The Bear was watching his own hand, as if he were unsure of what it was going to do next. One second, two seconds, three seconds, then the hand drifted slowly down to the tabletop, like the last leaf to fall in a winter forest.
Once it settled, the Bear looked at the man who was supposed to be his boss.
“I’m enjoying this.” He smiled.
“You enjoy being stuck in a cell?”
“I’m not stuck here, and if you think I am, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. I’m as free as the air my hand just moved through.”
“You’re in my cell.”
The Bear placed one fingertip against his right temple. “I can go anywhere I want. When I want. You can’t stop me; nobody can stop me.”
“They are coming to talk to you. They’ve come from London. If you don’t play their game, they’ll take you back there under arrest, and if they get you back to London, you are out of my protection. I won’t be able to help you, Bauer.”
“Protection?”
“Yes.”
“You want to protect me?”
“I am protecting you.”
“From what?” The Bear tilted his head.
“From the SS, from our organization, and from the law.”
“Why?”
“Because you are not well, and you made a mistake.”
“In hiding what you want?”
“You are tired. You need support.”
“You said I’m not well?”
“Your mind is tired, and that is making it unwell.”
“Are you are saying I’m mad?”
“No.”
“I’m not mad, Major, I’m bored, so I’m playing a game with you.”
Dannecker thought for a moment, staring at at his hands, until finally he looked up and replied.
“I don’t have time for your games. I want to help you. You know what you have to do to get me to help you, so do it. If you tell me where the gold is, I’ll sort this all out.”
“They’ll execute me for the murder of the American.”
Dannecker linked his hands on the table and rubbed one thumb against the other.
“I won’t let that happen.”
The Bear smiled, a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It disappeared almost before it had time to get comfortable on his face.
“You’re finished, Major. Your dreams will all be gone in a puff of gun smoke when they take me to London.”
“You’re going nowhere.”
“What if I tell them about your gold?”
“You are going nowhere.”
The Bear smiled. “You think you’re in control.”
“Karl, please . . .”
“The minute I found it, that was the minute it all went away from you.”
“I really am worried about you; I can help you.”
“When they realize what has happened, they’ll execute you, too.”
“We can work this out, Karl. We can work it out before the resistance have a chance to find—”
“Will you ask for a blindfold?”
“Please, Karl, be serious.”
“When it is your time, will you want to see it coming?” The Bear pointed at Dannecker, then cocked his thumb as if he were a kid playing Cowboys. “Pow.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“Pow.”
“Bauer, this isn’t—”
“Pow,” the Bear interrupted again.
They stared at each other. Dannecker waited. He was expecting more to come, but it didn’t. The silence seemed to leach out of the cell’s concrete walls as he stared into the eyes of the Bear.
“You don’t know what you have done,” Dannecker finally said.
“I’ve killed you, Major. You’re dead.”
Dannecker could hear his own pulse.
“We have one chance of making them go away, Karl. One chance of tying this matter up and making things good.” Dannecker looked over his shoulder at the door, then back at the Bear. “The clock is ticking; you have to tell me. Where is the gold?”
The silence returned for a few seconds, then the Bear blinked. His eyes weakened, his brow slid a millimeter or two, and there was a glimpse of the man who might have been.
“It’s too late for you, and it is too late for me.”
Dannecker looked at the door and back at the Bear. His hand dropped to his holster. He pulled open the stud and lifted the flap.
The Bear watched him, shook his head, and smiled sadly.
“It’s too late, Major.”
Dannecker’s pistol slid an inch out of his holster.
“I can’t let them take you, Karl . . .”
“You can’t kill me.” It was said as a matter of fact, without fear. Bauer sounded so certain, the pistol grip seemed to get hot in Dannecker’s hand.
The knock at the cell door was so loud that Dannecker jumped as the pistol slammed back into the holster. He realized he was breathing heavily through his nose, one hand still on the gun, his lips pursed tight, other hand flat on the tabletop.
They just stared at each other. As if they were waiting to get out of a rocking rowboat to the safety of the shore. Neither wanting to move first, for fear of tipping them both into the water.
There was another knock, louder this time.
“Too late.” The Bear smiled, then nodded his head toward the door. “They’re here. You should always take the shot when you get the chance.”
Rossett and Neumann sat shoulder to shoulder across the table from the Bear with their backs to the door.
The cell was cramped. There was a bed with a mattress thinner than a slice of bread, covered by a sheet folded so perfectly, it looked like it could give you a paper cut.
Dannecker and the Bear had been sitting at the table when Rossett and Neumann were shown in by the young SS private. Dannecker had left the room without speaking, which had caused both Rossett and Neumann to raise an eyebrow each. The young private had been tasked with waiting outside.
If it hadn’t been for the pulse in the kid’s lean neck, he could have been a convincing waxwork. Instead, he was an unconvincing human being. The kind who clicked heels and held his hands stiff and straight when he walked.
The Bear, meanwhile, was all dead eyes and dead silence.
