“Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not. It’s a genuine question: why should you live and the others die?”
“Because I have to save Anja.”
“Why?”
“She’s a child.”
“She’s one child.”
Rossett looked at her and then back out the windscreen.
Ruth waited for his response, but none came, so she tried once more.
“Did you fight in the war?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Start to finish. I was in France, then England.”
“You were captured?”
“Yes.”
“Then when you were released you became a policeman?”
“I was a policeman before the war, then a soldier, then a policeman again . . . then . . .”
“What?”
“Then I worked for the Germans.” Rossett looked at her.
“What did you do?”
He looked away.
“I rounded up Jews.”
Ruth touched the star of David on her coat subconsciously.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Do you still . . . do you still do that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Like I said, I’m trying to be a better man.”
“Why did you change?”
“I woke up.”
Ruth shook her head and played with a loose thread from the star on her coat.
“No.”
“No what?” He looked at her again.
“People who do bad things aren’t asleep.”
“My wife and boy died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It . . . it changed me. The war, my family . . . it changed me. I lost myself, lost my way.”
Ruth turned to look at Rossett as he continued.
“Last year, I woke up, I saw what I’d become, what I was doing . . . I’m trying to be better.”
“Are you better?”
“I’m trying.” Rossett looked at Ruth and nodded before saying it again. “I’m trying.”
They drove a few more miles before Ruth spoke again.
“The men I killed, at the village . . . Horst . . . I had to.”
“Forget it.”
“Look at this.” Ruth pulled at the front of her coat, twisting it so that the star of David was visible to Rossett, who glanced at it and then looked back at the road. “This means I had to kill them, do you understand?”
Rossett didn’t reply.
“This thing, this little bit of felt, held on with this shitty thread . . . this means they had to die. I loved Horst. You might not believe it, but I did. But he had to die because of this. The men in the village? I made their widows cry, all because of this.” Ruth looked down in the gloom at the star and then back at Rossett, still holding it toward him. “As long as there are people in power who make others wear this—English, German, Nazis, as long as someone makes someone else wear this . . . people have to die because we can’t afford to let them win.”
Still Rossett stared straight ahead.
“If your friend’s daughter dies, she dies; it isn’t my fault, even if it is me who pulls the trigger. Do you understand? I need to live, I need to get away, I need to keep working to stop this. That is all you need to remember. I need to live to stop this.” She gestured with the star. “If you want to be a better man, if you really want to be a better man, you’ll make that happen.”
Ruth let go of the star of David. She turned in her seat to look out of the side window at the passing hedgerows, which gave occasional glimpses of the snow-covered fields beyond.
Rossett watched her a moment, then turned back to the windscreen as the snow started to fall again.
THEY DIDN’T SPEAK for an hour until Rossett gently nudged her leg and held up a penknife.
“Use this to cut off the star.”
“What?”
“Take off the star.” Rossett gestured with the penknife in his hand, offering it to Ruth. “You can’t walk around London with that thing on your coat. Cut it off.”
Ruth took the penknife and began to pick at the thread. It came away easily; her mother had sewn it on in a hurry, fretting that the cotton was a different shade of yellow from the badge itself on that final day that they had parted forever.
Ruth held the star in her hand. It seemed so light and yet it felt so heavy whenever she put on the coat. She opened the window and thought about throwing it away, but then changed her mind and slipped it into her pocket along with the thread.
She wanted to remember her mother, how upset she had been. Ruth never wanted to forget.
CHAPTER 44
HE SAYS HE wants to speak to Mr. Rossett. Seeing as you’re his boss, I thought . . .” The waitress offered the phone to Koehler, who looked at his watch, wondering why a friend of Rossett’s would be ringing a café at six thirty in the morning.
“Did he give a name?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Koehler nodded, waiting for the waitress to move away. It took her a moment to get the message. She paused, then realized and walked off down the counter.
Koehler adopted the same position as before, one eye on King, as he held the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“John?”
“Who’s this?”
“Who’s that?”
“Major Ernst Koehler.”
There was a pause.
“Major Koehler, sir.”
“Who is this?”
“I’m a friend of Jo . . . Mr. Rossett’s.”
“Rossett doesn’t have any friends. Who is this?”
“It don’t matter who I am, sir.”
“I’m going to hang up unless you give me a name. How can I trust someone who claims to be a friend but who won’t give me a name?”
“I can’t, sir.”
“Good-bye.” Koehler put down the phone.
