Against the Tide

by John Hanley

  ‘Do as he says. Now. Or I shoot your friend.’ Alf pointed the gun at me.

  I ignored him. ‘Don’t, Rachel, please.’

  She looked at the gun then at me, gave a helpless shrug and walked calmly towards Kohler. She was almost within reach when Miko stepped in front of Alf, his knife glinting in the spotlight.

  ‘You, German, Nazi. Let her go or I kill you now.’

  ‘You are very polite, my friend, but we are not Germans.’ Alf pointed at me. ‘You ask him and his uncle. I think they understand.’

  ‘They might not but I do.’ Saul’s voice carried across the courtyard. ‘Voetsek, you’re Afrikaners. It is about the bloody diamonds. That’s why you want the Belgian. You’re working for De Beers and Oppenheimer, aren’t you?’

  Alf threw a stream of what I now recognised as Afrikaans at Saul.

  He growled at me, ‘That little shit talks through his bum hole. These two are thieves.’ He spat in the gravel. ‘They have some questions to answer, that’s all. We will let the others go.’

  ‘But why? What have they done?’ Fred struggled to his feet and leant on Isobelle. He stood behind Miko, clutching his right wrist to his chest.

  Alf laughed. ‘Tell me, my commie friend, what does Stalin do with thieves? I’ll tell you if you have the stomach for –’

  ‘I know where the diamonds are!’ I shouted.

  That startled him.

  ‘Make him let her go and I’ll tell you.’

  He recovered quickly and grinned. ‘You are a strange young man. Much promise. A shame you waste it on these fantasies. There are no diamonds.’

  ‘They’re on Hayden-Brown’s gin palace – his boat, Lorelei. It’s taking them to a Portuguese freighter, the SS Espírito Livre.’

  Now he looked annoyed.

  I struck again. ‘While you were chasing us around the rocks, your bloody diamonds were cruising behind you on their way to his ship. Didn’t you search his boat, or his house?’

  ‘This is nonsense.’

  ‘You didn’t find anything in my uncle’s house either, did you, though you broke enough. Don’t you kaffirs like opera music?’

  He snarled and aimed the gun at my head. ‘Don’t use words you don’t understand. I should kill you for that insult.’

  I stared him down, praying that Rachel would break away but instead she stepped between us.

  ‘Go on, shoot. I’m just a Jewish bitch – pull the trigger if you can.’

  Her words echoed around the courtyard, stunning us all into silence.

  Suddenly he moved and grabbed Hayden-Brown. ‘You, as Stalin would say, are a “useful idiot”, so come with me.’ He gestured to Kohler. ‘He can make his own way.’

  He fired the pistol again – this time into the front nearside tyre of our Standard.

  When the echoes had subsided, he had almost reached his car, shoving Fairfield, Sleeman and Caroline’s father in front of him.

  Before any of us could react, Kohler kicked Miko in the crotch, snatched the knife, grabbed Rachel and dragged her towards the car park.

  Caroline called out, ‘No, Rudi, don’t. Let her go. We’ll sort this out. Don’t do this.’

  ‘Sorry, Caroline, it’s too late. I can’t wait for the wheels of British justice to turn. I have to get away. She’s my ticket.’

  Saul had crept into the field alongside the car park while Caroline was pleading with Kohler and emerged now behind the Bugatti.

  Kohler had his back to him and hadn’t realised that he was crouching, waiting. I willed him to get out of the way. He would be no match for the German.

  We followed, keeping a safe distance as he backed towards the sleek red vehicle. The policemen seemed bemused. Clitheroe was helping Greaves to his feet. They’d lost their weapons and the Bluebottles weren’t armed. They followed carefully, no doubt hoping for an opportunity to catch Alf off guard.

  My only concern was Rachel.

  Kohler was almost there now, he would have to let Rachel go to open the door unless he made her climb over it. As soon as she turned, she would spot Saul.

  I would have to wait until Kohler was close enough to Saul to give him the slightest chance before I called out something to distract him, but short of “Heil Hitler ”, I couldn’t think of anything.

  Just then, Alf’s Talbot, with Hayden-Brown driving, roared off, side-swiping my bike as it spun in the gravel. It sped away and just missed a taxi that was turning into the lane. The driver blared his horn.