Neumann placed a leather folder on the tabletop, opened it, and held a writing pad out toward Rossett.
“Do you mind?”
Rossett did mind, but took the pad anyway.
He waved away the offer of the fountain pen from Neumann and took out a stub of pencil that looked too small for his hand to hold. Rossett was aware that his jacket collar was damp from the rain outside, and he gave a little shiver because of it.
The Bear looked at him, catching the movement but not commenting on it.
Neumann gathered a breath and some thoughts, then began.
“I am Generalmajor Erhard Neumann, and this is Detective Inspector John Rossett. We have come from London to investigate the shooting of—”
“Rossett?” the Bear interrupted.
“Yes,” Rossett replied.
“The Rossett? The hero?” The Bear perked up a little. “The one they called the . . .” He looked at the ceiling. As though he was hoping the words he was searching for were going to be written on it.
“The British Lion.” Neumann supplied what he was searching for.
“Thanks for that.” Rossett looked at Neumann.
“The British Lion.” The Bear lifted his hands out of his lap and placed them on the table. He leaned forward a few inches, bending at the waist and elbows so that his palms remained flat. The skin stretched on the back of his hands, so that his nails turned white except for the half-moon ridges of dirt at their tips. “I’ve read all about you.”
Neumann tried again.
“We are here to investigate the—”
“You were the hero of the British people, and then you turned your back on them.” The Bear eased forward another inch or two. �
��I read all about you in the newspapers and kids’ comics. You won the Victoria Cross, you met Churchill, the king . . . and then you joined us when we won.”
Rossett didn’t reply.
Neumann gave it another try. “We are here to investigate—”
“Does it bother you?” The Bear said it quietly, using English for the first time since they had arrived. His eyes seemed to glisten, as if they were lit from behind. “Being a traitor?”
Neumann looked at Rossett to see if he was going to react.
He didn’t.
Rossett simply stared at the Bear.
Neumann coughed, a clearing of the throat before speaking. “We need to work our way through this interview, Captain Bauer.”
“Make him answer me and then I’ll talk.” The Bear was talking to Neumann but looking at Rossett.
“No,” Rossett answered before Neumann had the chance to veto. “It doesn’t bother me.”
The Bear considered Rossett’s answer, then nodded to himself before speaking again.
“You’re a liar. It does, I can feel it. You hate yourself.”
Rossett didn’t reply.
Neumann glanced at him, waited a second, then started again.
“We are here to—”
“You stink of anger.” The Bear said it as if Neumann weren’t even there in the room with them. “You stink of pain. Shame. I can smell it. You’re in agony.”
Rossett stared at him across the table.
Bauer leaned forward a little more, his chin dropping closer to the table, so it was only an inch or two above his hands. He looked like a cat about to pounce, and Rossett felt the muscles tensing in his own stomach in preparation for an attack.
“You’re a repentant killer, you hear the souls calling. I can see it in your eyes.” Bauer looked up to the ceiling, then back at Rossett. “You hear them just the same as I do.”
Neumann cleared his throat.
“We are here to—”
“They come to you in your dreams, the same as they come to me.” The Bear closed his eyes and shook his head. “We share that, Lion, we share them. Maybe we see the same faces, hear the same voices . . . What do you think, Lion? Do we have mutual enemies?”
Rossett started to turn the pencil stub between his index finger and thumb.
The Bear tilted his head. The bare white light pooled on his pupils and seemed to swirl like oil in water.
“Do they reach out to you in your dreams the way they do to me in mine? Their hands muddy and mucky, with skin falling off? Pushing through the soil, grabbing and scratching at your ankles with dirty nails as you try to run away?” The Bear paused. His eyes flicked to Neumann and back to Rossett.
“No.”
The Bear smiled, then leaned back and shook his head.
“They do, I know it.” The Bear pointed at Neumann. “He doesn’t understand, he isn’t a reaper, but we are . . . me and you.” He tapped a loose fist against his chest as he stared at Rossett. “We’re reapers. We understand, I know we do. We understand. We are brothers, the Bear and the Lion, bound with the blood of brothers, and the blood of others.”
“No, really.” Rossett shook his head. “Honestly, we’re not.”
The Bear smiled at Rossett as if he had just told a joke. He folded his arms, his mood appearing to brighten as the shadows from the light above slid off his face.
“It’s good to meet an equal at last. It’s been too long since I had someone who could look me in the eye.”
Neumann broke up the party.
“We are here to investigate the shooting of Franklin Hawthorn, the United States consul in Liverpool, two nights ago. In addition to this, the shooting of three other local men. You were arrested near to the scene with the weapon believed used to kill Hawthorn in your possession. You refused to account for your presence upon arrest, nor make any statement to arresting officers.” Neumann paused, watching Bauer, checking to see if he understood what was being said to him before continuing. “Detective Inspector Rossett and I are here to ascertain what took place on the night in question. We want only the truth. We have no opinions. We don’t want to trip you up or treat you badly. We are sympathetic to your service to the Reich, and we only wish to get to the bottom of what took place. Do you understand?”
