by Vic Robbie
The memory forced her to turn away and tears filled her eyes when she faced him again. ‘I felt guilty and still do. I have nightmares every night.’
‘There’s no reason for you to feel guilty.’
For what seemed like minutes, she stared at him. ‘There is, I killed the Gestapo officer.’
He took both her hands.
‘I had no choice,’ she said. ‘It was him or me. He found out about our plans and tried to stop us.’ She took several puffs on her cigarette before continuing. ‘Now do you think I’m a double agent?’
‘Of course not. That’s over, thankfully.’
Hair flowed around her face as she dropped her head. ‘Is it? Or are we headed for something worse? At least in war, you’ve some idea of the enemy. In most cases, you can see them. Now, it’s harder. Our enemies don’t wear uniforms. They dress like us, and many speak the same language and work alongside us. Some could be sitting on this plane.’ She paused to look around. ‘Will America be safer or will we be running for the rest of our lives?’
‘You’ll be okay there,’ he reassured her. ‘This can’t go on forever. One day they’ll lose interest in Freddie and will fade away.’
‘Really?’ she asked without conviction. ‘I have this fear that as long as he’s alive,’ she snatched a glance at Freddie who had drifted into sleep, ‘there will always be a Nazi somewhere out there. And there will never be peace. In my lowest moments, I ask myself if it would be better that he was dead. At least, he’d be free.’
Natalie wondered what the discussion was about. On her second gin and yet another cigarette, she strained to see every gesture. More than once, she got up, determined to walk down the aisle, but the way their heads were close together it was obvious they didn’t want to talk. It was maddening. There would be many more hours of this. Klein wanted her to transport the boy to Buenos Aires, but did they still trust her to carry out the assignment? She crossed and uncrossed her legs and flipped open the top of the gold lighter. To her relief, the next seat was empty. Otherwise, her behaviour might have attracted attention.
The fact no one had come to the boy’s help at Big Ben suggested British Intelligence were no longer interested, making the options easier. There would be no protection in New York. With a smile as grim as the skies outside, she realised they were talking about her. He would poison Alena’s mind. Maybe they planned to slip away after they landed.
Klein surveyed the team at their Earls Court base. The smaller of the two men nursed a bruise. The sergeant was unmarked although he had an injured look about him.
‘It went well, kameraden,’ he said with a wintry smile. ‘You followed orders perfectly. Well done.’
‘But we failed,’ the smaller man queried. ‘We didn’t get the boy.‘
‘Sometimes things are not as they seem. Orders are orders.’
‘She could have killed me,’ the taller man snorted in protest.
‘Thought you’d bought it, man.’ He broke into a Geordie accent. ‘That spike is lethal. You wouldn’t be the first to go that way.’
With a rueful expression, the sergeant rubbed the side of his head.
‘Any damage?’
‘No. My collar protected me.’
‘Good.’
‘What do we do now? Have another go?’
‘Unnecessary. It had the right effect. They’ve left for New York.’
His men were confused that he wasn’t angry.
‘Our people over there will take over,’ he added. ‘This plays into our hands. It’ll be easier to get to the boy in America.’
22
New York
A noisy group crowded the lobby bar of the Lexington Hotel. Although late morning they held cocktails tight to their chests for fear of losing a drop. Natalie climbed the stairs and entered a large space with almost a hundred people, all talking at the same time. A convention crowd drinking to impress and with an eye for the easy chance; the conversations loud and forceful and the laughter even more raucous. Why did Solomon want to meet here? The strains of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade smoothed around the room as a background to the hum of conversation. And she wondered if at a signal the whole room might move and sway like synchronised dancers answering the call of the clarinets and saxophones.
