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

by Robbie, Vic

  Ben reluctantly agreed, but where could they go? They might be able to evade the Nazis for a time, but they would soon be tracked down and they couldn’t rely on what was left of the Resistance to come to their aid.

  As though reading his mind, Paradiso said: ‘Gotta go. Grand Rivière. Louis will help.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked. Was he delirious?

  ‘Paid him big bucks to hold his boat for me.’ He attempted a laugh and spat blood. ‘Insurance in case we fucked up.’

  He hesitated, doubting Paradiso would survive the drive north. ‘Your wound, you–’

  Natalie shouted from the back. ‘We’ve got to get the information about the U-boats back to America.’

  ‘You got it, sister.’ Paradiso raised himself on an elbow before sinking back down, exhausted. ‘Don’t want Nazi dumbfucks bombing Brooklyn. Got too many interests.’ And he smiled at the thought of his wife and the blonde standing side by side waiting for him.

  Ronnie had already started the engine and they were making their way up the hill out of Fort-de-France.

  ‘Will your car make it?’ Ben asked with a wry smile.

  She turned, taking her eyes off the road, and replied with a hint of indignation. ‘It will, but they’ll send faster cars.’ She shrugged. ‘Although they may not need them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Most of the gendarmes are for Vichy. Once the Nazis reckon where we’re going, the local police will set up roadblocks.’

  Natalie leant forward. ‘We’re going to need a gun.’

  As far as he knew, the only weapon they had between them was Natalie’s needle, which was going to be of little use at long range.

  ‘Ankle.’ Paradiso coughed.

  They all looked at him. Paradiso nodded down at his foot. ‘Ankle,’ he repeated.

  Natalie moved first, pulling up his trouser leg and then the other before whooping. Tucked into a small black holster was a pistol – a Derringer.

  ‘Always carry it,’ Paradiso said. ‘Insurance.’

  ‘Give it to Ben,’ Ronnie ordered Natalie. ‘I don’t trust you with a gun.’

  For miles, they drove expecting at any minute to see pursuing cars or police blocking the way ahead. Paradiso drifted back into a fitful sleep and Natalie twisted around to keep a watch out of the rear window. At this time of the morning, the roads were deserted. Ben scanned their route and glanced down side turnings looking out for pursuers.

  They drove north up the west coast on winding roads lined by mimosa trees full of orange and yellow blossom and past clusters of small, sturdy houses with tin roofs, built to withstand hurricanes and cyclones. And he might have relaxed but for the nagging doubt that everything seemed to be going their way. The village of Le Carbet, where Christopher Columbus first set foot on Martinique in 1502, was already awake for the day and Ben tensed, believing they could be heading into a trap. He ran a thumb over the butt of the Derringer and worried if he would be able to fire it. He relaxed. The locals were buying huge tuna, swordfish and marlin from fishermen, whose stalls lined the roadside, and were not interested in them. The long dead fishes’ eyes stared at them as they passed as if marking their progress.

  ‘Is this the best route?’ he asked Ronnie.

  ‘There are three routes we could’ve taken. There’s one,’ and she pointed inland. ‘It’s very mountainous and winding, reaching as high as 1,800 feet in parts. I didn’t think my car had the strength to make it with four of us.’

  He had doubts the car would make it taking any other route either, but he didn’t want to panic her. As they rounded a bend, Saint Pierre lay before them, clinging to the curve of a black sand beach with the dangerous Mont Pelée providing a stunning backdrop. It was Natalie who first spotted trouble. ‘Up ahead,’ she shouted and pointed to where a long line of cars had halted with gendarmes checking drivers’ papers. He doubted the gendarmes, who seemed relaxed and spent much of the time talking and laughing with the drivers, would have impressed the Nazis.

  Ronnie swerved off the road and skidded to a halt, causing a cloud of dust to rise around them. She turned and leant over her seat. ‘Can you walk, Tony?’

  Paradiso opened one eye and growled. ‘Guess so.’