  Kohler turned towards the noise and Saul’s movement caught his eye. He twisted, deflecting the charge, and chopped Saul to the gravel with the side of his free hand.

  Caroline rushed past me. ‘Please, Rudi, don’t hurt her.’

  Kohler’s eyes flamed. He screamed at her, ‘Bumsen weg!’

  She stopped and he ordered her into the driver’s seat, threatening to draw the knife across Rachel’s throat if she didn’t.

  Defeated, she climbed in and started the engine. He clambered over the low door of the convertible and sat on Rachel’s lap, pinning her to the seat.

  Caroline let out the clutch and sped off, rear tyres spinning, struggling for grip on the dusty surface.

  Fred was at my shoulder. ‘Leave them. Alf will dump the Germans. He only wants Sleeman and the diamonds.’

  ‘What about witnesses, Uncle. Does he want those as well? And what about Kohler? He’s out of control. He has Rachel and Caroline. I can’t leave them. My bike’s wrecked. Let’s follow on yours.’

  ‘I can’t ride it and I won’t be able to hold on.’ He dangled his damaged wrist in front of me.

  ‘Where’s the key, Uncle?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous, Jack.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous not to.’

  My father strode forward, held out his hand. ‘Give him the key, Fred. He has to do this. He won’t be able to live with himself otherwise. You know what I mean…’

  Fred stared at his brother-in-law then grimaced in submission. ‘Here, you’ll need these as well. Don’t do anything stupid.’ He used his left hand to fish his goggles and the key out of his pocket. He handed them to me. ‘Mêfi’-ous.’

  I grabbed the key and rushed towards Boadicea. Alf had mentioned the breakwater. That could only be St Catherine’s. They must have brought their cruiser around. I went through the starting routine, pleased to feel her strength under me again. The engine was ticking over when I felt her sink on her springs.

  Miko had jumped on. ‘Spumá!’ he shouted in my ear.

  44

  The three cars in front were all powerful, especially the Bugatti, but Boadicea had sufficient acceleration to overtake all of them. However, I didn’t want to give them the opportunity to ram us so, as soon as I caught up with Caroline, I held back, trying to work out my options.

  Overtaking alongside would be suicidal but, if I used the side roads, I could pass them with impunity – that’s if they were actually going to St Catherine’s. I couldn’t think of any alternatives at this stage, though the tide would soon be high enough for Gorey harbour. Alf had shouted about the breakwater though and that’s where they seemed to be heading.

  Caroline obviously thought the same and the Bugatti was tearing along the road to Five Oaks. She carried on the main road to St Martin’s Church, which was, theoretically, the shorter.

  I turned right on to Prince’s Tower Road, towards La Hougie Bie, and twisted the throttle to the stop. I couldn’t see the speedometer as it was vibrating so much but we must have exceeded eighty miles per hour. Without the goggles I couldn’t have managed. It was reckless but not as much as trying to overtake.

  Miko clung on tightly with his hands braced against the pillion rack, moving with me as I leant Boadicea into the corners. We shot past the mental hospital – based on current behaviour, I would have qualified for entry – then past Faldouet.

  I hesitated at the junction with the main road from Gorey but reasoned that I could meet them head-on if I rode towards St Martin’s Chu
rch.

  Alternatively, I could turn off before the church and go to the farm to get my rifle, though by the time I retrieved it, I would be too late to rescue Rachel. I could shoot a few people but I couldn’t protect her from that distance. I had to try and grab her from them and that meant the slipway. This was my parish and I knew most of the byways intimately. I shot across the main road and into the network of lanes, which led, ever more steeply, down to the coast road.

  Boadicea’s brakes were squealing and beginning to fade as we plunged 200 feet down through the quarry to Archirondel, where the British had started but abandoned the second arm of their great harbour.

  The breakwater was in sight now, its extremities glowed in the remnants of the sunset. This was the most dangerous bit as any or all of the three cars could now appear from my left as they descended the steep hill from St Martin’s Church.

