Brecht gave a little cough.
“Major, in view of your attitude in this matter, and in accordance with the direct orders of General Gilsa, the military governor of Northern Sector, I am ordering you to stand down and confine yourself to your quarters until such time as I arrive at the garrison and place you under formal arrest.”
“What?”
Brecht coughed again, then came back on the line sounding a little more confident.
“I’m placing you under arrest, as per General Gilsa’s orders.”
“Are you fucking mad?”
“I’ve had my orders.”
“I’m a Waffen SS major, you little shit.”
“My orders come from—”
“Leutnant, I dare you . . . honestly . . . I fucking dare you to come into my city and try and arrest me.”
“As I said, sir, I’ve had my orders.”
Dannecker slammed the phone onto the cradle and ended the call.
He looked at Becker. “We’ve got a few hours and then it’s all over.”
“It?”
“Everything. The gold, our careers . . . our lives. Everything . . . all over.”
Becker had known Dannecker long enough to know when to stay quiet and when to speak.
They sat for two full minutes before Dannecker spoke again.
“Did we set up the roadblocks?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Everywhere?”
“We’ve got every route out of the city covered with HDT, and I’ve assigned two squads to the docks to look for the gold.”
“How many are still here in the garrison?”
“I’ve held back thirty men for security.”
“Thirty?”
“It’s all we’ve got.”
“How many men did we lose today?”
“Twenty-two dead, twenty-eight injured, and of those twenty-eight, seventeen hospitalized long term.”
“Jesus.” Dannecker buried his face in his hands, then looked up. “If that ship sails without the gold or us on board, all this is going to come tumbling down, and you and I are dead men.” Dannecker took out his pistol and ejected the magazine. “How many do you reckon are in the airfield defense field division?”
Becker shrugged. “A hundred, maybe? Plus, the same in HDT.”
“What’s their quality?”
“Not good. Young conscripts mostly. The rest is made up of technicians who haven’t fired a rifle since training. Although our men aren’t much better, sir; we’re down to the bottom of the barrel.”
“Brecht wants to arrest me.” Dannecker pulled open a desk drawer and placed two fresh magazines of ammunition on the tabletop.
Becker didn’t reply.
“He says London told him we’ve lost the city. He says we’re out of control.”
“I’m not sure it would be wise to ask our men to fight the Luftwaffe, sir.”
“We need that gold, old friend.” Dannecker picked up a magazine and slammed it home. “And we need it quick.”
Chapter 22
“He’s where?” O’Kane was halfway through packing his small suitcase and was holding a crumpled shirt as he stared at Iris, who was on the other side of the hotel room by the door.
“The c-central police station. He’s arrested the Bear.”
“What?”
Iris gulped like a fish out of water, took a moment to compose herself, and then spoke again. “He’s a policeman. He wants to do it right.”
“I thought he was on our side now?”
“He said he d-doesn’t want the Germans to destroy the city.”
“They already have.” O’Kane threw the shirt into the case.
“He’s worried the Germans will blame us for the bomb yesterday. He thinks that by producing the Bear, he can save lives.” Iris took a few paces toward a chair by the window and leaned against it for support.
“Has he forgotten about the gold?” O’Kane turned to face her.
Iris took another breath, went to speak, hesitated, and started again.
“I suppose he doesn’t care about it.”
O’Kane looked at the ceiling.
“God save us from the people who lose sight of what’s important in life. Iris, we need that gold, girl, or it’ll be us worrying about saving our own lives.”
“Maybe R-Rossett has a p-point.” Iris squeezed her fist as her stammer almost overtook her. She took a moment, then tried again. “A bomb as large as the one yesterday will cause a hell of a crackdown. That, plus Neumann’s death . . . w-we could be talking hundreds killed, maybe m-more.”
O’Kane walked around the room a little. He rolled his broad shoulders as he moved, trying to ease the tension that had been knotting them for hours. From over by the door Cavanagh made eye contact with Iris and nodded reassurance.
Finally O’Kane closed on Iris. He stopped just short, took a breath, and then spoke quietly to her.
“Listen to me, Iris. The Nazis are killing people left, right, and center as it is. We need to think long term.”
“I’m not sure there’s e-enough money and guns that’ll let me do that.”
“It’s short-term pain for long-term gain. People have gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to organize this operation, and the window is slamming shut even as we speak. How long do you think I can hold a U.S. Navy ship in port here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not fucking long, that’s how long.” The pressure was starting to show again as O’Kane’s voice grew louder.
“Maybe w-we’re beaten?”
O’Kane pointed at her.
“You want to give up? Is that it? You want to fucking run away?”
Cavanagh slipped his hand into his coat pocket. O’Kane saw the move and his finger swept the room until it was aimed at Cavanagh’s chest.
“You take your hand right out of that pocket, boy, and you take it out right now.”
Cavanagh looked at Iris. She nodded, and Cavanagh did as he was told.