  ‘Parallel to this road there’s a lane behind those houses.’ Ronnie smiled at Ben. ‘Use it and it should take you past the roadblock. We’ll meet you on the other side.’

  ‘What about you?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know the men on this island.’

  With Ben pulling and Natalie pushing, they got Paradiso out of the car and he flopped on Ben for support and together they limped and stumbled out of sight behind the houses.

  ‘Right,’ Ronnie ordered Natalie. ‘Get in the front with me.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll make it?’ Natalie looked doubtful and wondered if she would have to use her needle again.

  ‘Do you have a cleavage?’ Ronnie asked and her eyes fell to Natalie’s breasts.

  Natalie gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘Well then show it, plenty of it,’ Ronnie instructed and opened up all the buttons on her own shirt almost down to her belly button.

  Natalie brought her dress down over her shoulders and Ronnie shook her head. ‘A bit more.’ And kept on nodding for her to lower it until her nipples were almost showing.

  ‘And let’s have a bit of leg, too.’

  Natalie sighed and hitched her dress up above her knees. ‘And laugh a lot and look at them as if you want to take them to bed,’ Ronnie said. ‘I believe you’re quite good at that.’

  55

  Saint Pierre, Martinique: Tuesday, November 18th, 1941

  Progress was slow. He supported Paradiso most of the way, but they were taking regular breathers so he could will himself onto the next stage. No one showed any interest. A couple of stray dogs followed them for a while before becoming bored and running off barking and yelping in pursuit of a cat. And at one stage, Ben went into a house to ask for water for Paradiso.

  When he reckoned they had passed the roadblock, he let Paradiso rest, slumping against a wall and groaning quietly. Then he sensed a presence behind them. A gendarme was standing yards away, his arms crossed and an inquisitive look on his face. He put an arm around Paradiso and pulled him up, holding him tight partly to ensure he didn’t fall to the ground and also to warn him of impending danger.

  ‘What’s happening here, m’sieu?’ The gendarme looked uncomfortable in the morning sunshine. A big man, his uniform was several sizes too small for him and, feeling the heat, he’d loosened his collar as sweat rolled down his face.

  ‘Sorry.’ He tried his most ingratiating smile. ‘My friend’s okay. Too much alcohol.’

  ‘Doesn’t look too good.’ The gendarme took a step towards them.

  ‘Done it before.’ He glanced at Paradiso to see if the blood from his wound was seeping through his jacket, but Natalie had done a good job in cleaning him up.

  ‘Not seen you two around.’ The gendarme’s hand rested on his belt just inches from his holster. Could he be on first-name terms with every drunk in town?

  ‘Just visiting.’

  ‘Really?’ The gendarme didn’t believe him and closed in on Paradiso and held his face between a finger and thumb in a large hand. ‘Maybe you should accompany me to the police station to answer some questions.’

  Just then Paradiso roused himself, coughed brokenly and vomited green and yellow bile in the direction of the gendarme who stepped back quickly with a look of disgust.

  ‘On your way,’ the gendarme shouted, waving an arm at them while his other hand protected his nose and mouth. ‘Get out of here.’

  He kept glancing at his broken watch as he waited by the side of the road for Ronnie and Natalie. They were taking their time. From where he stood, he couldn’t see around the bend in the road to ascertain whether they were in trouble. He considered retracing his steps to get a better view although he didn’t want to leave Paradiso in case the gendarme returned. The other
possibility was they’d already passed and for a moment he worried they might desert them. He was about to leave Paradiso and go back when he saw the little yellow car driving slowly along the coast road with the girls looking into the alleyways for any sign of them. He stepped out onto the road and flagged them down and Natalie waved back and Ronnie pulled over.

  They were both giggling and seemed in high spirits as they climbed out of the car. Ronnie hugged Ben as if she hadn’t seen him for some time. ‘Sorry we took so long,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘I was beginning to fear for you,’ he said, feeling guilty that he’d doubted them.

  ‘We couldn’t get away from them. They couldn’t take their eyes off Natalie’s breasts.’

  He could understand why, and Ronnie flashed a look at him and snapped at Natalie: ‘Okay, you can put them away. You’re not on stage now.’

