckin bored out here. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.’

Louis came up to check he had everything he needed and Paradiso, forced to make some small talk, said: ‘Quiet out here, very peaceful.’

‘Yeah, out here I feel like a free man,’ Louis said. ‘Back there on the island –’ he gestured over his shoulder ‘– what with those Vichy bastards and the Nazis, I’m a prisoner.’ Louis squinted in the sunshine as he studied him. ‘Be careful now.’

His hand went automatically to his gun harness that he wasn’t wearing. ‘Whadya mean, eh?’

‘Don’t be fooled if it feels quite cool out here. It’s the
Alizé
.’ He felt foolish. ‘The wind may cool your skin, but the sun’s still burning.’

He rolled over onto his side, ending the audience and Louis wandered away leaving him alone. Jeez did the guy smell of fish. He closed his eyes and immediately she was there. The big blonde from next door. She was naked, which he supposed was okay because every time he saw her she was naked as the day she was born. The only time he saw her with clothes on was when she visited his wife. It was becoming pretty regular and he enjoyed banging her as long as he could drown out her incessant chatter. Their assignations were getting more intense than perhaps he wanted and now with hubby, the Marine, coming and going they were arranging nights away together and even once, a weekend. It was risky although it added to the excitement. She enjoyed doing something she shouldn’t be doing. He’d even thought about leaving his wife for her, but on some nights when he returned from the blonde his wife was waiting and asking for it, too. It couldn’t get any better. Why limit yourself to one when he could have both?

‘Hey, boss,’ Joey was saying. ‘This fishin sucks. I put down a line and I pull up a fuckin fish and then I put down another line and pull up another fuckin fish. These creatures have no fuckin brains. And what’ll I do with all this fuckin fish. There’s only so much fuckin fish you can eat.’ And he helped himself to another beer.

‘Probably bigger brains than you, you fuckin dumbfuck,’ he muttered under his breath.

And so it went for the rest of the afternoon. A cloudless sky melded with the blue of the ocean and the sun was relentless. After a while, they all found a corner of the boat where they could get some shade. And, apart from getting up for a beer, they dozed in fits and starts while Louis worked endlessly repairing the gear on his boat.

As the sun sank into the ocean, sending an orange current rippling towards them, the temperature dropped dramatically and he wished he’d brought something other than shorts. Night fell like a guillotine and he had an overwhelming feeling of being alone as an eerie silence enveloped them, broken only by the rhythmic sound of water lapping against the boat’s hull. Usually, he faced every assignment with confidence. This one worried him. He was unsure how it would turn out, although he would never admit it. He lit another cigarette to steady his nerves.

‘No lights,’ hissed Louis.

He glared at him. Who did the dumbfuck think was paying him?

‘At this time of day sounds can carry for miles, light even farther. We don’t want any Vichy patrol boats finding us. They shoot first and ask questions later – if there’s anyone still alive.’

He stamped out his cigarette on the wooden deck and received another look of disapproval from Louis.

‘We gotta listen out for boats,’ Louis warned. ‘If they’re patrol boats, we’ll hear them coming from a long way off and then we’ll have to work out from which direction. If they think we’re here, they’ll switch on their searchlights and open up with the machine guns. If they do, make sure you lie flat on the deck and stay there until I tell you we’re in the clear.’

They heard nothing. The
Alizé
increased in intensity and brought with it a light mist, swirling and changing shapes so several times he was convinced he saw something. Yet when he looked again, it had disappeared.

It came at them on the starboard side when they were least expecting it, emerging from the mist like a ghost ship. It made no sound and showed no lights and for an instant he wondered if it were really there or a trick of his already febrile imagination. The other boat was much bigger than theirs, and on deck a handful of men were clutching machine guns.

T
hey pulled
Paradiso up onto the boat, followed by Joey and Benny, and all the while the men with guns watched them carefully.

‘Hey, don’t ya know we’re all on the same side here, eh?’ Paradiso spread his arms and gave them his widest smile, glancing around the deck for a reception party.

With a muffled rumble, the boat’s engines were engaged and its bow lifted out of the water as it gathered speed, rocking him back on his heels. And it made a long turn, leaving the fishing boat and Louis in its wake.

‘Come,’ one of the men gestured to him and when Joey and Benny tried to follow, the others, looking so nervy they might shoot if someone sneezed, barred their path.

The sailor led him down some steps and into the boat’s main cabin where a big Martinican sat cross-legged on a large couch with his arms stretched out along the back. In contrast to his men on deck, he seemed totally relaxed and in control. Before him on a glass table was a bottle and two glasses.

‘Welcome aboard,’ said Raymond, who didn’t introduce himself or get up to shake his hand. It only reinforced his belief that they saw him and his men as the hired help, here to do their dirty work.

‘Make yourself comfortable.’ Raymond ushered him into a chair with a wave of a hand and then dismissed the other man.

‘Drink?’