O’Kane turned back to Iris. “If you want to stop, if you want to give up and walk away with your little tiptoe limp and your stuttering talk, you do it. Go on.” O’Kane pointed at the door. “But if you give up now I can promise you one thing, and one thing only: the day will come soon when it’s you who is thrown into the back of one of them trains, because these Nazis will soon get sick of looking at you, and people like you, wobbling around the place and making it look untidy.”
“Hey.” Cavanagh took a step forward.
“If you want to protect her, son, you tell her to keep fighting, because that’s the only way she’ll stay alive.” He looked at Iris. “If people die tomorrow in Liverpool, or if they die in a week’s time, they die. Simple as that. It doesn’t matter. This is a long game, and that gold is paying for the extra time. You accept it and you listen to me when I tell you: we can’t let Rossett get away because we need Bauer, so get fucking organized and get ready.”
“You want me to assault the p-police station?”
“I want you to be on standby if they try to move the Bear.”
“Ambush?”
“Maybe, but I’ll need you to be close whatever happens, so where’s good?”
“L-Lime Street station.”
“A station will be too busy.”
“It’s b-bombed out. They never rebuilt it because it was a passenger station.”
“Is it close?”
“Very.”
“And you can get in there?”
“There are tunnels,” said Cavanagh. “They lead off to all parts of the city. We use them a lot.”
“Go wait there for my orders.”
Iris looked at the floor for so long O’Kane thought she was going to defy him. Eventually she looked up at him, and spoke without her stammer.
“Just because I’m taking your orders now, it doesn’t mean you are running this operation.”
“No, girl. If you want your money, and your war, I’m running it, and you had better get u
sed to the idea. Now fuck off, and leave me a car downstairs with a driver.”
O’Kane gave it two minutes after they’d gone before he picked up the telephone and rang downstairs to the lobby.
“Operator?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need you to connect me to the duty officer at the SS garrison.”
“I’m afraid the lines are down, sir.”
O’Kane looked up at the ceiling and clenched a fist to his forehead. The operator spoke again and broke his agony.
“I can get one of the porters to take a message for you.”
“How long will that take?”
“Five minutes, sir. Would that be all right?”
“That, my dear, would be grand.”
Chapter 23
“How many guns do you have in this place?”
“You can just fuck right off.” One of the three coppers standing on the other side of the desk from Rossett couldn’t contain himself. “If you think I’m going to take on the SS, you can piss off. I’ve got a family to think of.”
Rossett stared at the three of them blankly.
“Sir.” The copper at the end of the line looked at his partner and then tried to inject some reason into the situation. “We’re not paid enough to get into a shooting match with trained soldiers. We wouldn’t last two minutes.”
“I can order you.”
“You can’t order us to commit suicide, sir.”
“You are police officers. You have a duty. You took an oath.”
“I took an oath to King George, but that didn’t matter when they asked me to take one for King Edward a few years later, did it?” The first copper pulled at his tunic collar and looked at his mates for backup.
It came.
“I’ve a family, sir. I’ll not fight, either,” said the middle one.
Rossett turned his head to the window, stared out for a moment, and then looked back at Jimmy the sergeant, who was standing to his left.
“What time does the morning shift come on?”
“Seven.”
“How many?”
“Five, plus a sergeant and inspector, assuming they don’t get turned around by the roadblocks. I’ll tell you this, though: if they do make it here, they will be even less keen than this lot.”
“What about the chief superintendent I spoke to a few days ago?”
Jimmy pulled at his right ear.
“He comes and goes.”
“More go than come,” the middle bobby chimed in, then regretted it when Rossett and Jimmy looked at him.
Rossett checked his Rolex.
3:30 a.m.
Three hours at least until the skies began to lighten, and three hours was a long time to wait.
He looked at Jimmy.
“How long are the phones normally out?”
“Nobody will look at them overnight, it’s too dangerous. If they come on at all, it’ll be lunchtime at the earliest.”
“Did you reach anyone on the wireless?”
“No.”
Rossett sighed.
“You’re sure there is no way through the roadblocks?” He looked at the thin blue line in front of him.
The bobbies looked at each other, and then the middle one replied.
“They were everywhere, SS and HDT covering every road out as far as we could tell. They even stopped us, then turned us back when we tried to pass through.”
“Trains?”
“There are checkpoints at Central, Exchange, and Edge Hill stations, and they don’t run at night anyway.”
“Trains out of Liverpool are nearly all cargo. Most of them don’t stop till they reach the docks, and it is the same when they leave,” the youngest copper added.
“So what you’re telling me is one of the biggest cities in England is totally cut off?” Rossett addressed the question to all of them.
All of them nodded back.
“Fuck me,” Rossett said under his breath, then rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand.
The three bobbies and their sergeant took the opportunity to exchange glances. Finally, the middle bobby cleared his throat loud enough for Rossett to look up.
“You could just let him go, sir.”
“What?”
“The Bear, sir. Captain Bauer. You could just let him go.”
“What’s your name?” Rossett said quietly.
“Barnes, sir.”
“How many kids have you got, Barnes?”
“Three, sir. Two girls and a lad.”
