The Darkest Hour (36 page)

Rossett nodded.

“Right. Then you’ve got to think about this. You’ve got a chance, better than any chance you’ll ever get, and you’ve got the means to start again.”

“I can’t go. I’ll be slung in prison as soon as my feet touch the soil in Canada,” Rossett whispered, leaning in close to Chivers while looking over his shoulder at the three Irishmen sitting some twenty feet away.

“Don’t you understand? When you get to Canada, you won’t be John Rossett; you’ll be whoever these fellas ’ave put on your passport. This is a new start for you. If you want, you can be the boy’s father, and you can even be married to the bird! You can be anything you want to be. This is a new life, another chance. For God’s sake, you don’t even have to go to Canada, you can head to America.” Chivers grabbed Rossett’s arm as he spoke and Rossett found himself dumbly staring at the old man as the realization struck home.

“But I . . .”

“I what? You’ve nothin’ ’ere, and now you’ve a chance. Use the diamonds to get away!”

“But they’re Jacob’s.”

“ ’Is grandfather wanted them used to look after the boy, so use ’em. Go with ’im, be with ’im, ’elp ’im grow up and start again.”

Rossett slowly started to nod in agreement.

“I suppose . . .”

Chivers gripped tighter on Rossett’s arm and led him back to the table, dragging him down into his seat. Flanagan leaned forward again, and Rossett noticed the little man had poured some of Rossett’s whiskey into his own glass while they had been away.

“Could they make it to America?” Chivers asked Flanagan, who held out his hands in an open gesture.

“For the right price they can go to the moon.”

“What about papers?” Chivers probed again.

“I can get U.S. passports from Dublin, and we have brothers in Boston who can arrange things at that end. Like I said, I can do anything for the right price.”

“What would that price be for three?” Chivers leaned back and took a sip of his drink. Rossett watched and saw the old man in a new light.

Flanagan rubbed his chin theatrically and then placed the diamond he was still holding on to the handkerchief in front of him on the table. As he thought, he carefully folded the handkerchief back over it, as if putting a child to bed.

“Well, I’ll have to have this thing looked at by a friend, but assuming it’s genuine . . .”

“It’s genuine,” interjected Chivers.

“Well, assuming it is, and the others are of similar quality . . .”

“They are.”

“I’d want five of them, one for the boy, two each for the adults.”

“Does that include the necessary papers at the other end?”

“That’s an awful lot to ask for.”

“Papers included or no deal, Pat.”

“Jesus, George.”

“You’re making a packet ’ere, Pat, and you know it.”

“Aww, go on then, papers included, for five stones, all the same size as this beauty.”

“Deal,” said Chivers, sitting back and slapping the table with the palm of his hand, making the glasses jump.

Rossett looked back and forth between Chivers and Flanagan, who sat smiling, waiting for some confirmation from him.

“All right, five diamonds,” he said after a pause. “Two up front, three on completion. We all travel together, and we go quickly, as soon as possible.”

“Is tonight soon enough?” Flanagan replied. “I’ve a boat crossing to Cork on the tide, the
Iris
. She has the necessary amenities to get you out of London. Once in Ireland you’ll have to wait a few days, but things will be quieter there. I have friends who will look after you.”

Rossett beckoned Flanagan in close and leaned forward.

“If you double-cross me, or let me down, you’ll wish you’d never been born, Flanagan. I’ll take you apart bit by bit and make you eat yourself, do you understand?”

Flanagan smiled and raised a calming hand to his two men, who had by now stood up behind him defensively.

“Detective Sergeant, let me assure you, I know all about you and your reputation. I also understand your concerns as to placing yourself and your . . . charges . . . in the hands of others. But you can rest assured, I trade on my reputation. I’m a man who cannot afford to let his customers down. Not because I’m scared of them, far from it, but my failure to deliver on my promises would be an issue for future business. Do you understand?”

Rossett nodded.

“I’ve worked with Pat for a long time,” Chivers said placatingly behind Rossett.

“Just so we understand each other,” Rossett said.

“We do.” Flanagan drank the last of his whiskey, then set the glass down with a bang on the table like an auctioneer’s gavel. “Until tonight, gentlemen. George, you know where, at the stairs. I’ll see you at eleven. Don’t be late now. Time, tide, and Pat Flanagan wait for no man.”