‘What is it, eh?’

‘Local rum, it’s special. Here we make it from sugar cane juice rather than molasses as you’ll get elsewhere.’ Raymond poured generous measures into the glasses. ‘You know who I am?’

‘I guess so, the head honcho.’

‘Be careful, it’s strong.’

To tell him to be careful was the worst thing anybody could say. He would have preferred a beer, but he’d take the man’s rum and show him it was no big deal.

‘Let’s try it.’ He picked up the glass, studied the liquid for a second and swallowed it in one gulp as Raymond looked on, a broad smile creasing his face. He could feel the rum making its way through his body, burning every intestine.

‘Jeez.’ He coughed. ‘It sure has a kick to it,’ he gasped, his face flushing and his eyes watering.

‘I was going to tell you it’s a special bottle – seventy percent alcohol, that’s 140 proof to you.’ Raymond poured some more and the neck of the bottle clinked on the glass. ‘Have another.’

This time he took it more carefully. ‘
Santé
.’ When in Rome etcetera, he thought, taking a sip and the liquid still burned his innards.

‘Are we ready to go, eh?’ he said and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He could’ve done with some ice to put out the fire in his gut, but he knew to ask for it would be admitting defeat.

Amused at his discomfort, Raymond nodded. ‘Your men – there’s about forty of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘They’re all in Dominica now and will move when you’re ready.’

‘What about your men, eh?’

‘We’ve around three hundred, maybe as many as three-fifty.’

‘For Christsakes, is that all? We were promised more.’

Raymond raised his hands to calm him. ‘Good men. They’ll get the job done.’

His look glowed with a sheen of cynicism. ‘I’ve heard that before.’ They may be good and dedicated to the cause, but they were amateurs, unlike his men who knew how to kill. ‘Are they all armed, eh? I mean guns, not pitchforks.’

Raymond ignored him. ‘We’re ready to die to win back Martinique.’

‘Three-fifty against a whole garrison of French soldiers, not to mention those Nazi bastards.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t like gamblin with odds like those.’

Disappointed at his reaction, the Martinican gave him a hard stare. ‘Nothing has changed from when your people and Durant got together to plan this. We don’t need any more. This isn’t going to be a full-scale assault on the Fort.’

Paradiso reached over and topped up his glass with the rum and offered the bottle to Raymond, who shook his head. ‘Just run it by me again.’

Raymond sighed as if it were unnecessary but continued. ‘We hate Vichy almost as much as we do the Nazis. They’ve repressed us. The ordinary people of Martinique are no longer free, and every week the numbers of Nazis are increasing. Before long, we’ll be an occupied country, no matter what they think back in France.’

‘Then why haven’t you done something about it before, eh?’

‘We’re still French and at first we followed the law of the land. It soon became apparent things had changed.’

‘Okay, so you don’t like the bastards. How will that help us, eh?’

‘Admiral Robert believes he’s following the orders of the Vichy Government although, perhaps unwittingly, he’s becoming the tool of the Nazi regime. Around him, he has a cadre of senior officers who are pro-Vichy. The Nazis’ presence on the island is more sinister than first thought. They’re
Wehrmacht
, but they don’t wear uniforms, although you can always tell who they are, and they are reinforced by a number of Gestapo, who are the real evil bastards. They’re supposed to be here as advisers, but they’re much more than that. In recent weeks, U-boats have been coming into the harbour at Fort-de-France. We believe they’re attempting to remove the gold using their U-boats.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He was beginning to enjoy the rum.

‘Many of the younger officers and the majority of the men, the soldiers and the sailors, support a free France. If you asked the islanders, were they able to answer freely, they’d tell you they wanted to be rid of the Nazis and their sympathisers.’

‘So they’re on our side, eh?’

‘Yes. It’s pretty relaxed at the Fort. There’s only a core of soldiers on duty at any time. Others are in their barracks and unarmed, or in town visiting bordellos, unlike the Nazis who are always there and fully armed all the time. Our friendly officers and their men will ensure those who are pro-Vichy will be held under guard when we strike. They won’t raise arms against us and will look the other way while we carry out our business. Those of us targeting the General will use a side gate and the soldiers on guard will be withdrawn so we’ll have unimpeded access.’

‘Sounds good,’ he said, seeing more holes in the plan than in a fishing net. ‘We’ll need backup from your boys.’

‘Once we’re inside the Fort, the front gate will be opened and the main body of our men will enter and take control. Remember, the French soldiers are our brothers in arms; they mustn’t be harmed. No shooting. Do what you will with the Nazis, eliminate them by all means, and let us deal with the Admiral.’

‘What’ve you in store for him, eh?’

‘He’ll be our hostage and will be useful in our negotiations with the Vichy. It’s imperative he’s not harmed in any way.’

‘What about the Germans on the U-boats in the harbour, eh? They’re not going to take this lying down.’