He stood stock still, staring at the receiver, his hand hovering just above it, willing it to ring again.
Seconds passed. Koehler felt a flutter of panic, his attempt to wrestle back control seeming to fail.
The phone rang.
He picked it up, holding it to his ear but not speaking.
The line crackled.
“Bill Fraser. My name is Bill Fraser. I used to work with John. I’m trying to help you.”
“How?”
“I need to give you a message, about your daughter, sir.”
“You have my daughter?”
“No, sir! Good God, no, sir. I’m a . . . I wouldn’t be involved in something like that, sir, no way, not at all.”
“You are involved in something like that.”
“I’m trying to help you, sir. I’ve been asked to get a message to you and him.”
“What is it?”
“Do you know who Ma Price is, sir?”
“I’ve heard of her.”
“She has told me to tell John, and I suppose you, that she has your daughter, sir. She wants to speak, so this can all come to an end. Have you got a pen?”
Koehler patted his pocket and then gestured to the waitress for some paper. She ripped a sheet off her pad and approached him to hand it over.
“Go.” Koehler spoke to the waitress and Fraser at the same time with the same command.
“Spitalfields 2127.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s all she said.”
“How well do you know this woman?”
“Hardly, sir. I hardly know her at all.”
“Do you know where she is based, where she does business?”
“No, sir.”
“I’m not the kind of person you want to lie to.”
“I know that, sir. I’m trying to help.”
“You have, Bill, and I’ll remember that.”
Fraser hung up.
Koehler listened to the purr on the line and then put down the phone. He glanced at King, then turned back to the phone, picking it up and dialing, not bothering to ask for permission from the waitress this time.
It rang once.
“Hello?”
“Price?”
“Is this Inspector Rossett?”
“It’s Koehler.”
“Ah.”
“You’ve got my daughter?”
“I have.”
“Give her to me.”
“It isn’t that easy, Mr. Koehler.”
“Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do?”
“I do,” Ma Price answered matter-of-factly.
“No, you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t. You have no idea of what I can do to you. You couldn’t imagine it. I’m a dangerous man, dangerous to those who have done me no harm, so imagine what I can do to those who have. I’ll bring the weight of the world down on you, I’ll crush you and everyone around you, I’ll kill your family, I’ll kill your friends, I’ll wage war on you . . . and that will be only the beginning.” Koehler tilted his head forward, his knuckles white on the receiver.
The line popped and crackled in his ear.
Ma Price answered evenly.
“Do you feel better now?”
Koehler lifted his head an inch.
“What?”
“Do you feel better?”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“And you ask me do I feel better?”
“Look, we haven’t got time for this. Are you going to listen?”
“Give me my daughter,” Koehler heard himself say.
“Listen to me, my darling. You keep your temper now, and listen to me. Do you know me?”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“Good, then you’ll know I’ll kill her if I have to.”
“If you so much as—”
“Listen to me, please, and don’t interrupt.” Ma Price waited for Koehler to respond.
“Speak.”
“All right, as I was saying, if I have to, you can be in no doubt I’ll kill her, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now you need to know that I won’t, not unless you make me do it, understand?”
“Yes.”
“I like the girl; she is very brave, very strong.”
“What do you want?”
“I want the scientist.”
“You can have her.”
“Good, that keeps it simple. I trust you realize that if you involve anyone else but me, you, and old Mr. Rossett it will make this agreement invalid?”
Koehler looked at King and then back at the wall.
“I have the American you need to get the scientist out.”
“Do you now?”
“I do. Just so you know, we both have something the other needs. You harm Anja and I’ll gut this American and post him to you in pieces. Then, when you have all of him? I’ll come for you.”
“We both know where we stand, then?”
“We do.”
“When you have the scientist, you call this number.”
“Yes.”
“When you ring we can sort something out.”
“I want to speak to Anja.”
“When you have the scientist.”
“Now.”
“Say hello to your father, Anja,” Koehler heard her say away from the phone.
“Daddy!” Koehler’s heart jumped in his chest at the sound of her voice, but Ma Price immediately came back on the line.
“Don’t cause problems, Mr. Koehler, there’s a good fellow.”
Ma Price hung up. Koehler cradled the receiver and turned to look at the waitress.
“Two teas, two breakfasts.”
“You hungry now?”
Koehler ignored her and picked his way across the café to sit down opposite King.
