Paradise Gold: The Mafia and Nazis battle for the biggest prize of World War II (Ben Peters Thriller series Book 2) (22 page)

H
orst
and two others escorted Ben back to the main gate and, as they walked down, two more men followed them in a crawling black Citroen.

‘Do not try to make a run for it,’ Horst warned him with a sneer. ‘You would be killed before you got off the island and my colleagues,’ he gestured with a backwards nod, ‘will track your every move.’

Ben glanced at the car with a sense of foreboding.

‘How are you going to draw Raymond out of his lair?’ Horst asked.

‘I have a plan,’ he lied, wondering what his first move would be. He didn’t want to deliver Raymond on a plate to the Nazis, but he’d do everything possible to gain Natalie’s release. It was a forlorn hope. And he didn’t believe he could outwit the Resistance leader who had evaded the Nazis and the island’s secret police for so long.

While everything inside the Fort appeared dark and brooding, the day outside shone bright with promise. Below was the beautiful blue of the bay and it was as though he’d stepped out of a nightmare into a different world. Never before had he so welcomed the breeze on his face and tasted the freshness of the air. He walked down the slope and turned a corner putting him out of sight of the Fort’s sentries, and an overwhelming urge to flee overcame him and he almost broke into a run.

A car cruised alongside. ‘
Bonjou
, are you going my way?’ Ronnie leant over the passenger seat and smiled up at him. ‘I’m cheaper than a taxi.’

‘What kept you?’ He grabbed the door handle, yanked it open and jumped in. ‘Get out of here as fast as you can.’

‘
Pa ni pwoblèm,
no problem.’ She grinned and stamped on the accelerator and the little car lurched forward and when she came to a junction she drove straight through without looking left or right.

‘Why did they release you?’ she asked, turning to look at him and smiling conspiratorially as if he’d a secret to share. ‘Where’s Natalie?’

She saw the answer in his face, and she knew it wasn’t good. Her voice dropped. ‘Where to?’

‘Just drive, until I work something out.’

She flashed him a quizzical look. ‘Anything I can help with?’

‘Don’t know,’ he said and adjusted her rearview mirror to check if they were being followed. There was no sign of the black Citroen. ‘The Nazis are holding Natalie and she’ll die within the next 24 hours unless I can get her out.’

He watched her countenance change from concern to fear and finally to tears as he recounted recent events. ‘Those bastards, how could they do that?’ She bit her bottom lip and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

He couldn’t answer, shaking his head and feeling an almost uncontrollable anger and frustration. Every minute brought her closer to a horrible death.

‘We must be able to do something to help her?’ Her eyes were wide and desperation spread across her face. And her knuckles were white as her grip tightened on the steering wheel.

‘Earlier you said you knew nothing about the Resistance,’ he said, and she flashed him a warning look. ‘I met Raymond and he seemed a decent person. Surely he could do something to help?’

‘I doubt he‘d risk his people for one person,’ she said. ‘This is war and there have to be sacrifices.’

‘Whatever happens, the Nazis will kill Natalie, even if she does gets free of that damn barrel.’ He threw back his head and exhaled noisily. ‘And they’ll certainly kill me before I can leave the island. There’s no escape, but I’m not giving up.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘You know a lot of people on the island. Can you let it be known what’s happening to Natalie and that I’d like to meet Raymond again. It’s a longshot, but I’ll try anything.’

He looked in the rearview mirror again – the black Citroen was about a hundred yards back.

‘I–I–don’t know.’ She shook her head and looked defeated. ‘I don’t know where these people are, and when you were kidnapped, you said they took you to Dominica.’

‘I can’t think of anyone else I can go to.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not worried about myself. But Natalie shouldn’t have to go through this.’ And he shivered at the thought of insects making their way into his body.

‘Okay, I’ll try.’ She slowed the car down and turned to face him. ‘I can’t promise it’ll work, though. I’ll speak to some people who might be able to reach the Resistance.’ She shook her head. ‘If this doesn’t work then … then Natalie is lost.’

‘I’ll come with you?’

‘No, no, I’ll drop you off at your hotel and you can wait there for me. It could take a couple of hours at least to contact them. Then maybe…’ Her words faded away.

On the drive back to the hotel, they spoke no more. He ran through his options, no matter how outlandish. And he kept coming up with the same answer. He glanced at Ronnie, who was biting her bottom lip as she always did when she was concentrating.