  ‘They wanted our papers and to look in the trunk.’ Natalie laughed. ‘They spent so much time flirting with us the cars behind were honking so in the end they just waved us through. We did agree to come back and meet them later if we didn’t get a better offer.’

  Paradiso had lapsed back into unconsciousness and it took the three of them to carry him back to the car and squeeze him into the rear seat again.

  ‘He’s in a very bad way,’ he warned. ‘He’s not going to make it.’

  ‘Dumbfuck.’

  They turned as one to see if Paradiso had awoken, but he hadn’t moved and still seemed to be unconscious.

  ‘It’s going to be tough from now on,’ Ronnie warned, starting the engine. ‘We’ve got some climbs ahead of us, up and around the side of Mont Pelée. The problem now is the police could set up another roadblock along the way and we wouldn’t be able to avoid it. You’d better have the gun ready, Ben, I think you may need it.’

  He waved it at her to show he was prepared and wished he could have tested it. After it had been dragged along the floor of the tunnel, he feared some muck had fouled up its mechanism.

  They passed through the village of L'Ajoupa Bouillon and the roads were narrower and they were hemmed in on either side by tall grassy banks topped with trees. The road became a switchback, climbing one minute and then plunging down deep descents, always with a sharp bend at the bottom.

  Natalie had stopped watching out of the rear window to tend to Paradiso, who had become feverish and was tossing and turning as much as he could in the cramped space in the back of the little car.

  She didn’t see them.

  A large black Citroen emerged from a turning and drove right on their tail, filling Ronnie’s rearview mirror, and she screamed.

  He swivelled to see the car, driven by Horst and carrying three other Nazis, swerving from side to side attempting to overtake on the narrow road. Once it almost made it, but he grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it so hard Ronnie’s car caught its fender forcing it to fall back.

  On the descents, Ronnie just managed to keep in front. But on the inclines the superior power of the Citroen enabled the Nazis to close on them and shunt them from behind so every blow jarred, threatening to force them off the road.

  Horst was concentrating so much on closing the gap he misjudged a sharp right-hand bend and went straight on into the grassy bank. That allowed them to pull away although not far enough to be out of harm’s way. As the road wound down past banana plantations towards Grand Rivière, Ronnie had her foot flat to the boards and the car was rocking from side to side. He glanced back. The Nazis were coming for them again and this time one of Horst’s men was hanging out of a window with a Luger in his hand. The first shot went wide, but the second thudded into the back of the car and Natalie pulled Paradiso down and ducked below the rear window.

  ‘What’ll I do?’ Ronnie screamed as they swept towards the Grand Rivière Bridge. A car packed with a family was approaching from the opposite direction and looked likely to make the single-track bridge before them. ‘If we stop now, we’re dead.’

  ‘Keep your foot down,’ he shouted and pulled himself up on his seat and rolled back the car’s canvas roof, pushing his head out of the opening. The slipstream took his breath away and unsteadied him briefly. The Citroen was almost upon them and he feared if they were shunted again it could force them off the road and send them crashing more than a hundred feet into the ravine below.

  Horst’s henchman fired another couple of rounds and he felt a sharp pain and a warming as if it had nicked his ear. He glanced forwards. It was fifty-fifty. Ronnie still had her foot down, but the other car was getting closer.

  ‘Natalie, hold my legs,’ he shouted and she leant forward wrapping her arms around his legs to steady him.

  He had never fired a Derringer before – and only one other gun once when he was invited on a hunting trip as a boy but seeing the animals’ suffering swore never to shoot a gun again. And he had no idea of its range or accuracy. With Natalie holding on, he wedged himself against the side of the car. Holding the gun between both hands, he took careful aim at the driver’s side of the windscreen. The recoil of such a small gun surprised him and he saw the windscreen shattering before firing a second shot. Almost in slow motion the Citroen swerved from side to side, hitting both banks, and as they entered the bridge the Citroen veered off the road, jumped a grassy knoll and flew into the ravine somersaulting on the way down.

