Moral Compass (The Samuel Beasley Trilogy Book 1)

by Adam J Watts

  He pushed through the crowds on the platform and weaved his way towards the checkpoint up ahead.

  The false identity had served him well so far and he was hoping for a similar outcome here. Edward Irwin was now a wine merchant from Marseille. At least Seb had a sense of humour; giving an alcoholic a new identity as the owner of a vineyard.

  Slowly he shuffled forward in the queue of passengers. He needed to get this right.

  Ed decided there and then that it would be best to say as little as possible. He was anything but confident in his ability to pull off an accent from the south of France.

  One more person to go and then it would be his turn. Ed swallowed hard and quashed the urge to have a drink.

  'Papers please,' the guard asked in both German and French.

  Ed simply foisted the documentation at the soldier and smiled.

  He waited with baited breath as the soldier at the checkpoint scrutinised the document.

  After an epoch of time that felt like a chasm, the border agent spoke. In English.

  'One moment sir.’

  With that, he turned sharply and walked towards a colleague further down the line.

  Several thoughts were running through Edward's head. What should he do now?

  Had the guard seen something suspicious in the paperwork? If so, why had nobody else? Should he vault the checkpoint gate and make a run for it?

  His last thought was one of sheer panic and ultimately foolish. He would have advanced no more than fifty yards before being apprehended in some form or another. It was too late now anyway. The guard was coming back... Mob handed.

  The original officer spoke first.

  'My apologies sir. It would appear transportation has been arranged for you.’

  'Bon, merci.’ he croaked in recognition. Keeping his voice from breaking was proving exceptionally difficult right now.

  'If you would care to follow us...' One of the other, burlier, armed guards gestured with a stiff arm, as if to accentuate the point.

  Despite being uneasy with the whole arrangement, Ed did as he was told. What choice did he have? He could hardly resist. His only hope was that Seb was better connected than he could have ever imagined.

  The four men passed through the checkpoint and headed off in the general direction of the town centre. As they walked -- or should that be marched? Because that was what it felt like. A bloody route march.

  Ed could not help noticing his new found friends’ formation. As the distance increased they were no longer simply accompanying him. They had enclosed him inside a triangle of grey. The original border patrol officer took point, whilst the other two took up the rear.

  Suddenly Ed felt a wave of insecurity washing over him. In the distance he could see a black sedan, emblazoned with the sign of the Fuhrer. The Swastika.

  'Here is your car sir.’ One of the larger, more professional looking soldiers said.

  Ed noticed that Checkpoint Charlie - as he'd nicknamed him - was already taking up position in the driver's seat.

  Unfortunately, before Ed could turn around and thank the soldiers, he was being bundled into the back of the car. Nothing like German hospitality he thought.

  'Excuse me driver. Where are we going?’ Ed ventured, positive his voice had broken this time. There was a lengthy pause as the locks on the doors dropped down sealing Ed inside.

  The officer spoke in perfect English this time and the sudden change startled Ed almost as much as the locking of the doors.

  'Someone important requires your presence Herr Irwin.’

  If he had any doubts before, they were now confirmed. His cover was blown and God only knows where he would be in the next few hours...

  ***

  Ed had no idea how long they had been travelling. Sitting in the back seat of a sedan with a Hessian bag over your head would disorientate the best of navigators.

  After what felt like hours, his legs had deserted him. He knew they were still there somewhere, but feeling them was another thing.

  Thoughts of the imminent future had invaded his head once again and despite every effort to contain them his mind ran amok. He had heard rumours of the creative and somewhat barbaric torture methods employed by the Nazi's, but never had he imagined he would be on the receiving end of them.

  Suddenly the car eased to a gradual stop and Ed was aware of the doors opening. Once the shroud was removed from his now perspiring head, Edward was temporarily blinded by the setting sun.

  'Get out'! came a cry from outside the vehicle. Whoever it was spoke in English.

  'He said get out.’ This confirmation was followed by a kick to the legs, as Ed sheltered his eyes from the distant solar flare.