“Are you hungry?” said King, looking at the waitress, who pulled a face at Koehler’s back.
“Never go into battle on an empty stomach,” replied Koehler.
CHAPTER 45
NEUMANN AND MARCH sat in their car on Dock Street, Spitalfields, and stared at the warehouse opposite. The storm had stopped; the streets around them were slowly coming to life, with dockers and warehousemen swaddled in coats and scarves making their way to work through the snow that had fallen overnight.
March looked at his watch, then shifted, causing the car to rock a little.
“Will you sit still?” said Neumann.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s like you’ve never sat in a car watching somewhere.”
March scratched the back of his head and then dropped his hand back into his lap. He breathed out through his nose loudly, and Neumann looked at him again.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it? You are getting on my nerves.”
“Nothing, I’m sorry.”
“Jesus . . . just sit still.”
“I’m sorry.”
Neumann shook his head and resumed the position he’d held for the last three hours, a Zen-like stare watching the warehouse opposite.
“It’s just . . .” March interrupted Neumann’s concentration again, and his boss swiveled in his seat.
“What? Fucking hell, what?”
“I’m not happy, sir.”
“You’re not happy?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“We should have backup, sir.”
“You’re scared?”
“No!” March reared slightly in his seat.
“So what?”
March sighed, folding his arms as he stared at the warehouse.
“This is . . . unorthodox.”
“What is?”
“This . . . what we are doing right now. It isn’t right. We’re off the books, nobody knows we are here, and I’m not sure I understand why.”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I disagree.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“If I am to risk ending up in a concentration camp, you should have at least the courtesy and respect to explain to me why.”
Neumann shook his head and turned again to look out the window, resting his hand on the steering wheel of the car with his elbow on the top of the door.
He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel for a moment and then looked at March.
“Not knowing why we are here will keep you safe.” The edge was gone from his voice.
“I deserve better than that, sir.”
Neumann turned to March.
“How long have we worked together, March?”
“Two years?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Well, yes . . . but this . . . what you are doing, it’s . . .”
“It’s what?”
“You are helping a murder suspect. A man who should be in jail right now . . . except, well, you let him go. You make inquiries about the case and then you make no record of the information received, nor do you allow me to, and then you use that information to stake out this warehouse . . . and I think I deserve to know why.”
Neumann nodded and looked back at the warehouse as he tapped his thumb again.
“I have a family, sir,” March said. “I’m worried, that’s all.”
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Neumann lifted his hand and rubbed his tired eyes. He lowered his hand and then blinked away the blurred vision it had left.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I just need to know, sir. I’ll follow you . . . but I just need to know.”
Neumann looked at March and then tapped him on the leg.
“Give me a cigarette.”
March produced his cigarettes, waited for Neumann to take one, and then lit it for him.
“I’ve let my heart rule my head,” Neumann said, smoke tumbling out with the words. “But there is one thing I am certain of. It is that Koehler didn’t kill his wife.”
“You know?”
“I’m getting sentimental, I’ve broken the rules.” Neumann looked at his cigarette and then put it back into his mouth. He took a drag and then held it to the gap at the top of the window, letting the smoke out into the cold. “The people opposite, in the warehouse we are watching? I think they’ve got Koehler’s daughter.”
“Ma Price is in there?”
“Yes.”
“Why we don’t just get a squad and raid the warehouse?” March looked at the warehouse and then back at his boss.
“Because they will kill the child.”
“We can surround them, wait them out?”
“No, we can’t. You see, they’ve got nothing to come out for. Why surrender if you are going to die anyway?” Neumann turned to March.
“They might not . . . they . . .”
“Don’t be such an idiot, March. Do you think the people who dared to kidnap a German child are going to be allowed to live?”
March shifted in his seat and then looked at the warehouse again.
“Koehler wants his daughter back; I want him to have her back,” Neumann said, taking another drag.
“So how does he get her?”
“That’s the part you don’t want to know.”
“Tell me.”
“Koehler is involved in the kidnapping of . . . well, let’s just say he is involved in a kidnapping. He hands them over, he gets his daughter back.”
“Kidnapping? What—”
“He’s being blackmailed. The one thing he can’t afford to lose is at risk, so he’s delivering a certain scientist so that he can get his daughter back.”
March looked at his boss and then back out of the windscreen.
“I’m not happy with this, sir.”
“Neither am I. I’ve made a mistake, March, and I’m trying to figure out a way back.”
The British Lion Page 39