What he needed more than anything was a stiff drink and he was disappointed the hotel’s terrace bar was closed and returned to reception. ‘I’m in desperate need of a drink,’ he told the bored receptionist, employing what he thought was his most appealing smile. ‘Can you help me?’

‘The bar’s closed,’ she said and resumed her interest in the paperwork before her.

‘Please,’ he pleaded and the thought of not having a drink made him want one all the more.

She sighed, realising he wasn’t going away, clicked her tongue and picked up the phone and after some time muttered some words into it.

‘Go to the bar,’ she said and shooed him away with an outstretched arm. ‘Go.’

Dutifully, he made his way out to the terrace and the barman, who looked as if he had just been awoken from a deep sleep, glared at him.

‘Scotch, please.’

The man disappeared and returned minutes later with a bottle, perhaps saving himself from being disturbed again, a bucket of ice and jug of water and banged it down on the table before him. Ben poured half a glass and took a large gulp, letting it warm him all the way down. Perfect, he thought to himself, and then he noticed the black Citroen with two men in the front seat had pulled into the car park.

B
ack in his room
, Ben showered and changed his clothes still smelling of the cell at the Fort. He sought out the map and the pistol he had received from Natalie. He studied the map for several minutes, identifying the areas where they’d been held and the courtyard, but there was no location for the gold or where the Nazis were billeted. The gun was loaded and, looking along its barrel, he took aim at a vase of flowers. He stuck it in his waistband and folded the map and put it in a pocket. Without help, it would be impossible to rescue Natalie. He wouldn’t be able to get past the gates and even if he did he couldn’t move around inside the Fort without being detected.

At first, he thought Natalie’s accusations were a fiction to convince von Bayerstein to free her. Now he wondered if there was an element of truth in what she said. She obviously knew he was on a mission. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have met in the forest. Did she believe it was different to the one Smee had sent him on? Admiral Robert? Was that why she’d given him the map and the pistol? And how did she know about the photographer taking a picture of Durant shaking his hand at the Rockefeller Center? Was there a reason why Smee had introduced him to Durant?

T
he address Durant
had been given by an anonymous caller was a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, which from the outside appeared to be empty. He stood on the sidewalk, studying the big windows naked of drapes and the flaking paintwork, and it gave out the sour smell of neglect. He glanced down the street either side of the building. It looked like an ordinary weekday morning. There was no one lurking like they shouldn’t be there, apart from him. Sighing, he climbed the steps and knocked on the door and its coloured glass inserts rattled. He wondered why there was all this cloak and dagger nonsense in the intelligence business. He had never met Steegan in a normal environment like a conventional office. Every time he chose different, obscure locations, some of which had been positively weird as though he were playing a game that dictated every meeting place had to be more bizarre than the one before.

No answer.

He knocked again, harder this time, wondering if he’d got the right address. This was hardly in Steegan’s class. The glass rattled again. There was no movement or noise from within. He stepped back and looked up at the windows. He decided he would give it one more go and if no one answered, he would get the hell out of there. He raised his fist to knock again when a voice from behind said: ‘Ah, there you are, we’ve been waiting for you.’

A young man carrying what appeared to be a bag of bagels said: ‘You’ve come for the interview.’ He handed over the bagels to Durant, brushed past him, pulled out a key ring from his pocket, and opened the door. With his foot, he pushed away a pile of mail that had accumulated on the mat and ordered: ‘Follow me.’

Still carrying the bagels, he followed the man up a flight of stairs, through an archway and into a large room looking out over the street. The only piece of furniture in the room was a straight-backed wooden chair and, after retrieving his bagels, the young man pointed towards it. ‘Sit.’

Voices from what sounded like several people rose and fell from an adjoining room. He waited about fifteen minutes before the door opened and the young man looked in and seemed surprised he was still sitting there. The door closed and almost immediately opened again and Steegan walked into the room.

‘What the–’ he started.

Steegan stopped him with both hands raised and his palms facing him. ‘No names, walls have ears.’

‘What here?’

‘Yes even here. If the British can tap into Nazi conversations in Europe, anything is possible. And as sure as the Yankees are going to win the World Series, they know what we’re doing, so somebody’s going to be listening.’

‘It’s not radio…’

Steegan put a finger to his lips. ‘Sssh. No names, no place names, nothing.’

There had been no recent contact with his Senator and he was now beginning to worry why. The Senator was his one point of contact and without his support he would be on his own. The other committee members, who were privy to this secret, would disappear back down their rat holes. That left him and Steegan, but on whose side was he?