  His efforts were futile and he stumbled to the ground beside the car. The driveway was paved with some form of shingle and the pins and needles sensation in his legs made Ed twitch uncontrollably.

  'Where are you taking me?’ he asked, but the only reply he received rained down on him from above and felt like the butt of a rifle.

  'Inside. Quickly'! This time the orders were detailed in a strong German accent.

  Finally his vision was returning to him through a cloud of coloured smoke. The building to which the guard referred looked for all intent and purposes like a Bavarian castle.

  Across the threshold Ed could see that this was no ordinary castle. For a start, there were no tourists and the tapestries had long since leapt from the walls. Some features did remain; a traditional log fire built into the stonework and several beams.

  Several corridors later they had reached what appeared to be a main hall. A voice echoed across the room from the direction of a solitary winged chair.

  'Herr Irwin. We meet at last!' The man behind the voice said, now standing.

  From his differentiated attire Ed guessed that this tall man, not too far from his own age was of a higher rank than the goons that escorted him to the castle.

  'Should I know you?' Ed ventured. The response was almost instantaneous and relatively well—mannered.

  'Nein mein Herr, but soon we will become acquainted.’

  'What do you want with me?'

  A brief pause for the acknowledgement of an inside joke and the officer introduced himself formally.

  'I am Hauptsturmführer Hackbeil Herr Irwin and we need to talk.’

  'What about?' Ed asked cautiously, still aware of the heavies behind him.

  He spoke solemnly, 'Samuel Beasley.’

  The situation was getting stranger. What on earth could the Nazi party want with a publicist and amateur sleuth? The detective in Irwin did start to wonder however, if this had something to do with Seb's sudden disappearance.

  'He's here?' Ed enquired, genuinely confused.

  'If only!' Came the German's response and a hearty chortle. 'No Inspector, we do not have him here. That is where you come in.’

  Now Ed was concerned. He knew little to nothing about where the missing media mogul might be and the man in front of him wanted answers. If he wished to remain useful -- and therefore alive -- there was only one thing he could do: stall for time.

  'I haven't seen him in almost two years. One minute we were working together, the next he was gone.’

  'Interesting, but not very helpful Herr Irwin.’ Slowly Hackbeil reached for his crop, 'Do not waste my time Inspector. For too long I have waited already.’

  'I'm telling the truth.’

  'I do not doubt it... But if we could skip to the part I want to hear?'

  No more stalling. He had to finish the story and take whatever was coming to him.

  'The last night we spoke, Samuel went out for a drink. That was strange in itself, as he doesn't usually touch the devil's water, but off he went all the same...'

  'Go on.’ Herman encouraged.

  'He went to a local pub, not far from where I live. I woke up the next morning with the hangover from hell and he wasn't there.’

  'He had taken his possessions?' Hackbeil queried stroking his cle
an-shaven, but angular chin.

  Before Ed could continue, the German gestured for him to come and sit by the fire. He had been so engrossed in the conversation that he hadn't noticed the hired help place another chair.

  Taking a seat and warming his bound hands Ed continued.

  'No. What meagre personal belongings he had stored at my place were still there.’

  'Peculiar, would you not agree?'

  'Very. Especially when you consider that we were making progress with the case.’

  As soon as the words had escaped his mouth Ed realised his mistake. Unfortunately, it was too late to reign them in.

  'Tell me about the investigation. Did you often work cases together?'

  'Yes... Well, err no.’

  'I'm sorry?'

  'We worked cases together after he joined me and proved himself to be useful. I didn't see the harm in him

  helping and it took his mind away from matters he didn't want to think about.’

  'Oh?'

  'The death of his father and the pressure of his inheritance.’

  There he went again. Idiot! He'd always been a babbling wreck under certain conditions. His wife had always hated that about him; if he was nervous or drank too much his lips went loose and his fists tightened.

  'We knew each other from university. Well I say we knew each other, but originally he was merely a classmate of the girl I was courting at the time.’

  'I see. But being the gentleman you tolerated his presence ja?'

  'You could put it like that. He held a decent conversation, bought his fair share of drinks and Caitlin liked having him around.’

