“Thank you, M-Michael.”
“It was a real shame.”
“We’re in a dangerous business.”
“Indeed we are.” O’Kane dropped his arms, then nodded thanks to the other heavy who had been holding his coat and hat during the search. “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you down the line.”
“I will.”
O’Kane nodded, turned the hat in his hand, then looked around the living room of the tiny terraced house he was standing in. It was smart, but short of anything that could be called luxury. A four-lump coal fire was burning in the hearth, and a pot of tea and two cups sat steaming on the small table on the far side of the room.
The two heavies by the door were being so discreet, they almost matched the wallpaper. O’Kane had already forgotten about them until one leaned forward and gestured politely that he was free to move toward Iris. She was standing in the center of the room, her hands folded primly in front of her, one leg slightly tucked at an angle.
An awkward welcome committee.
O’Kane smiled again. “You’re doing a fine job of leading the group in place of your father. He’d be very proud.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ve kept things moving along nicely. The people over the water will be impressed.”
Iris smiled, then turned stiffly and pointed to the table.
“W-would you like to sit?”
“I would, thank you.” O’Kane gestured that she should lead the way and watched as she wobbled across the room.
He joined her at the table and placed his hat on the floor when he saw that neither heavy was going to oblige by taking it from him.
“Should I be mother?” He reached for the pot.
Iris nodded.
O’Kane poured, held up a small milk jug, and when Iris nodded again, added a careful few drops for fear of overwhelming the weak tea.
“You English with your tea and your meetings. Don’t you ever just drink a cup for pleasure?”
“It’s called being c-civilized, Michael. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” O’Kane took a sip and daintily placed the cup back on its saucer. “It’s good.”
“L-liar. It’s weak and the milk is powdered.”
He smiled at her.
“It’s terrible.”
Iris smiled back, then wiped her hand in stuttering strokes to smooth the tablecloth. She paused, then looked up.
“Thank you for coming at such sh-short notice.”
“I was hardly likely to stay away, was I?”
“No.”
O’Kane took another sip of the tea.
“As you know, we’re having trouble laying our hands on the gold.”
“As you know, I have a ship waiting to sail with it.”
“We are doing our b-best.”
“Your best isn’t good enough, I’m afraid.” O’Kane put the cup down on the saucer. “I spoke to Dannecker this morning,” he said quietly.
“Major Dannecker?”
“How many other Danneckers are there in Liverpool?”
Iris didn’t answer, so O’Kane continued.
“Before he was shot, Hawthorn the consul had ensured that our ship wasn’t going to be bothered while it was in port, and that the docks area where the gold was being stored was unpatrolled for a while. He did that by ensuring Dannecker was well paid.”
“I know that.”
“Hawthorn and your father thought they were being clever, but now that I think about it, I’m guessing keeping the area clear of Germans was what tipped the Bear off that something was going on.”
“And that’s how he found the gold and moved it.”
“How he got it doesn’t matter anymore. Fact is: he’s got it, and we haven’t. Now, cards on the table here.” O’Kane rested his hands flat on the cloth, causing it to ruffle slightly between his fingers. “Dannecker doesn’t have a clue where the gold is, and neither do you. So this leaves me in an awkward situation. My organization has invested a significant amount of time and money thus far. It isn’t easy getting the sort of vessel we have acquired, and it is even harder making sure it is left alone while it waits. On top of that, I’ve got buyers waiting for the gold in America, plus we’ve bribed customs, police, senior naval officers, and politicians over there as well. So where does that leave us?”
Iris was silent.
“It leaves us in a race,” he said. “That Dannecker, he’s a smart fellow. Sure, he might like a drink and all, but he is a smart fellow all the same. He’ll know that if he can find that gold before you lot . . . well, he’ll know that I won’t need you anymore.” O’Kane pointed to the window. “It’ll be him sitting in a first-class cabin on the same ship as the gold, crossing the Atlantic to New York with a much better drink than the stuff in your pot there.” O’Kane paused, let the information sink in, and continued. “Now, even though we’re talking business here, I’m not all that happy about making Nazis rich. I’ll do it if I have to, but it is fair to say that I would rather not. Now, sitting here chatting as we are, I’d say you have one chance of staying part of this deal, and it is this: you’ve got to find the gold first. Now, Iris, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t see there being all that much chance of your raggle-taggle group finding it before two hundred SS soldiers, do you understand?”
“When does your ship sail?” Iris answered.
“I figure we’ve got a day, maybe two, before the German High Command in London send someone up here to see what the hell is going on. I don’t want my ship here when that happens.”
“W-when can it come back?”
O’Kane shrugged. “God knows. Organizing a thing like this is a mammoth operation. It has already cost us a fortune, but the hardest part of it is keeping it quiet. If the gold isn’t on board when the ship sails, people involved in this matter will start to talk, and rumors don’t take long to reach the wrong people. If the German High Command realize that there are a few tons of gold lying around, you can be pretty sure they are going to come looking. And they will be looking hard, and hard means people are going to die . . . lots of people.”