  As I slowed for the junction, I realised there were no headlights. Either we were well ahead or some way behind. I accelerated along the road, which twisted past the Martello Tower and small slipway, through the cutting next to Gibraltar and into the final stretch. Too fast for the bends and suddenly the handlebars started to shake. Miko’s extra weight had made the front end too light. The tyre shimmied, wobbled and Boadicea snaked across the road. Fred had explained the theory but, now she was biting back, it was brawn rather than brain I needed. I leant forward, tried to shift more weight over the front forks but I was too late. The rear tyre lost grip and we were out of control. I didn’t even have time to scream to Miko before we started to slide. Boadicea was going to kill again.

  We clung on as she shot towards the verge. Her stand hit the grass first as she reared up and catapulted us into the gorse. Not a soft landing but much better than ripping our flesh along the road or colliding with a tree.

  I was on a bed of thorns, contemplating the punishment for my speeding, when I felt a tug on my ankle.

  ‘You okay, Jerk?’

  ‘Just dandy.’

  ‘I say spumá not omoara.’

  He hauled me out and we dusted ourselves down. It would take an army of tailors to repair our suits. Boadicea was almost buried in the roots of a gorse bush. I braved the thorns to reach in and turn off her ignition. It wasn’t her fault I’d pushed too hard. We didn’t have time or even the strength to pull her out. I’d need a tractor for that.

  We were still a couple of hundred yards short of Verclut and the breakwater and there was still no sign of the cars. In the distance, I heard engines pulsing towards us, their exhaust notes rising and falling as their drivers worked the gears round the bends and through the cutting at Gibraltar.

  I dragged Miko onto the grass and prayed they wouldn’t spot us. It was the Talbot, closely followed by the Bugatti. The police Wolseley, with its tuned engine, had probably got there already.

  We waited until they had passed then started to run. Dressed in our lacerated dinner jackets, we would have been quite a sight, if anyone had been watching.

  Breathing heavily, we slid to a halt at the top of the slipway, which curved dramatically to the sea some forty feet below. There were three cars parked on the granite flagstones, their bonnets all angled towards a white motor cruiser swinging from a bow rope at the point where the water was rising over the slip. Further out, a larger cruiser started her engines. It was Lorelei – how the buggeration had she got here? She was supposed to be drifting out in the channel. From the sound of the sea sucking against the granite, I reckoned a swell was building. Her mast was beginning to gyrate.

  Closer in, Jacob’s Star was moored amongst the shadows, along with a few smaller boats. There were some dinghies parked near the top of the slip and several other small boats scattered at intervals down the nearside. I nudged Miko and indicated he should follow me, though I had no idea what we were going to do once we got close enough. We darted from boat to boat, crouching down behind the last one. Fifty yards of open space separated us from the closest car. The passengers were near to the cruiser now and, from the noise, seemed to be arguing. Miko leant into a dinghy and scooped up an oar and a length of rope. He handed me the rope then we dashed, keeping low, to the Bugatti. It was empty – no sign of the carving knife. The Talbot was also empty so we scooted across to the Wolseley.

  Alf still held his gun and was keeping them at bay as Carl hustled Fairfield and Sleeman towards the cruiser. Kohler held Rachel. Caroline was standing next to her father. Schmitz and Kempler were huddled against the high granite wall.

  Alf addressed them. ‘Enough discussion, gentlemen, my orders are to take only Sleeman. I’m including Fairfield because he needs some fresh air and a good talking to. These have the free tickets. Others might be for sale. If you Germans wish, you may stay to discuss your affairs with the police. If not, you may pay me to take you to pastures new.’

  ‘Wait. Whatever your employers are paying you, I will give you double.’ Hayden-Brown even made that sound patronising.

  ‘I have your pretty boat so I am already well-paid.’

  ‘What about our diamonds?’

  ‘They’re not yours.’

  ‘But we bought them fair and square.’

  ‘And who did you pay for them?’

  Hayden-Brown pointed at Sleeman. ‘Him. We paid in full.’

  ‘And how much did this cost you?’ Alf asked.

  ‘That’s commercially sensitive. I can’t reveal details like that.’

  ‘Oh, but our friend Sleeman will. You can be sure of that. Won’t he, Carl?’

  Carl swung Sleeman around then jabbed him in the back. ‘How much did you get for them, you thieving, fat bastard. Tell us?’