  56

  Grand Rivière, Martinique: Tuesday, November 18th, 1941

  Ben took the wheel for the drive into the village of Grand Rivière. Ronnie was shaking uncontrollably and Natalie had turned white. They stopped on the other side of the bridge and walked back across a construction resembling something a beginner at Meccano might have put together. Horst’s Citroen had ploughed into the tree canopy to an accompaniment of snapping branches and the squawking of fleeing birds and within seconds had exploded in a mushroom of flame. If the Nazis had survived the fall, there would have been little chance of escaping the fire. Thankfully, the driver of the approaching car had stamped on his brakes on the other side of the bridge when he saw two vehicles bearing down on him at speed. At first, the driver was concerned for any possible survivors, but when Ronnie told him they were Nazis, he merely shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way.

  The villagers of Grand Rivière lived in a jumble of multi-coloured two-storey houses gathered around a small harbour. This was where the Caribbean Sea and the might of the Atlantic Ocean met in a capricious confluence that posed a daily challenge for the local fishermen plying their trade. Over the centuries, the area had built a reputation as a centre of smuggling and the villagers were used to the comings and goings of strangers. And during Vichy’s rule many Free French sympathisers escaped through this channel to Dominica so they could continue the fight.

  From the black sand beach, heavily wooded cliffs rose sharply and the locals claimed once you crossed the Grand Rivière bridge you were in the other Martinique. Rather than drive south to Fort-de-France when they wanted to shop or seek entertainment, they crossed the water to Dominica, which lay thirty miles away as a grey shadow on the horizon.

  In reality, they had fled to the end of the land and now stood on the edge of a cliff, and the only way to escape was to jump. If caught now, they would be condemning thousands of Americans to a horrendous death at the hands of the Nazis’ atomic bombs. He drove down to the front and stopped when the road ran out. There were at least twenty boats, some tied to a dock, and others pulled up on the beach, but he couldn’t tell which was Louis’s.

  Natalie shook Paradiso gently. ‘We’re here,’ she said. ‘We’re looking for Louis’s boat and then we’ll get you home.’

  At the mention of Louis’s name, Paradiso opened one eye then the other. ‘We’re here, eh?’ He made a monumental effort to drag himself upright so he could see out of the car’s window. To their surprise, he chuckled and then coughed more blood and lay back against the seat to catch his breath. ‘Get Louis.’

  A fisherman, whose face was so weather-beaten it looked
as though he’d been tied to the mast for at least a hundred years, wandered over to check out the car and its passengers. As he approached, Natalie asked: ‘We’re looking for Louis can you help?’

  The man glanced suspiciously at the three of them, unsure whether he could, then glimpsed Paradiso through the open door.

  ‘Ah, the American. You’re friends?’

  ‘Of course, you dumbfuck,’ Paradiso spluttered. ‘Get them off this goddamn island. Now.’ He sat up and coughed more blood and his eyes flickered. ‘Pronto, capiche?’

  ‘I’m ready, M’sieu Paradiso, just as you ordered,’ Louis said with a broad smile. ‘We can go straight away.’ He didn’t wait for an answer and strode off. Jumping down into his boat, he started the engine, causing belching black smoke to billow across the harbour.

  ‘Ronnie, Natalie get on board,’ Ben said. ‘Quick, we’ve no time to waste.’

  He turned to Paradiso. ‘Give me your arm. One last effort and you’ll be on the boat to safety.’

  Paradiso didn’t move and coughed again and fell back on the car seat. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Come on,’ he insisted, ‘I’ll carry you.’

  ‘No, it’s too late for me,’ Paradiso rasped, and Ben could see the life draining out of him.

  ‘Won’t make it.’ Paradiso’s eyes flickered past him, looking at something in the cliff behind the village. He turned to follow his gaze. A statue of the Virgin Mary stood on a ledge high up in the cliff face watching over the village’s fishermen. ‘She’ll look after me now. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but I’ve always been a good Catholic.’

  ‘We can get you help, Tony,’ he said, grasping his collar and trying to pull him up.