She scanned the area but recognised no one on the first sweep. The next time, she saw a figure waving in a corner. Heading in that direction, she expected to feel foolish when she found the person was only trying to attract the bartender’s attention. With relief, she realised it was Solomon. He had commandeered two armchairs and a table in an oasis of calm, placing his hat and cane on the second chair. None of his minders appeared to be around. She weaved in and out of the knot of drinkers, apologising when knocking an elbow or nudging a back. There was more space in the corner, and the noise dropped by several decibels. Solomon sat, facing out into the room with one eye on her progress and the other on a waiter carrying two drinks on a tray.
‘Ah, there you are.’ With the careful movement of old age, he got to his feet and removed his hat and cane before ushering her into the other chair. ‘Looks like we’ve got company.’
He appeared younger than when they met in Paris or perhaps he was more comfortable on his home patch. He gave her a kiss on each cheek, as if greeting a young female relation, and smiled with teeth as big as tombstones. ‘Good to see you here.’
The waiter placed a red drink before her on the table, and she looked doubtful.
‘A Manhattan cocktail, fitting for your visit to the city. It’s a mixture of whisky, sweet vermouth, and bitters–’
‘I know what it is. I was just wondering if you intended poisoning me.’
‘Do I need to?’ His laughter was loud and nervous. ‘Thought I’d better get the order in quick as the poor waiter risks life and limb every time he brings a drink. He has to put a hand over the glasses or that lot would snatch them.’ He waited until she tried a tentative sip and smiled at her approval. ‘Here’s to success.’
She took a larger sip, not wanting to meet his stare. ‘Not yet.’
‘Oh?’ An arched eyebrow demanded an explanation.
‘The boy is in New York.’
‘What?’ His face turned grey.
‘I travelled here with him and his mother and Ben Peters.’
He moved his head from side to side like someone refusing to believe what he was hearing, and the benevolent smile faded to one of anger. ‘You bring him here…’ The last few words slipped off his tongue as his eyes darted about. ‘What madness is this?’ he hissed.
‘Better for us.’
He leant forward. ‘Or better for you?’ The smile would not return soon.
‘For both of us.’
‘I don’t–’
She reached over and placed a hand on his arm which he withdrew. ‘There was too much happening in London.’ She spoke rapidly to fill the vacuum between them. ‘The Nazis are on his tail, and he’s still a British Intelligence asset.’
His brow knitted as he struggled to understand her problem. ‘Are they here?’
‘They don’t know he’s left the country.’ She offered a diffident, conspiratorial smile. ‘That’s why it’s perfect for us.’
‘Explain.’ Solomon was nervous. ‘This has to be resolved as soon as possible.’
‘It will be.’
‘I thought you would have achieved your goal. Any delay makes things harder and increases the possibility of the Nazis getting him.’
‘You employed me for my expertise.’ Natalie took another mouthful of her drink and ran her tongue around her lips. ‘If I’d killed him in London, it could have caused problems for us.’
Alarmed, Solomon winced and glanced around again, appearing more on edge this time than during their previous meeting.
‘If he dies in New York, it’ll be easier to cover up. An unexplained death. Nothing to link him to Nazis or British Intelligence. Then you can spirit me away. Never to be seen again.’ She fixed hi
m with a questioning stare which was disconcerting. ‘As agreed?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he said, suggesting he would have preferred it happened far from his doorstep. ‘How and where will it be done?’
‘When you have a car repaired by a mechanic, you don’t ask how he’ll do it.’ She gave a tight laugh and lit up a cigarette. ‘You just want the job done.’
The stare betrayed his fears that her resolve had weakened. ‘No, you’re right, I suppose I don’t want to hear the gory details. Just get on with it. It’s a nasty business, and some friends might get cold feet. Then we will all lose.’ Pulling out a voluminous handkerchief, he dabbed his face and, noticing her watching, added: ‘Hot in here.’
The crowd were convulsed in boisterous laughter. If anyone had tried to listen in to their conversation, it would have been impossible.