  Sleeman’s cheeks flapped as he shook his head.

  Carl forced him to kneel, passed his gun to a crewman then flicked his knife open. He pulled Sleeman’s head back and touched the blade to his throat.

  ‘I’ll ask once more.’

  Sleeman whimpered. ‘There was much expense and many shares.’

  Carl lifted the knife and drew it across the Belgian’s cheek. Sleeman screeched in horror.

  ‘Final time. How much?’

  ‘Two million dollars. Please don’t cut me again.’

  Alf whistled. ‘A big price for a little thief.’ He pointed his gun at Kempler. ‘You, German banker, how much have you agreed to pay? No lies now.’

  Kempler spoke to Hayden-Brown. ‘Wilbur, you should be ashamed. Such profit. You could teach our Jews.’

  ‘Oh come on, Ferdinand. It’s a seller’s market and the Reich can afford it.’

  Alf interrupted. ‘Look, the thieves squabble. How entertaining. Now, tell me, or do I have to get Carl to ask you the question?’

  ‘This will not be forgotten. You are unwise to make an enemy of the Reich.’

  Carl left Sleeman and approached Kempler.

  ‘How uncivilised and brutish but, if you must know, we had agreed to purchase at thirty-seven point five Reichsmarks per carat.’

  Alf looked surprised. ‘And the total?’

  ‘112.5 million.’

  ‘I see. You are far more desperate than my employers realise. I think they might wish to have a discussion with you.’ Alf smiled.

  ‘Just a minute, you can’t cut me out of the deal, Ferdinand,’ Hayden-Brown called out.

  Alf snapped. ‘Oh, stop whining. Go home and count your losses. Play in a pond with the little fish. Stay away from ones that bite.’

  ‘Where’s the freighter?’ Hayden-Brown asked.

  ‘On its way to Rotterdam, under new ownership, the diamonds are with me,’ he smirked, ‘in your beautiful boat. But enough. You begin to irritate. Any more, and I will take you as well for no charge.’

  Kohler dragged Rachel towards his uncle and spoke in German. Schmitz joined in.

  After a few moments, Kempler addressed Alf. ‘We think a discussion will be beneficial. Perhaps we can meet with your employers in the next few days to facilitate this.’

  ‘You Germans are even bigger thieves than this
Sleeman creature. I will follow my orders and take him so that he can explain himself. If you want to discuss this, make a better offer perhaps, you will join us now. No charge.’ Alf laughed again.

  The Germans shuffled reluctantly towards the boat, dragging Rachel with them.

  Caroline shouted, ‘Let Rachel go!’ She lurched forward but her father pulled her back.

  ‘We’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll sort this out with the authorities. You go back to the car and wait for me.’

  ‘Sod off, you bastard. This is all your fault. Rudi, let her go.’

  ‘Sorry, Caroline, she’s coming with me. Who knows what we will find on the other side? She could still be useful.’

  Hayden-Brown called out, ‘Ferdinand, don’t forget you owe me. This could be very embarrassing for you and your country.’

  Kempler stopped and faced Hayden-Brown. ‘Wilbur, as you say, it’s only business. Send me your account. It will be settled – one way or another.’

  One crewman was on the boat’s foredeck, shoving Fairfield and Sleeman towards the cabin. There was another at the wheel, trying to hold the cruiser on her engines. I read the name Esperance on her transom with St Malo painted underneath. A third crewman was knee-deep in water on the edge of the slip, holding onto a stern rope. A fourth now reached up and grabbed Fairfield and dragged him below. Lorelei was holding station a hundred yards out, her exhausts burbling softly.

  Carl clambered off the stern again to assist Kempler over the side. He had to wait for the boat to dip in the swell. The others were watching. Kohler was turned towards the boat now with his back to us while Caroline hung helpless against her father’s side.

  Kohler started to push Rachel towards the boat. She kicked back at him and screamed. Miko leapt from behind our hiding place and charged Kohler with the oar.

  He caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder and the knife clattered away. Kohler grabbed the end of the oar and pulled Miko towards him.

  Rachel, off balance, teetered on the edge then twisted into a dive and disappeared into the swell.

  She surfaced and started to swim towards the rocks fifty yards from the slipway.