  At that moment, Hackbeil waved his leather clad hand and a man servant came into view carrying a tray.

  'Drink Herr Irwin?'

  'No I shouldn't,' he declined weakly.

  'Oh?'

  'I'm trying to give it up.’ he divulged flatly.

  'A good decision. It has proven a terrible mistress for you in the past.’

  'How do you kno..?'

  Before Ed could finish his sentence his arm was waved again and Hackbeil's aid had vanished with the silver platter.

  'Continue.’

  'Where were we?'

  Ed knew exactly where they had gotten to in the conversation, but hoped the German had forgotten.

  'The investigation Herr Irwin.’ Herman said lethargically whilst stifling a fake yawn.

  'We had worked smaller, insignificant cases together in the weeks leading up to the one before the disappearance, but nothing as big as the killings.’

  'Killings you say?'

  'Yes, there had been a spate of murders in the city. All with a similar modus operandi.’

  'You are an educated man Herr Irwin.’

  Edward couldn't believe it. Now the bastard was giving him backhanded compliments. First of all he was an insufferable drunkard, now he was a demi-genius.

  'I wouldn't go that far. I still haven't solved the case and my marriage is as dead as the victims for which we sought justice.’

  The German broke into a wry smile before speaking.

  'What if I told you I knew the answer?'

  'I don't follow.’ Ed exclaimed, perplexed.

  'In exchange for your cooperation I could give you the answers you seek Inspector.’

  Ed was naturally suspicious of any offer the German had to make.

  'What makes you so sure you hold all the cards?'

  'A gambler and a drunk. You are doing well for yourself Herr Irwin.’ With that last remark Herman scoffed. 'What if I could reinstall the faith of your superiors and give you the key to solving the case?'

  Ed mulled the proposition over for a while. It did have its appeals for sure. Regaining the trust of his boss,

  possibly the affections of a disillusioned wife. He was ready to negotiate. The only problem was, with what?

  'I'm interested.’

  'Then it is up to you to solve the puzzle.’

  'What puzzle?'

  Ed didn't know what had hit him. The movement was so fast and unexpected, that when the fist of the SS officer made contact with his jaw he almost fell from the chair.

  'Where is Samuel Beasley? You will tell me now.’

  Ed stumbled over the words, 'I... Don't know... I swear.’

  'You are not asking the right questions. Just like you failed to do two years ago.’

  'Questions?'

  Hackbeil's patience was spent. He had grown tired of the one-sided and ultimately fruitless conversation.

  'Take him away! I need time to think.’

  'Wait!' Ed pleaded as the guards approached.

  'Stop!' Herman leaned in closer to Ed's hunched body, 'You have something for me Herr Irwin?'

  'I wasn't drunk,' the response came back. Hackbeil appeared puzzled. 'I'm sorry?'

  'The night Samuel disappeared. I had no money left for drink, so I had some milk and went to bed early.’

  As if in realisation Herman uttered the words more to himself than Ed.

  'So there would be no hangover.’

  'Exactly.’

  Suddenly the German was excited.

  'This confirms my original belief.’

  'Which was?' Ed asked sheepishly.

  'None of your concern Edward. Take him to be processed!'

  Hackbeil shifted his gaze to the figure of Ed. Something had stirred the inspector and it wasn't simply the fear of the unknown.

  'Something is troubling you Herr Irwin?'

  'You could say that yes...'

  Chapter Twenty: A Problem Shared ~ Autumn, 1942

  The singing, dancing and music playing had long since subsided. Max had informed Seb that this kind of behaviour was commonplace amongst his Russian brothers and sisters. Apparently everyone seeking refuge below ground – and no doubt those elsewhere – had agreed that every day should be undertaken as if it were there last.

  The chair in which Seb slouched appeared to have seen as much action as himself. As a result, the fabric was threadbare and in places the springs sought revenge for the years of punishment they had endured.

  Seb could associate with this piece of furniture.

  At first he had not been sure if his host had fallen asleep, but this idea was soon quashed when a voice drifted across the inlet and reverberated inside Seb’s inner ear.