Pacing up and down, Steegan glanced out of the window several times before coming back to the centre of the room. He studied him carefully. ‘Can you stop it?’ he whispered in something akin to a death rattle and at the same instant an outburst of laughter from the adjoining room seemed to be mocking them.

‘What?’ He was confused but Steegan just stared at him. ‘Why?’ He was pleased with how smoothly the operation was progressing. Raymond was enthusiastic because he saw this as his one chance of overthrowing the Vichy administration and returning Martinique to the Free French. And even if it weren’t official, an unofficial operation sanctioned by American sources was better than nothing. It provided much-needed firepower and more importantly sent out a message to the people on the island they had America’s backing. The Senator was also enthusiastic even if a great number of people in government and the services, as well as those out in the country, would be opposed to the project. Once the Germans were defeated, the Senator was convinced he would be acclaimed as a national hero for having had the foresight to mastermind this brave and dangerous mission.

‘You must abort the operation.’ Steegan extricated a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Immediately.’

He shook his head.

‘Look, I know how you must feel,’ Steegan said, ‘and after that dreadful tragedy at the end of last month, many would wholeheartedly support your actions. By sinking the
USS Reuben James
and killing another 115 of our sailors, you can see what that bastard Hitler is doing. Sending a message to Americans that we’re not safe anywhere, not even on our own territory. Jeez. I reckon if people knew what you were planning they’d give you a medal.
’
He paused to regain his equilibrium. ‘But not one of your ragbag band of mercenaries must set foot on the island.’

‘Could be difficult at this stage...’

‘The other day Winston Churchill gave a speech at his old school over in England. Harrow, I think it was, in which he said never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. Jeez. I admire that man.’

He was confused. Steegan appeared to be giving him mixed messages.

‘Not one shot must be fired.’

‘But–’

‘Is that clear?’

‘I’m not going to take your word for this. We’re too far down the line to pull out now. Lives will be at risk if we do. I need to speak to Senator–’

‘Sssh, no names.’ Again Steegan put a finger to his lips.

‘He hasn’t been taking my calls.’

‘Would be hard for him.’

He flashed him a look.

‘Dead. Killed in a car crash.’

‘I hadn’t heard.’

‘You wouldn’t. Suppressed for reasons of security.’

‘Then who…’

‘You’re point on this now. And the buck stops with you.’

‘I–’

‘The powers that be,’ Steegan raised his hand high above his head to illustrate their authority, ‘considered sending in the Marines. Now they have changed tack and your operation conflicts with their strategy. If you were successful, it would hand control of the island to the Free French leader De Gaulle. And they now don’t want it to happen because both FDR and Churchill dislike De Gaulle and think him to be a glory seeker. They’ve decided to let the status quo
continue for the time being. Although the island will remain under constant surveillance.’

‘Impossible.’ He shook his head and worry swamped his face. ‘I can’t stop it now.’

Steegan knitted his eyebrows and swallowed hard as if he had tasted something unpalatable. He gave out with a long, low groan. ‘You’ve no choice. You must stop it for all our sakes and especially for your country, and for that matter for yourself in particular. I‘ve got to stress here again for the record I have no knowledge of what you’re planning, but the order is clear you must abort immediately.’ His voice was rising and it sounded as though he were reading a prepared speech. ‘Your plan is no longer viable.’

His use of ‘your’ reinforced the feeling he was on his own. ‘What do you mean?’

‘For your situation?’

He wondered did he really want to hear this.

‘If the operation is halted now, it will disappear. It won’t be in any records as though it never happened.’

‘That would leave me in a bad situation with The Mob.’

‘Your own personal problem, I’m afraid,’ Steegan said with a tortured smile.

‘And if I can’t stop it?’

‘Papers have been passed to the FBI and a warrant will be issued for your arrest.’

‘What have I done?’

‘Illegal involvement in espionage and putting America in danger of being involved in a war, not of its making. As you’re aware, in our laws only the Congress can declare war – and no war has been declared. Plus the small matter of conspiring with racketeers to invade a sovereign country for personal gain.’ He paused for it to sink in and then added: ‘In my book it adds up to treason.’

His mind raced as he attempted to work out the time difference between New York and Martinique and when the operation was due to start if it hadn’t already. It came down to whether he feared The Mob or The State more. ‘I was trying to do my duty as a good American.’

‘Bullshit. You wanted to save your own sorry neck. There always has to be a scapegoat – one of the rules of the game.’ Steegan shrugged.