‘A squad of men will have been despatched to neutralise them as soon as the operation begins.’

‘And there’s the two French warships in the harbour. With their firepower, they could blow us out of the water?’

‘Apart from certain officers, their commanders are with us and not one sailor will move a muscle without their order.’

He weighed it all up. He had heard this before, but he wanted to make certain there were no deviations from the plan. The possibilities for a fuck-up were multiple. What if some of the soldiers got their loyalties screwed up at the last moment and started firing or didn’t open the gate? Taking out the Nazis he could handle; he’d done it with rival gangs. A garrison of soldiers was another matter. That’s why, whatever Raymond thought, he had added a few other factors to the plan to ensure should something go wrong he and his men would have an escape route. Never enter a room, somebody once told him, without knowing the way out.

‘This way it’ll look as if the Free French have effected the coup,’ Raymond interrupted his thoughts. ‘Martinique will be free again and we’ll keep the gold.’

‘Don’t forget our share, buddy?’

‘And America won’t be involved, just some mercenaries who happen to be from Puerto Rico.

He scowled at him. ‘What bugs me about all this is it was dreamt up by that dumbfuck Durant. Then some of his bosses got involved and they brought in my people. Couldn’t you have done all this on your own without us, eh? You say you’ve got the soldiers and the sailors onside, what’s stopping you, eh?’

‘You’re the vital ingredient,’ Raymond said with a broad smile. ‘America’s involvement was crucial. If we did it alone and we failed, everyone who’d been involved would be punished by the Vichy and the Nazis. They now believe this is the first step to America entering the war, and there is tacit support for the Free French.’

‘You know the American people don’t want to be involved in the war?’

‘Exactly, that’s why you and your men are here. No one knows the background to all this – the payment in gold to the Cosa Nostra, the arrangement with your boss – the islanders will believe you’re Marines working undercover, not mercenaries.’

He didn’t like the term mercenaries but was enjoying the rum too much to protest.

‘So you have your cake and get to eat it, eh?’

‘Sometimes it’s better for people not to be told the whole truth.’ Raymond was smiling wryly.

‘And if it goes wrong, Vichy and the Nazis will blame America anyway and probably declare war on us.’

‘Then there will be nothing to stop America stepping in to save the gold. I know you have Marines standing by for such an operation if necessary.’

For some reason, he had a flash of the big blonde spreadeagled across her bed. He shook his head. ‘Okay, okay, I can buy that for now. When do we go, eh?’

Raymond poured himself another drink and got up, cradling the glass in his hands. ‘There’s been a slight delay.’

‘Whadya mean, eh?’ Paradiso put down his glass.

‘We’ve not had the order from Durant to proceed.’

‘For Christsakes, the dumbfuck.’ He jumped to his feet and the chair fell backwards. ‘Haven’t you contacted him, eh?’

‘Not been able to. Don’t know what the problem is.’

The gold was now just moving out of reach as though drifting on the tide and he felt his dreams fading. ‘For Christsakes.’ He slammed a fist on the table, sending the half-empty bottle of rum crashing onto the floor. ‘We can’t wait any longer.’

Hearing the noise, a Resistance fighter entered the room, his rifle at the ready, but was waved away.

What the fuck’s going on, he wondered. Was Durant getting cold feet? Had his contacts in Washington pulled the rug from under them? Did his people know about this? Were they trying to screw more out of the deal? He hadn’t received any communications ordering him to halt proceedings. He couldn’t delay things any longer. The Nazis would be looking for their missing men and he would fall under suspicion and it would be better to hit them before they hit him. Anyway, the men and their arms were all in place so what was stopping them unless the Resistance refused to move without Washington’s backing.

‘What’s your take on this, eh?’

Raymond walked away so he couldn’t see his face. ‘I don’t want to upset you Americans, but I’ve heard the Nazis want to bring in troops to the island and I need to strike before that happens.’

‘Good man.’ He beamed.

‘It’s bound to get out there’s a group of Americans on Dominica and we’d lose the element of surprise,’ Raymond said. ‘As it is, the Nazis have already got the American, Peters, locked up and he may know something about this.’

‘Take it from me, the dumbfuck doesn’t. They can barbecue his balls, but he can’t tell them anything unless he gives them some of his fiction.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, this is our only chance, Tony. If you’ve to await orders from your people…’

He kept getting flashes of gold bars stacked up from the floor to the ceiling. His bosses expected him to show initiative. He was the commander on the ground and it was up to him to grasp the moment otherwise he would never make it to the top, and perhaps once and for all he could bury the memory of his brother-in-law. If they delayed, he’d wind up dead instead of eating off plates of gold.

‘I’ve heard nothing. I don’t take orders from no government, the dumbfuck Durant, or anyone else.’

Raymond smiled.

‘Right, we go,’ Paradiso said. ‘You wanted assassins. You got ‘em.’ He walked over to the door. ‘Now just get me off this fuckin boat.’