by John Hanley
‘So long as it’s just his tongue.’
‘Do we have a deal?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Can I borrow your bike on Saturday?’
‘Okay, but don’t push it any further. Tomorrow, we’ll leave early, straight after milking, and I’ll drop you at the harbour. Saul will meet you there.’
‘Okay if I bring my rod?’
‘Yes, that’s fine but you’ll have to manage it on the pillion.’
‘What about food?’
‘For God’s sake, stop worrying about your stomach.’
‘Just because you’ve given up eating doesn’t mean I have to.’
‘Food’s taken care of.’ Another lie. Though there might be some syrup. ‘Now, I’m going to be out for the rest of the evening so why don’t you take Smellie, nip up to the field and get some target practice.’
‘You off to practise on your two targets, are you?’
‘Something like that. See you in the morning.’
While he retrieved his rifle from the gun safe, I sneaked the only two cans of golden syrup out of the larder and slipped them into my gym bag. I hid my torn trousers in my bedroom cupboard. Saul and I had decided that, if we were seen, we would bluff it out so I changed into overalls. What’s more natural than a couple of mechanics fiddling about on a boat? Doing so in the dark might arouse suspicion so he was going to work out a cover story. On the way back to Bessy, I picked up a torque wrench and some smaller tools from the barn.
Had I gone too far by dragging my brother into this? My father would have a clear opinion and it wouldn’t be delivered with his tongue. The boat trip shouldn’t be dangerous and might not happen if Saul and I were caught tampering with Lorelei. Was I doing the right thing, or was this just plain stupid?
Hamlet’s words had been ringing in my ears for much of the day but they only made me more determined that “ conscience” wouldn’t make “cowards of us all.” And, in the total absence of any action or leadership from the adults, ruining Hayden-Brown’s deal to provide Hitler with these vital industrial diamonds was the only way I had of striking a blow against the fascists for what they had done to Fred, Miko and Malita.
By ten o’clock, the Old Harbour was deserted. Jacob’s Star rode easily on her buoy. There were lights and noise from La Folie Inn but only dim reflections on the black water. Lorelei, with her ghostly-white hull, stood out against the darker walls. Saul commented that it was odd her dinghy was tethered to her side rather than on its davits or tied up against the wall. It might mean nothing as there were plenty of small punts available for boat-to-shore transfers. As Lorelei swung on her mooring, we could see faint lights peeping from three of the nine portholes on her port side. Curtains were drawn over the square windows in the main cabin under the wheelhouse but there was a perceptible glow behind them. It looked like plan A was scuppered before we began. She was moored about one hundred yards from us in a deeper part of the harbour though at low tide, like the rest of the boats, she was supported on legs to stop her toppling into the mud.
We observed for thirty minutes then the wheelhouse door opened and light spilled into her cockpit. The lamp was extinguished and a tall man lowered himself into her dinghy. The lazy sod fired up the outboard motor and chugged to the wall nearest the inn. He tied up, climbed the steps and disappeared into the noisy pub. With drinking-up time, he would be there for at least half an hour. There might still be a chance for plan A, after all.
We dropped into our dinghy and I sculled us over to the harbour wall as Saul had come up with an addition to our plans. I held us alongside Lorelei’s dinghy while Saul stepped aboard. We weren’t going to waste golden syrup on the engine as his plan was more direct. He fiddled about in the bilges and held up a round plug. He’d pulled the bung from the drain socket. With the weight of the engine, she’d sink into the mud in minutes. I sculled us away and over to Lorelei. They’d be able to retrieve the dinghy when the tide went out but the outboard engine would need a complete overhaul. Saul fended us off. We were working silently, using only hand signals. We seemed to be unobserved as we rested against Lorelei’s steel side but the hairs on my neck prickled with the sense that we were being watched. I twisted around and scanned the harbour but couldn’t spot anyone at all. Perhaps it was just nerves. Saul appeared calm enough. I hauled myself aboard then slithered into the large cockpit to search for the key. It wasn’t there. Bugger, I tried a few other spots but no success. I crawled back to the side and leant over to Saul and whispered, ‘No key.’