Flanagan stood up and walked away from the table with purpose. His two men sat and stared at Rossett for a moment before slowly rising to their feet, nodding to Chivers and following their boss.

It was only after they had gone that Rossett noticed his handkerchief and the diamond had disappeared with them.

“That’s it, boy, deal done.”

“Can we trust him?”

“ ’E’d cut your throat for a fiver, but if ’e says ’e’ll do somethin’, ’e’ll do it. ’E’s never let me down in all the years I’ve known ’im.”

Rossett glanced at the old man and raised an eyebrow.

“So, if I can trust you, I can trust him. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m your security at this end,” said Chivers. “If I don’t ’ear from you, I’ll let it be known Flanagan ’asn’t delivered.”

“And if he takes you out as well? These diamonds are worth a lot of money. They can make a man do things he wouldn’t normally.”

“If ’e lets me down, if ’e comes after me, ’e’s got the communist resistance on ’is tail. If ’e lets down that bird you’re with, ’e has the royalist resistance on ’is tail. Don’t forget, I can get word to Sterling to let ’im know where ’is niece ’as gone and ’oo she’s with if I ’ave to.”

“Sterling wants you dead.”

Chivers waved a dismissive hand.

“A crate of machine guns and ammo will sort ’im out. ’E likes to think ’e’s in charge, but I know what strings to pull. You’re on your way, son. You’re gettin’ out of it.”

Rossett sat back in the chair and looked around the pub before lifting his beer.

“We’ll see, George. We’ll see.”

Chapter 58

“
W
HERE HAS HE
gone?”

“Where has ’oo gone?”

Koehler wiped a weary hand across his face and then looked back at Gloria. “Your husband, Gloria, where has he gone?”

“I ain’t seen ’im in weeks, Mr. Koehler, I swear. All’s I’ve ’eard is that ’e’s been down the docks, up to his usual. You know what ’e’s like; ’e’s always up to something.”

“Gloria, I’m tired. Please, stop this, and just tell me. Where has he gone?”

“I swear down, Mr. Koehler, I swear on my—” Gloria broke off as her landlady was roughly pushed into the room by Schmitt. The old lady looked around at the assembled soldiers and then fixed her watery eyes on Koehler, who cocked his head at her and then at Schmitt.

“She heard them arguing last night. Then a tall man came this morning and left with Chivers,” Schmitt said.

“Did you hear where they were going?” Koehler asked her.

“No, sir, but he looked a terrible man who took Mr. Chivers, a terrible fierce man.”

“Rossett,” said Schmitt, redundantly.

Koehler waved a hand, dismissing the old woman, and Schmitt swung her around and into the arms of a soldier by the door. The old woman almost fell, and Koehler frowned at his colleague before turning back to Gloria.

“So, we know now that you are a liar.”

“Please, sir. Please, my George is a good man,” Gloria sobbed, and Koehler held up his hand.

“Stop, please.”

“This brute came in ’ere and dragged ’im off. ’E ’it me, ’e did, like I was a man, just ’it me in the face, just like that!” She waved a fist at Koehler, who rubbed his eyes. “My George done ’is best. ’E tried, lord help ’im, but ’e’s an old man. Sick ’e is, all those years in the cold they’ve ravaged ’im, ravaged ’im.”

“Can I shoot her?” Schmitt said in German to Koehler, who shook his head.

“Gloria, please.” Koehler held up his hand again to bring the lament to an end.

“My George wants a quiet life. We need to enjoy our retirement, quietly like . . .”

Koehler finally signaled to one of the guards, who roughly shook Gloria, raised his hand as if to strike her, then tilted his head, putting a finger to his lips.

“Shush.”

Gloria sobbed, then fell silent.

“Listen to me, Gloria. Your husband is in a lot of trouble, and so are you. Do you understand?” Koehler paused, letting the words sink in. “You have a very small window of opportunity here, very, very small. Once I close this window it is gone, and these men will take you outside into the street and kill you. Do you understand?”

Gloria’s knees buckled slightly and she looked at the two young soldiers flanking her, neither of whom looked happy at the prospect of killing her. The younger one looked at his colleague and then back at Koehler, stiffening to attention.

“I can ’elp, sir, please . . .”

Koehler wagged the finger again.

“So, before I close this window, Gloria, you have one chance, and one chance only, to save your life, and possibly that of your husband. I’ll ask you again. Where has your husband gone with Rossett?”