The Bear looked at Neumann.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Neumann smiled and nodded encouragingly. “Can you tell me why you were there?”
“No.”
Rossett rolled his eyes.
“Excuse me?” Neumann rested his elbows on the table.
“You are excused.”
“What?”
“What?” The Bear tilted his head.
“I’m trying to give you an opportunity to explain yourself.”
“I know.”
“So explain yourself.”
“No.”
Neumann sat back from the table, looked at Rossett, and then back at the Bear.
“I’m trying to help you, Captain. If this shooting was resistance related it changes the whole—”
“I don’t want your help.”
“This is your opportunity; we are sympathetic to you.”
“He isn’t.” The Bear pointed at Rossett. “He doesn’t like me, I can tell.”
“I am.” Neumann chose not to argue after taking a look at Rossett’s stony face. “I want to help you.”
The Bear leaned forward and stage-whispered to Neumann, “I don’t want your help, you fucking idiot.”
“You will end up in prison if you don’t speak to us.”
“I won’t, but thank you all the same.”
Neumann looked down at the blank pad in front of Rossett, then up at Rossett himself. He flicked his head when Rossett met his gaze.
You have a go.
Rossett sighed, and then put down the pencil.
“Did you kill Franklin Hawthorn?”
“Yes.” The Bear leaned forward an inch.
“Did you have orders to kill him?”
“No.”
“Why did you kill him?”
The Bear paused for a moment and nodded to the pad and pencil.
Rossett obliged him by picking up the pencil and pulling the writing pad closer.
“Yes?”
“I’m not telling you.”
Rossett put the pencil back down and folded his arms.
“Why not?” Neumann this time.
“Because there is no fun to be had if I do.”
“Fun?”
“Yes. Fun.”
A wide smile filled the Bear’s face before fading to nothing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Rossett picked up the pencil and wrote one word on the pad, then slid it toward Neumann.
Lunatic.
Neumann laid his hand across the pad to hide what was written, then looked at the Bear.
“Why don’t you want us to help you?”
“Because I finally have what I have been looking for.”
“Which is?”
“A challenge.”
“Which is?”
The Bear pointed at Rossett.
“Him.”
Rossett sent the young soldier who was waiting outside into the cell to wait with the Bear. Neumann folded his arms as Rossett took a cigarette from a battered pack.
Neumann leaned against the wall opposite the open cell door.
Rossett pulled out a matchbox, and what sounded like the last match gave a lonely rattle in its cardboard coffin.
“Shut the door.” The cigarette bobbed in the corner of Rossett’s mouth.
Neumann swung the heavy steel door shut and watched Rossett as he lit up.
The cellblock corridor had eight identical blue steel doors running down both sides. It was basically a white concrete tube with bright white lights spaced equidistantly along its ceiling. All the other doors were locked and identical, and despite the occasional dark patch of damp in the concrete, the block was as warm as a hosp
ital.
Rossett flicked the spent match onto the concrete floor of the corridor and wandered over to the other side to drop the hatch on the cell door opposite the Bear’s to check that nobody was inside listening.
They weren’t. Inside it was exactly the same as the one they had just been in, except it was empty and there were no sheets on the bed.
Rossett took a drag, blew the smoke through the hatch, shut it, and looked back at Neumann.
“It’s pointless spending all afternoon asking him questions. He’s as mad as a March hare.”
“We need to ascertain exactly what took place.” Neumann’s voice was clipped as he wafted away smoke.
“It’s pointless, we’re just going to go around in circles with a madman. He’s told us he did it, and he’s told us he had no orders. The blame lies with him; it is a straight cough.”
“A straight cough?”
“An admission of guilt. There is no gray area, we’ve nothing else to explore. I can’t see the point in wasting any more time with him.”
“There may be possible defenses he’ll bring up later.”
“You basically told him he can walk if he says the shooting was tied to the resistance. If he wanted to talk his way out, he would have done it already.”
“We could look bad if it gets to court and we . . .”
Rossett took another drag, then dropped the cigarette onto the floor and slid it around under his foot.
“There is no chance on earth, none whatsoever, that he will take the stand in a courtroom.” Rossett leaned in so close, Neumann could smell the cigarette on his breath. “He’s an embarrassment to the SS. He’ll look crazy, and he’ll make the Reich look weak. We’re wasting our time. I say we take him to London, drop him off at a military hospital with a note tied to his neck saying he is nuts.”
“He’s murdered a diplomat.”
“Not our problem.”
“It is our problem. It is our job; it’s why we were sent here.”
“We’ve done our job. Pat on the back all around, let’s go home.”
“What about witnesses?” Neumann tried again.
“Nobody saw the trigger being pulled. We’ve already got the arresting officers’ statements in the file. There is nothing left to do here. Trust me.”
An Army of One: A John Rossett Novel Page 9