He hissed, ‘Try the fucking door.’
I wormed myself back and crouched outside the door which led into the spacious cabins and engine compartment. I pushed gently and it started to open. I held onto the handle then eased it fully open before sliding in. I had a small torch but didn’t want to use it until I was in the engine area below the saloon deck. There was some light filtering through the front portholes and, as my eyes adjusted, I could see the outline of the central table. I felt my way around this and moved towards the master cabin. It smelled of fried food, stale cigar smoke and acrid sweat. I held my breath and strained my ears.
There, a faint snuffling sound, an exhalation and a snore. Buggeration, there was another crewman. We hadn’t thought of that. Plan A definitely down the plughole now. I backed out, secured the door and tiptoed back to Saul.
I hissed, ‘Plan B. To the stern.’
He pulled the dinghy slowly around the hull until it was under the transom. He handed up the funnel and I lifted the wooden seat cover then flipped up the fuel filler cap and inserted it. I leant over and grabbed the first bottle of bleach, unscrewed the cap and glugged a quart of bleach into the funnel. I listened again, trying to sense movement below. Nothing.
Each bottle seemed to take longer and sound noisier as I emptied it. Eventually, I’d dumped over a gallon of bleach into the diesel. Now it was time for the golden syrup. We’d already emptied the eight cans into bottles, not wanting to struggle with awkward lids in the dark. I love the syrup, will lick it from the spoon until Mum pulls it away, but the smell of diesel and strong whiff of bleach disguised the sugary aroma as it slipped through the funnel.
I passed everything back to Saul and secured the filler cap. It was pure guesswork but we believed it would take several miles before the engines overheated from the new mixture and stopped working. They’d have to clean out the tank and the filters and probably the cylinders as well. Lorelei wouldn’t be going far in the next few days.
I started to lower myself into the dinghy when I felt Lorelei rock. Someone was on the move. The door opened, inward fortunately, and I had enough time to duck down and drop into the dinghy. We were trapped under the stern. We crouched, praying whoever it was wouldn’t look down.
Footsteps approached across the cockpit. Someone yawned and then a stream of hot liquid splashed into the water alongside us. Whoever it was obviously preferred fresh air to the claustrophobic heads for relieving himself. He yawned again then his footsteps faded. I waited for the door to creak open then motioned Saul to push off.
Once aboard Jacob’s Star, we collapsed in the cockpit.
I didn’t feel this exhausted after a hundred-yard sprint.
Saul produced his flask. ‘Le’chaim!’
As relief flooded my veins, I responded. ‘Bumsen sie Hitler.’
33
Thursday
While waiting, I calculated that I had been alive for 6,869 days, had consumed 250 pounds of roast beef – about one fifth of Victor – and had kissed four girls. I was having embarrassing difficulty with the next sum when I spotted movement across the road from the field. Nestled on a ground sheet in the damp grass, I raised my father’s field glasses and trained them on the front door.
Hayden-Brown held it open, allowing the smell of cooking bacon to escape. I’d skipped breakfast again rather than face my father’s anger and that succulent aroma reminded me that the rumble in my stomach wasn’t just caused by emotional entanglements.
Alan had stayed to stuff his face but we’d managed to get away without problems. We’d stopped when we were out of sight and changed out of our uniforms. I just hoped that Saul and Alan wouldn’t start fighting before I got there.
Caroline’s father glanced up the road and I refocused the glasses to follow a taxi as it approached the house. Kohler got out, followed by his uncle and the other slightly-built German who had been with him at the Palace the day I took the photographs.
Hayden-Brown provided an effusive welcome then ushered them into the house. The taxi drove off but, minutes later, another arrived. Fairfield and the chubby Belgian, Sleeman, got out and rang the bell. This time, Caroline opened the door. My binoculars vibrated in rhythm with my trembling elbows. After I steadied the glasses and refocused, she was magnified seven times and filled my entire field of vision. I could almost touch her as she greeted the fascist knight and the diamond merchant.