“Pat Flanagan. ’E’s gone to see the Irishman, sir.”

Koehler looked at Schmitt, who shrugged.

“Who is this Flanagan?”

“A smuggler?” Schmitt said, causing Gloria to look at him.

“Guns, sir, guns and other things, ’e can get you anything, but ’e’s a nasty man, sir.” She looked at Koehler. “You know what those Irish are like, sir, all the same.”

“Where will we find him?”

“I don’t know where ’e lives, but I know where ’e carries out ’is business. In all the pubs down Wapping way. Dockers’ pubs, sir, not nice at all, Mr. Koehler.”

“Is that where George went?”

“I think so, sir. I can’t say for sure though. That man dragged ’im out before I ’eard tell.”

“Take her to Charing Cross.” Koehler waved a dismissive hand, and Gloria started screaming as the guards dragged her from the room. Koehler closed his eyes as the screaming went up a decibel on the stairs. He only opened them again once the front door had been slammed behind her.

Schmitt shook his head.

“I would have thought Chivers would want locking up sooner than being stuck in here with that.”

“You should use her when you question suspects,” Koehler replied, gesturing for Schmitt to give him a cigarette. The other German fished in his coat, produced the packet, and handed it across with his lighter.

“Do we go find this pub?”

Koehler shook his head. He lit a cigarette and passed the packet back to Schmitt, who remained standing on the spot recently occupied by Gloria.

“Waste of time, they won’t be there now. We’ll set up at the local police station, low key. If we go in heavy we’ll make a bigger mess of things than we did at the cemetery. Just get a few men again, plus Werner. I want every informant from the docks spoken to quickly. We need to find out quickly who this Irishman is and where he works; we don’t have much time. And don’t, whatever you do, make any mention of the diamonds.”

“May I speak freely?” Schmitt said.

“As long as you are quick, yes.”

“All of this has been handled low key. Pretty much everything except the breakout from the cells has happened off the record so far.”

“And?”

“Would I be right in saying, if you’ll forgive me, that there is another reason for that secrecy?”

“What are you saying, Schmitt?”

Schmitt checked the door and then leaned in close to Koehler, resting his hand on the arm of the chair so that he was just inches above his superior.

“I’m talking about the diamonds. I think I understand what you are trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“If you can get to the diamonds before anyone else, well . . . let’s just say I understand.” Schmitt winked at Koehler, smiling.

“Did you just wink at me?”

Schmitt frowned.

“I . . . er . . .”

“I’m trying to keep myself alive, Schmitt. I don’t care about diamonds, I care about staying alive. If, and it is a big if, we find these possibly imaginary diamonds, they will be handed in with whatever prisoners we turn up. Is that understood?”

“Of course, sir. I thought, well, with you being so intent on keeping things quiet, that . . .”

“You don’t hunt rats with a bass drum, Schmitt.”

“Sir?”

Koehler took another drag on his cigarette, then looked around for an ashtray. When he didn’t find one, he tapped the end, letting the ash drop onto the carpet.

“Have you ever banged a drum in a barn full of rats, Schmitt?”

Schmitt didn’t reply; he merely looked confused.

“They scatter, into shadows and corners. You might kill a few in the rush, but once they are hiding you have no chance of finding them, and to make things worse, all your neighbors will come to see what you are doing, and tell you how you are doing it all wrong.”

Schmitt nodded as though he understood, even though he didn’t, so Koehler continued.

“The reason I want this low key is to protect us. The less that is known, the less damage it can do us. If Rossett turns up on the BBC in Canada a month before he is due to be given an Iron Cross by the Führer, things will be difficult to explain, won’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But if we can get him, and a few other players, we will look good. So forget about diamonds, forget about anything other than finding Rossett and the Jew. If you do that, we might just come out the other side with our careers and our throats intact. Yes?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

Koehler stood up, brushed past Schmitt, and stalked out of the room onto the landing. Werner stood to attention at the top of the stairs and saluted.

“The woman is en route back to Charing Cross, sir.”

“How many men do we have?”

“Fifteen, sir, one truck and your car. Plus the others out and about watching addresses.”

“Mount up. We’re going to Wapping.”

Werner saluted as Koehler passed him heading down the narrow staircase. Schmitt emerged from the room, made eye contact with Werner, and shook his head.

“Madness,” he whispered as he passed the old soldier without looking at him.

Werner didn’t reply. He just followed orders.