‘This is not something we usually do.’ Solomon stared into the handkerchief as if looking for evidence. ‘It’s an unfortunate business that demands a drastic solution. It’s not that we haven’t questioned our consciences. Perhaps you think we’re no better than those Nazi bastards?’ When he didn’t receive a response, he continued: ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. What’s one life when this could save thousands?’ It was as if he were trying to convince himself but, after a pause, regained his momentum. ‘Make no mistake, those Nazis who have escaped punishment believe the boy is the key to their future. If they kidnap him, he’s gone, possibly forever. We cannot allow that to happen. We cannot have another Holocaust. You must strike soon. If it’s easier to do it here, then so be it. But it must also be easier for the Nazis.’
Realising he was worried, she put up both hands, palms outwards as if pushing back an invisible wall. ‘Trust me, I have a plan.’
‘Ei, ei,’ he said, his head slumping on his chest almost in despair. He sank back into the chair then brought his head up again. ‘If I had a dollar for every time a woman said trust me…’ With a weary look, he added: ‘It fills me with dread. You mustn’t fail. I’m giving up my remaining years to make those Nazis pay for what they did. You must do as we asked. If you don’t carry out your mission…’ Apologetic that he had to mention it again, he ran his fingers through his silver hair. ‘I must leave you to my friends in Intelligence.’
When she put a hand on his arm again, he didn’t remove it. ‘You won’t need to do that. Give me a contact number, and I’ll call the moment it’s done.’
After thinking about it for an instant, he reached into an inside pocket, extricated a wallet, took out a business card and handed it over. ‘This is where I stay when I’m in Manhattan.’ He returned the wallet to his pocket and leant into her. ‘Natalie, you still have my confidence,’ he said in a grave voice. ‘One week. That’s all you have to complete the mission. Fail, and our agreement will be terminated, and you’ll be at the mercy of the wolves.’
He offered a twisted smile and pushed himself up and, after gathering his hat and cane, limped away. As the two minders emerged and escorted him through the throng, he looked more vulnerable than when they first met.
Natalie scrutinised the diners arriving by car and carriage at the Tavern on The Green under trees whose lights twinkled in the afternoon sunlight. After the meeting, she needed space to devise a method that would ensure her survival. Solomon was demanding she carry out her part of the deal. And the Nazis expected her to make a move. Now she was unsure what to do. Each time she spun a coin, it favoured Solomon’s plan. It was the easier and less dangerous option. It would be quick, and within hours she could be spirited away and never seen again. But could she trust any of them? If Solomon would order the killing of a child, he might have someone lined up to dispose of her. That assassin would have no knowledge of what she had done, and the trail would end with her. And even if he remained true to his word, the Nazis would be on her tail. If she betrayed Solomon, he would set the American intelligence agencies on her, and the Nazis might also eradicate her for what she knew. The more she thought about it, the more confused her options were becoming. Conscience did not concern her. She could do her work and move on. But, for the first time, she had nagging doubts that were difficult to ignore. There must be a way to get both factions off her back. Running away would only double her enemies. At times, she felt abject despair, and if she had allowed herself to cry, she wouldn’t have been able to stop. But tears could not wash away memories of the lives she had taken. Like blood, they left a stain on her soul.
‘Hi, are you all alone?’ The squeaky voice came from a girl about the age of six. Wrapped in a pink coat with a hood fringed with white fur holding in brown curls, she peered into her face.
Natalie just stared at her and found it hard to distinguish her from the boy on her mind seconds before.
‘Don’t you have any friends?’ The girl’s voice was accusing as if it were a crime.
‘I guess I don’t.’ She forced a smile, spreading her hands to show there was no one else.
‘Why?’
‘Because I–’ She was more alone than anyone could imagine. Alone in every aspect of her life with no one to approach for help.
‘That’s sad,’ the girl said and climbed onto the bench beside her. She handed over a small, battered teddy bear with a bandage on one of its legs. ‘There, when I’m sad, I give Benji a big hug, and then I feel better.’
‘I’m better already,’ Natalie said, hugging the bear.
‘Jenny, Jenny, come on,’ a woman’s voice called. ‘Hurry now, or we’ll be late.’