She led them inside and I flopped onto my back, cursing the effect she had on me, even from that distance. We’d shared this field only a few days before in the burning heat. Now the damp permeated my bones and spirit. Could I trust her? Steam rose from the grass as the sun burned through the clouds. I rolled back and raised the glasses again. There was some movement round the side of the house and Caroline appeared with Kohler in tow. Anger surged through me. I struggled to keep calm and watched them as they dried off two wooden picnic chairs on the lawn. They pulled them close together and sat down.
Wearing very little, as usual, she flicked her hair and smiled at Kohler. Would she be doing this if she knew I was watching, or would she be even more demonstrative? I just didn’t know. I tried to lip read.
Christine, wearing a maid’s uniform two sizes too small for her, sashayed from the house, carrying some drinks. She smiled invitingly at Kohler as she bent over him to place the tray on the grass between them. Her efforts to engage him with her cleavage appeared to have failed as he was so focused on Caroline that he ignored her. As she flounced off, she turned briefly to favour the pair of them with an aggressive pout.
The hollowness in my stomach was such that I couldn’t have eaten the bacon now even if Christine had brought it over on a silver platter. Betrayal? “Frailty, thy name is woman.” Like Shakespeare, I’d send her to a nunnery and him to Hell.
Gradually, my anger evaporated and an icy stillness gripped me. I knew now that I couldn’t trust her. That whatever plan she constructed would almost certainly encompass a trap for me. I lay there calculating a cold revenge.
At eleven-fifteen, two different taxis arrived and waited until Hayden-Brown appeared on the porch with his guests. I’d already left it too late to get aboard Jacob’s Star in the harbour. I’d have to meet them at St Catherine’s. I’d forewarned Saul and asked him to wait until one o’clock if I wasn’t there on time. After that, he’d have to get Fred to the rendezvous without me.
Kohler’s uncle called out to his nephew. Caroline got up, moved close to Kohler and kissed his cheek. I held my breath as he hugged her in response. Reluctantly, it seemed, they separated, and he joined the others. There was much handshaking before the group split up and Kohler disappeared into the courtyard. The visitors clambered into the taxis while Hayden-Brown stood in the doorway to wave them off. So cosy, so friendly.
I mentally swapped the binoculars for the optical sights of my Lee-Enfield rifle and aimed at Caroline. I was about to pull the trigger when I heard a diesel engine clatter into life.
A Bedford lorry grunted out of the courtyard with Kohler at the wheel. Hayden-Brown waved him onto the road and hopped up into the passenger seat. The loading bay was covered with a canvas hood so I couldn’t see inside. He beckoned to Caroline, who wandered over and scowled up at him. Words were exchanged and she stormed off, flapping her arms in disgust.
I rushed off to Bessy and kicked her into life. I caught up with them but held back, trying to keep at least one bend between us. The lorry skirted the town and I was sure they were heading for the main harbour. I followed as they chugged along.
Soon we were past the Weighbridge and moving along Commercial Buildings towards the old French harbour. We’d been right. He was going to use Lorelei to move the diamonds.
I pulled up, parked by La Folie Inn and scurried around to hide behind some laid-up boats and watch through my binoculars.
Lorelei seemed even larger in the bright sunlight. Saul reckoned she was only a few feet longer than Jacob’s Star. Perhaps it was the white hull but she looked far bigger to me. Without doubt, Caroline’s father had spent a lot more on this cruiser than on her piano.
I hadn’t spotted it before but an Irish flag was fluttering from her masthead. I examined the transom. She was registered in Cork. The Irish Republic was no friend of Britain. Perhaps we’d got it completely wrong and they were heading there for a rendezvous. Perhaps Ireland was to be the staging post for onward shipment to Germany. But that didn’t explain how the samples had arrived.
As I watched, the crewman and Kohler unloaded one crate at a time. They’d covered them in hessian but I was sure they were the same ones. They were both muscular but it took two of them to carry each crate down the slippery steps and hoist it over the side. Hayden-Brown supervised until all four were stowed below in the cabin.