Iris jerkily linked her fingers together on the tabletop and looked across to the heavies.
“G-go and get Detective Inspector Rossett.”
One of the men left the room.
“Rossett?” O’Kane watched him go, then looked at Iris. “The policeman who came looking for the Bear?”
Iris nodded.
O’Kane lifted an eyebrow and leaned back, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table as he waited.
Not long after that, Rossett walked in.
The other heavy placed a hand on Rossett’s chest and indicated that he wanted to search him.
“No,” Rossett said quietly.
The heavy looked at Iris, then back at Rossett.
“Honestly . . . no.” It seemed to rumble out of Rossett, and the heavy lowered his hand and took a step back.
Rossett crossed to the table and took the empty seat between Iris and O’Kane.
“We don’t have a spare cup.” O’Kane smiled. “But you can have some of mine if you don’t mind sharing.”
Rossett looked at Iris.
“Who is this?”
“Michael Mad Dog O’Kane,” O’Kane said.
“H-he is helping us shift the gold.”
“I’m not helping you shift it. I am shifting it.” He looked at Rossett. “If they say that I’m helping, it implies that they could shift it on their own . . . and they can’t.”
“Do you have the gold?” Rossett asked O’Kane.
“Not yet I don’t.”
Rossett turned back to Iris.
“Does he know who I am?”
“I know who you are. I just don’t know why you’re here.” O’Kane folded his arms.
“We n-need him.” Iris moved her cup toward the center of the table.
“Why?”
“Bec
ause the Bear wants to kill me.” Rossett looked at O’Kane.
“Which means he has to sh-show himself to do it.”
“Which means we can catch him when he does.” Rossett’s turn to fold his arms.
O’Kane stared at them both while he considered this new information, then nodded. “Would you be able to catch him?”
“I’ll catch him or kill him.”
“If he’s dead, how do we find the gold?”
“He has the location on him. I get him, you get your gold.”
“Just like that?” O’Kane didn’t sound convinced.
“You have a better idea?” Rossett tilted his head.
“Frankly, Mr. Rossett”—O’Kane looked at his watch—“I’m afraid I don’t.”
There was another pot of tea on the table, this time surrounded by three cups and a small plate of pale cheese sandwiches.
Rossett had forced himself to eat. The bread was stale, the cheese was tasteless, and the tea was cold.
He’d had better afternoons.
O’Kane was smoking an American cigarette.
There was a clock on the mantelpiece ticking a restless rhythm. Every fifteen minutes the chime reminded them they were nearer to dying.
The fire had gone out. The room was colder than the tea, and the late afternoon was taking on the color of evening with the darkening of the street outside.
One of the heavies was snoring in an overstuffed armchair by the door, twitching occasionally with the odd smacking of lips.
O’Kane stubbed his cigarette in his ashtray, and then took out another in a long chain that was in danger of emptying the pack. He paused, looked at Rossett, and said the first words the room had heard for the last hour and a half.
“What are they like?”
“Who?”
“The Germans.”
“In general?”
“To work for.”
“Can I have a cigarette?”
O’Kane slid the packet toward him. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I thought you’d never offer.”
O’Kane smiled. “You’re a stubborn man, Inspector.”
Rossett shook a smoke out and leaned forward for a light. “You have no idea, Mr. O’Kane.”
The silver lighter flicked open and flared.
Rossett inhaled deeply on the cigarette, then leaned back. “They pay on time.”
“Those Germans do everything on time.” O’Kane lit his own cigarette and flicked the lighter closed. “But that wasn’t what I was asking.”
“What were you asking?”
“What I wanted to know is: Are they normal? Like me and you. Or are they all full of that heel-clicking and saluting shit?”
“Most of them, the ones I worked with, they’ve been pretty normal.”
“I thought they would be. I’ve always thought it’s the normal ones you have to watch. The madmen are easy to deal with, but the normal ones, the ones you can like, the ones you might want to go for a drink with, they are the ones to watch.”
Rossett took another pull on the cigarette, thought for a moment, and then said, “One of them was my friend.”
O’Kane looked surprised. “You don’t strike me as a man who has many friends.”
“I don’t.”
“So why would you become a friend with one of them?”
The heavy by the door farted, shifted, then settled again. They both looked at him, then Rossett continued.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.”
“My mother used to say if you want to know someone, get to know their friends before you get to know them.”
Rossett tapped the cigarette lightly on the edge of the saucer. “Your mother was right.”
“So what about your German policeman? The one the resistance have over in their warehouse?”
“What about him?”
“These people are probably going to kill him.”
Rossett ran his finger around the rim of his teacup as he gave it some thought. Finally he nodded.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“And you’re just going to let them?”
Rossett didn’t reply.
“You getting tired of rescuing Germans?”