‘I’m sorry, byeee.’ With a wave, she scampered over to her mother.
Realising the girl had left the teddy bear behind, Natalie lifted it for closer inspection. Suddenly, it was snatched away from her as Jenny returned to retrieve her toy with a look of absolute ownership. ‘Byeee,’ she yelled again and ran off.
Alone once more, she sighed. She was used to that. She had another thirty minutes to wait for Ben, Alena and Freddie. They had been on a carriage ride around Central Park, a treat that Freddie had been demanding until they gave in. And they would meet her at the Tavern for a late lunch. She lit a Passing Cloud. To some, Natalie was people watching. Instead, she was analysing those who might be following her because Solomon’s men would want to be sure she wasn’t about to renege on their agreement. The Nazis would be somewhere close by despite her agreeing to deliver the boy to them although the possibility that they may consider cutting her out of the deal persisted. She scanned the scene again and relaxed. Her neighbours seemed more intent on enjoying the sunshine.
They walked up West Drive from Columbus Circle, Freddie, happy, smiling and animated and talking to Alena, and Ben following, head down, deep in thought. Alena said something to the boy, and he shrieked with laughter. He went to the trees at the roadside, and Alena stopped, observing him. She gestured for him to catch up and he ran and put an arm around her waist. Welded together, they made slow progress towards Natalie. What must it be like to be a mother? To have someone place all their trust in you and in return offer them unconditional love so that no matter what happened you would always be there for them.
A high-pitched scream rent the air and Ben, Alena and Freddie stopped in their tracks, concentrating on something behind her.
Natalie swung around and gasped. Jenny had evaded her mother’s protection and run into the centre of the road. A clattering of hooves combined with the grating of a carriage’s wheels on the asphalt as a spooked horse careened out of control. Jenny stood motionless. Her mouth sagged open in shock, and she let fall her teddy bear before dropping to her knees to pick it up.
The gap between the two was shrinking by the second. The horse appeared to be speeding up as Jenny’s mother and others scrambled towards her in slow motion. Above the noise of the wheels, a man’s hoarse voice exhorted the girl to get out of the way.
Then someone rushed past, brushing her, and brought her back to her senses.
23
The horse’s eyes burned. A flaring
red, stoked by some inner fire. Not aggression but terror. It flung its head from side to side, causing its mane to wrap around a powerful muzzle from which emanated a mournful and fearful whinnying. The closer the runaway approached, the faster it appeared to be moving. And it pulled to free itself of the burden of the carriage on which a man and a woman held on so tight their knuckles turned white. They called for help, but little could be done. Eyes closed, the driver had dropped the reins, and his head rolled with the rhythm of the carriage’s movement. The horse was veering in a zigzag fashion, endangering everyone in its path. And some threw themselves into bushes to escape.
Jenny stood transfixed in the middle of the road, clutching Benji with a thumb stuck in her mouth for comfort. Frightened, she cried for her mother, a slow, uncertain wail at first that developed into a full-strength bellow.
Ben brushed past Natalie, who had got to her feet and was moving in the girl’s direction. He must not hesitate. He had to run straight into the stampeding horse’s path because it would be only seconds before it trampled the child. The noise of the hooves on the asphalt, its whinnying and the screams and shouts from those rendered immobile, assailed his senses. He pushed other distractions aside and concentrated on the girl. Although running flat out, everything around him moved slowly as though his brain had moved up a gear to cope with the danger. The horse was almost upon them. And heat rose from its muscular body and its yellow teeth were bared as it shrieked a warning. With a final lunge, he wrapped his arms around the girl and turned protecting her. She looked up in surprise as he whirled away to evade the charge, releasing her so that she cartwheeled onto the safety of the grass. Off balance, he staggered, as the animal’s head hit his chest, forcing the breath out of his lungs and throwing him upwards. As he fell back, the carriage swung by catching his shoulder and propelling him into bushes.