“Do you want to be able to look them in the eye next time you see them?”
“Sir, with respect, if we try to hold off the SS, I’ll not be looking anyone in the eye ever again.”
Rossett stared across the table.
“If I let Bauer go, Major Dannecker is going to cover up what he has been doing here.”
The oldest bobby looked at Jimmy and then back at Rossett.
“So?”
“If he does that, the first thing he will do is cover up that Bauer has been killing Germans, planting bombs, and causing mayhem for the last few days. Dannecker will kill Bauer, then blame the British for the damage his men have taken. As a result of that, the High Command will exact retribution on those they perceive to have caused the trouble.”
“The people of Liverpool,” Jimmy said quietly.
“The people of Liverpool,” Rossett repeated. “The Germans will come down hard, and we all know how hard that can be.” Rossett looked at the medal ribbons on Jimmy’s tunic, then at the bobbies opposite him. “You joined this job to protect people, to uphold the law and do the right thing. Well, now is the time to do it.”
The bobbies exchanged glances, and then the youngest one spoke. “I joined this job to pay my rent, mate.”
“Get out.” Rossett said it so softly, the three bobbies weren’t sure they had heard him correctly.
“Sir?” The oldest one leaned forward an inch or two, just to check.
“Get out.” Rossett flicked his head toward the door for good measure. “Just go. If you want to go home, go.”
There was a moment, just a fraction of a second, when Rossett wondered if they might surprise him.
They didn’t.
The shuffle of boots on boards signaled that the three bobbies were taking the opportunity Rossett had presented to them. The oldest one held the door open for his two colleagues. Once they had passed through, he paused and looked back at Rossett.
“The job’s not worth it, sir.”
“What?” Rossett lifted his head.
“The job, sir, it’s not worth it. You should go home to your family, sir.”
“I haven’t got a family.”
“Well then, go home to your cat or something, because you can’t win this fight. Not even the British Lion can win this fight.”
Rossett moved a pencil that was lying on the desk a couple of inches to the left, stared at it a moment, and then looked up at the bobby.
“Sometimes it isn’t about winning. Sometimes it’s about just having the guts to fight.”
“Four Lee-Enfield .303 rifles with one hundred rounds of ammunition in five round stripper clips. Six Enfield .38 revolvers and . . .” Jimmy lifted the two boxes of pistol ammunition from the back of the station gun safe. “One hundred rounds of ammunition.” He turned and looked at Rossett. “Plus whatever you have on you.”
“Webley and twelve rounds.”
“Not much to stop the German army with.”
Rossett reached into the cabinet and pulled out one of the .303’s ammunition clips. He turned it in his hands and tried to remember how many times he had shoved one into the breech magazine of a .303 while under fire.
“It looks clumsy, but they work well.” Jimmy was watching Rossett.
“I know,” Rossett replied as he slipped the clip into his jacket pocket and took out one of the rifles. He worked the bolt, checked the breech, and tried twice to close it before, at the third go, the bolt clicked home.
Rossett replaced the rifle and took out another. This time the bolt was even more reluctant to operate. “When was the last time someone cleaned these things?”
Jimmy took out a third rifle and took his turn at working one of the rusty bolts.
“Nobody uses them because nobody wants to be seen out with a long weapon. Even in uniform, there’s a chance a nervous Jerry will mistake you for resistance. We use the pistols; they should be in better condition.”
“I’ve got a pistol.” Rossett took out the fourth rifle.
“I haven’t.” Jimmy put down his rifle on the counter next to the safe, then took out a revolver and cracked it open.
Rossett stopped testing the Lee-Enfield and looked up.
“You’re staying?”
Jimmy shook open the box of .38 revolver ammo on the counter and started to load the pistol. “I’m not off duty until seven.” He didn’t look up.
Rossett drove home the bolt on the .303, flicked it open, and drove it home again. He pointed the gun toward the far corner of the room.
The Lee-Enfield clicked as he pulled the trigger on the empty chamber.
He looked at Jimmy.
“At least one works.”
“Yeah, but watch out for the rust. It’s been a while.”
Rossett and Jimmy were standing at the open door of the cell. The Bear was lying on top of a straw mattress up on one elbow, staring at them.
Rossett stared back at the Bear, but carried on speaking to Jimmy. “This man will kill you as soon as look at you. You cannot relax for one minute.”
Jimmy didn’t reply. He stared at the Bear for a moment, placed his rifle on the floor outside the cell, and handed Rossett his pistol.
“I’ve been dealing with prisoners for the last twenty-five years.”
“This one is different.”
“We’ll see.” Jimmy threw a pair of handcuffs into the cell. “Hey, Adolf, put them on.”
The handcuffs hit the Bear on the chest and bounced onto the floor. He looked at the cuffs, Jimmy, and then Rossett.
“Why have you brought your father down here?”
“I’m warning you.” Jimmy pointed at the Bear, then at the cuffs. “Put them on, or else I’ll kick you up the arse so hard, you’ll have to take your hat off to have a shite.”
An Army of One: A John Rossett Novel Page 29