“I’m getting tired of everything.”
“Your problem is you haven’t got a cause.” O’Kane took a drag on his cigarette before continuing. “I think a man who fights for nothing runs out of energy the minute he realizes he hasn’t got a cause. Whilst a man who is fighting for his life, his family, his country, or even his honor . . . well, that’s a man who never stops, a man who never gets tired.”
“Until he is dead.”
“He might be dead, but he rests easier.”
“What about you, Mr. O’Kane? What are you fighting for?”
“I’ll tell you what, Inspector, when you get me the gold, I’ll let you know. But until then, it’s between me and my god.” O’Kane pointed to the ceiling with his cigarette.
The door onto the street opened and let in a dash of cold rain that startled the sleeping heavy awake. Rossett and O’Kane looked up to see Iris and Cavanagh stumbling in.
“Well?” O’Kane beat Rossett to the question. “Did you hear anything?”
Iris shook off her coat and dropped it into the lap of the heavy.
“Nothing.”
“So none of your people have heard anything about Bauer?” Rossett this time.
“N-not yet.”
“Are your men looking for the gold?” O’Kane again.
“Everyone we have, men, w-women, and children. They are working their way through the docks, ch-checking warehouses, trucks, everything.”
“If they get close to it and he knows, he’ll kill them,” said Rossett.
“These p-people are good; he’ll not know what they are up to.”
“He will, and he’ll kill them.” Rossett stubbed out the cigarette.
“Look on the bright side: if he does, then we’ll know we’re close.” O’Kane picked up his hat from the floor.
“Our people know what they are d-doing,” Iris chimed in.
“Like your father knew what he was doing? The Bear is capable of killing them from half a mile away. If they get anywhere near where he has the gold, he’ll shoot them dead, get rid of the bodies, and we’ll never know it even happened. Call them off. This man has killed enough innocent people as it is.”
Iris looked at O’Kane, who shrugged his shoulders.
“So w-what should we do? We don’t have a choice but to look.” She looked back at Rossett.
“Don’t go looking for him; make him come to us.”
Iris made her way across the room and settled down in the chair to Rossett’s right.
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t have people all over the city asking questions about him; have them all over the city talking about us.”
“Disinformation?” O’Kane looked at Rossett.
“No. Why confuse matters? He wants a fight, and he isn’t the kind of man who likes waiting. He knows the clock is ticking down, so he will make a move.” Rossett looked at O’Kane.
“What kind of move?”
“We’ll know when it happens, but at least we’ll be outthinking him, not playing his game.”
“And w-when it does happen, what do we do?” Iris again.
“I don’t know what you are going to do.” Rossett slid the cold teapot toward Cavanagh, then looked at Iris. “I’m going to go out and catch myself a bear.”
Chapter 15
The Bear was as happy as he had ever been in his life.
There was a kid, maybe eight years old, right there, sitting in the rifle sight, center crosshairs.
Not a care in the world.
His aim drifted a fraction as the Bear breathed. His chest was barely moving, just enough to keep him alive. Just enough to make the rifle rise and fall like a horse quivering at the starting gate.
The kid had a small pile of stones. H
e was sorting them by size, biggest to smallest, left to right on the pavement at his feet. Every now and then he would finish, look up, look around, then mess them up and start over again.
The Bear smiled, then drifted the sight to the door behind the kid’s head.
It looked solid, heavy, plated with steel, or maybe iron. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to open under the pressure of a bullet. He needed to get down there. He raised his head from the sight, stared at the scene, then lowered the rifle and placed it carefully on the half-empty sandbag he’d been using as a rest.
He looked at his wristwatch and got up on his feet. He stretched, his fingers reaching up to the dewdropped cobwebs hanging from the burnt ceiling joists above his head.
He held the stretch, saluting the morning sun that had finally elbowed its way through the clouds, then let his hands drop to his sides.
It was time.
The kid was watching him out of the corner of his eye the moment he entered the street.
The Bear was walking quickly, but not too quickly. Hat pulled down, he moved like a man who knew where he was going and had been there a thousand times.
No drama.
That was always the best way. Look like you should be there, and most people will assume you should, and leave you alone.
Not this kid, though; he was too good for that.
He stood up, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging loose like he was playing Cowboys and Indians and was about to draw down on the stranger who’d just blown into town. The Bear smiled under his brim. The kid squinted, then looked at the pile of stones on the step. He picked up the biggest one and held it between his finger and thumb, like he was going to skim it into the sea.
The sea was a mile away, so instead, the kid hopped up to the iron door and used the stone to rap three times.
Rap!
Rap!
RAP!
The last one the loudest, each a second apart. The kid counted to three and then tapped again just once.
Rap.
A signal.
Watch out.
The kid dropped the stone, took another look at the Bear, and ran off in the other direction without looking back.
“Good boy,” the Bear said under his breath.
An Army of One: A John Rossett Novel Page 21