‘The Mob…’ His voice trailed off as he imagined himself back on Long Island with Paradiso holding a gun to his head.

Steegan flashed him a look suggesting it would be Armageddon if he failed. ‘If this gets out, it’ll bring down a lot of people at the highest level. Our fellow Americans don’t like our politicians playing war games behind their backs, and this would only confirm what many think already that their politicians are as bad as the criminals.’

‘So what will happen to me?’

‘If there’s a trial, it’ll be behind closed doors. The sentence? You’ll be an enemy of the State. You may be executed or just locked away in solitary for the rest of your days.’

He struggled to his feet, his mind churning with the possibilities of the actions he could take. He had always dreamed of retiring to Martinique and living an idyllic life in Saint Pierre safe in the knowledge the volcano wouldn’t blow for at least another hundred years. But it seemed his own volcano had already blown its top.

‘You’d better get moving on this,’ Steegan said. ‘You’ve no time to lose.’

Steegan proffered a hand he was surprised to accept. And Steegan placed his left hand on top of their clasped hands as though he were sealing a deal, and the insincerity of the gesture made him feel ill. His thoughts scrambled, he stumbled towards the door and ran down the steps of the brownstone. He turned left and walked briskly, and before long his pace picked up until he was jogging and, with Steegan’s parting words reverberating in his ears, he broke into a sprint.

‘Be careful out there. There are some who will do anything to stop your story reaching the wrong ears. And I mean anything.’

E
ven the Mafia
had a day off now and again Durant supposed as he reached the enclave he’d twice before visited in different circumstances.

A guard at the gate gave him and his car a cursory glance and waved him through, and the butler was also in mufti and open-necked shirt. If he hadn’t known differently, he might have thought The Mob were off plundering pastures anew. The butler showed him into the sitting-room and served coffee while he waited for Rovicco to appear. There was an air of calm in the big house, like the morning after a heavy party, and it felt almost comfortable and safe from the storm about to engulf him.

He thought he’d been forgotten when Rovicco swept into the room, dressed immaculately as he always was, with a look of anticipation on his smiling face. ‘D D, you gotta news for us? Better be good.’

‘We’ve a problem,’ he said as he took the man’s outstretched hand, shaking it without conviction.

Rovicco’s face darkened and he dropped Durant’s hand as if he had leprosy. ‘I donna like problems.’ He pointed him into a seat and pulled up another opposite him. ‘Give it to me straight.’

He recounted his meeting with Steegan although he didn’t mention his name and wondered why he hadn’t as he would have liked to have seen him amongst the high grasses of Long Island. Not asking any questions, the Mafia man listened and he could tell behind his emotionless expression the wheels were turning.

‘So why tell me? Whadya want us to do?’

‘Can you get a message to your men to abort the operation?’ he said quickly as if the faster his delivery, the more reasonable it might sound.

A wave of irritation swept across Rovicco’s face. ‘How could we? You’ve been in charge of communications.’

He continued, attempting to distance himself from his responsibilities. ‘If you were able to pull your men out it’d be seen as a failed coup by local Resistance fighters. And America and your organisation wouldn’t be involved.’

‘You know if our men stood down they’d be captured by the Nazis and executed.’ Rovicco breathed in. ‘You’re asking my people to be sacrificial lambs because America no longer has the fuckin guts to go through with it?’

He said nothing.

‘And there’s one other big factor.’

‘What?’

‘The gold. We’ll still expect our share, no matter what happens, and I’ll hold you personally responsible.’ Rovicco leaned back in his chair with the threatening look of a loan shark knowing his client can’t pay.

He realised his debt to The Mob was mounting by the minute.

‘There’s one much more important issue here,’ Rovicco added. ‘You assured us we gotta agreement with your people regarding the boss’s future…’

He didn’t need to finish as Durant stretched out his arms in an attempt to reassure him. ‘Perhaps we still can honour that.’ Sometimes it was easier to lie.

‘We don’t deal in perhaps.’ Rovicco’s eyes narrowed to piercing needles of light. ‘We gotta agreement and my people ain’t goin to be happy about this. It may be they say go ahead with the operation and take whatever gold we can.’

He shook his head. ‘I’d advise against that.’

‘Fuck you,’ Rovicco said and then added with a sour smile. ‘Don’t forget where you stand. You still owe us big time, and you’ll have to answer to Paradiso.’ He jabbed a forefinger at Durant. ‘Now, get outa my sight.’