From the generous handshakes as his guests had left his house, it would seem that the samples had passed the test. How long before they put to sea? Would he and Kohler be going with the boat? I couldn’t imagine Caroline’s father putting himself at risk. Perhaps it would be just Kohler and the crewmen. Suddenly, the engines coughed into life in a cloud of black smoke. Kohler appeared and jumped onto the harbour wall, released the stern line, re-boarded and fended off with a boat hook.
Caroline didn’t think her father capable of piloting the cruiser so I wasn’t surprised to see him on deck as it manoeuvred away. However, instead of chugging towards the pier heads, Lorelei headed towards her mooring buoy. Kohler hooked the line and started to tie her up.
The engines stopped. Surely not seized already? But neither Hayden-Brown or Kohler seemed surprised so I guessed this was planned. One crewman appeared and pulled a small tender around the hull. Their own dinghy must still be underwater or under repair. They were coming back ashore.
If Caroline had discovered any more, would she tell me? I needed to see her before these two got back.
I sneaked around to the Bedford. It was in sight from Lorelei so I kept low. It would be too risky to get at the engine. This model didn’t have a key, just a switch for the ignition, so I couldn’t pinch that either.
I examined the gutter. Some fag ends and a few spent matches. Perfect. I grabbed two and jammed them into the rear tyre valves and pressed until all the air had hissed out. That should slow them up for a while.
I looked at my watch. Twelve-thirty. I was already late. I fired Bessy up and headed for Caroline.
As expected, she was in the middle of a wrestling match with Beethoven. Christine was in the kitchen. I didn’t want to be seen and reported so I sneaked around to the conservatory and tapped on the window.
So immersed was she in her struggle that I failed to get her attention. I tried the glass door. It was unlocked. Strangely, this was more frightening than clambering aboard to sabotage Lorelei.
She stopped in mid-phrase. ‘What the fuck to you want?’
‘Sorry. I tried knocking.’
‘Yes, I bloody well heard you. Stop sneaking around and spit it out.’
‘Are you still helping us?’
‘No. I want nothing to do with whatever you’re up to. Tell your commie uncle to bugger off.’
‘He loves Puccini, you know.’
She blinked, baffled at my change of direction, then snapped. ‘Well, that fucking explains it. Soppy romantic, living in some workers’ paradise in his head. Wake up, Jack. Get on with your own life.’
Pleasantries over, I advanced, made room for myself on the piano stool by shoving her sideways with my hip then thum
ped my fists on the keyboard. The cacophony must have been hideous to a musical ear.
‘Tell me where Lorelei is going with those diamonds, or I’m going to murder your piano.’
She stared at me for a long minute but I wouldn’t look away.
‘I suppose you are going to be a complete pain –’
‘Your piano and your ears will suffer the pain.’ I raised my fists.
‘Enough. Stop. I don’t know much more than I’ve told you already.’
‘Liar.’ I raised my voice to the level of my fists.
She clenched hers, ready to strike.
‘Steady, don’t damage your hands on my thick skull.’
Her lip trembled. She tried to suppress the giggle but it grabbed her by the throat and soon she was convulsed, rocking on the stool in hopeless mirth.
How do you get sense out of someone who’s seized with laughter?
I raised my hands again then crashed them down with even more force.
She calmed immediately. ‘Stop it. You know I don’t care about this piece of shit and it’ll take more than your bare hands to make it any worse.’
She stood up. ‘Come with me.’
‘What about Christine?’
She pulled a face. ‘Ignore her. She’s only a servant.’
Well, she must have been serving elsewhere because we didn’t bump into her on our way through into Hayden-Brown’s study. Perhaps she was resting her ears.
Caroline stopped by her father’s desk and opened a drawer. She extracted a brown cardboard file and dropped it on the desk. ‘Here, help yourself but nothing leaves this room. Find me when you’re finished. I’ve got something more interesting to do.’ She flounced out.
I opened the file. It contained letters, receipts and a side-on photograph of a cargo vessel along with its details. Saul had been right. It was Portuguese and registered in Lisboa. Its name was SS Espírito Livre, gross tonnage, 4,500. It had a single funnel amidships and two derricks over holds fore and aft. It looked similar to the potato boats that served the island, only a bit larger.