The British Lion

by Tony Schumacher

  “Let me have a look at him.”

  Neumann struggled to his feet as the ambulance man lifted the scarf. Koehler’s eyes found Anja again; he smiled reassuringly.

  He turned back to Neumann, and they both stood over March and the medic as he worked.

  “You’ll have to tell them you were just trying to save your daughter.” Neumann started to put his hands in his pockets, but stopped when he noticed the blood on them.

  “You think that’ll help me?”

  Neumann leaned down, picking up two handfuls of snow. He massaged it into a ball, enjoying the cold. He wiped his bloodstained fingers on the ball and then broke it, before wiping his fingers through the now bloodstained powder and then dropping it again.

  “You think the Gestapo will just say ‘Oh well, you had your reasons, don’t worry about it’?” Koehler tried again, leaning in closer to Neumann, watching him try to clean his hands. “Well, do you?”

  Neumann flicked the melt water off his fingers, then wiped his hands on the front of his coat and across his backside before inspecting them again.

  He held them up for Koehler to see.

  “I just washed my hands of this.” Neumann walked away from Koehler, wandering across to the taxi to take a look at King, who was still sitting in the doorway.

  Now quite thoroughly dead.

  Neumann crouched down in front of King, looking into the American’s open but unseeing eyes.

  Behind him he could hear another ambulance arriving. He turned as the crowd parted once more to allow it to slowly make its way toward Ma Price. Who was lying in the road on the other side of the cab, being helped by two British bobbies.

  Neumann became aware of Koehler at his shoulder.

  “We need to find the scientist,” Koehler said, voice raised just enough for Neumann to hear over the siren of the ambulance.

  Neumann looked at him.

  “You do what you have to do, just leave me out of it.”

  “You’re already in it.”

  “Do you think?”

  “You’re in it because I say you are in it.”

  They stared at each other until finally Neumann spoke, more quietly now, the siren having fallen silent.

  “I was just doing my job.”

  “I’ll tell them you knew what was going on. That you were involved in springing the scientist from the start.”

  “They’ll never believe it.”

  “They don’t have to believe it, they just have to suspect it. These are dangerous days, Neumann. You know what suspicion can do to a man.”

  “Why would you do that? I’ve helped you; I’ve done all I can to make this work for you.”

  “Because I need to fix the final loose ends. If I don’t, if this isn’t put to bed, Anja will lose me just the same as she lost her mother. She’ll be alone, and I won’t let my daughter be left on her own, not for anybody.”

  Neumann swallowed, then looked over his shoulder at March, who was still being treated on the pavement. Neumann rubbed his index finger across his mustache and then slipped his hand into his pocket as he turned back to Koehler.

  “Why would you do this to me?”

  “I can’t have any loose ends, Neumann.”

  “Rossett?”

  “I’ll deal with Rossett.”

  “And me?” Neumann tilted his head.

  “Your involvement buys your silence. I know that. And if it doesn’t . . . don’t doubt me, Neumann, I’ll do whatever I have to do to stay with my child. You need to know that. I’ll drop you, your partner, my friend, whoever it takes to make it right.”

  Neumann shook his head; he turned to look at March as he wiped the back of his hand across his own mouth.

  “How are we meant to find Hartz now? They’ll be miles away. We don’t know their plans.”

  “We don’t know the plan . . . but she does.” Koehler pointed at Ma Price, who was being carried to the back of the ambulance on a stretcher.

  She was watching Koehler, staring at his outstretched finger, and as he turned to look at her she smiled.

  “GET OUT,” KOEHLER said to the bobby, who was sitting in the back of the ambulance, getting ready to escort Ma Price to the hospital.

  “But my sarge said I was . . .” The bobby broke off as Neumann flashed his police ID.

  “Please.” Neumann wearily gestured with his thumb to the open door. “Just go.”

  The bobby picked up his helmet, nodded to Neumann, and then climbed out of the ambulance, closing the back doors behind him.

  The medic who was working on Ma Price called through the gap between the front seats to the driver.

  “Get going, Charlie. St. Bart’s Hospital.”

  “Get up front,” Koehler said to the medic.

  “I can’t leave her, she’s my patient.”

  “Go sit up front,” Koehler said again.

  “But—­”

  “Do it,” Koehler said flatly.

  “Go on, my love, I’ll be all right.” Ma Price spoke for the first time as the ambulance started to move. “Go on; let me speak to the gentlemen.”

  The medic looked at Neumann and then Koehler, then reluctantly squeezed through the gap to the front passenger seat. He sat side on, keeping an eye on Ma Price. Koehler gestured that he should face front, and the man sighed and acquiesced, folding his arms like a chastened schoolboy.

  The siren of the ambulance started up again.

  Koehler leaned in close to Price, keeping his voice low.

  “How were you getting the scientist out of the country?”

  Ma Price smiled at him but didn’t reply. The ambulance juddered, stopped, and then started to push through the traffic jam again, more slowly than before.

  “Tell me how she is getting out and I can help you,” Koehler tried again.

  “I never took your daughter. You know that, don’t you?” Price replied, staring straight into Koehler’s eyes.

  “I know.”

  “I found her, and I never harmed her. I fed her and kept her warm.”

  “I believe you. Tell me what was going to happen to the scientist. I can help you if you do.”

  Ma Price lowered her voice to a whisper, forcing Koehler to move in closer.

  “We both know it isn’t me who needs helping, it’s you.”

  Koehler sat back slightly; he glanced at Neumann and then leaned in again.

  “I can make you tell me,” Koehler whispered.

  Price smiled at him.

  “No, you can’t, not by the time we get to the hospital. And if you think I’m wrong, you’re not the man I heard you were.”

  They stared deep into each other’s eyes. Seconds passed before Price broke the silence.

  “You tell these fellas to pull over once we’re well clear of the circus. You get your mate there to fetch me a taxi, then we’ll talk.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Well, I can’t talk, then, so you figure it out.”

  Koehler slumped back into the jump seat the bobby had recently vacated. He rubbed a weary hand across his face, feeling the last few days crash in on him as he struggled to make sense of things.

  His Anja, his love, the only thing he had left . . . he couldn’t lose her, and she couldn’t lose him. He remembered her face as he had shoved her into the arms of a young policeman, ordering that she should be taken to SS Group Command and left there until he returned.

  He’d left her again, minutes after telling her he would never leave her again.

  He’d lied.

  He shook his head.

  It felt heavy pushing into his hand.

  The ambulance rocked slightly as it threaded through the last of the jam. He felt it picking up speed, the siren still sounding, making it hard for him to think.

&nb
sp; He opened his eyes. Price and Neumann were watching him. He blinked slowly, then nodded.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?” said Neumann.

  “You get what you want.” Koehler ignored Neumann.

  “What does she want? What does she get?” Neumann raised his voice, this time in German.

  “Thank you, Major, and you’ll get what you want,” said Ma Price, all smiles.

  “What are you doing, Koehler? What the hell are you doing?” Neumann, still in German.

  The ambulance was traveling at speed now, the siren switching off and on intermittently as traffic dictated. Koehler leaned forward and took position behind the front seats, resting his hands on their backs as he looked through the windscreen.

  He waited half a minute, then said, “Pull over.”

  “What?” The driver looked at his colleague, who in turn looked at Koehler.

  “Pull over.”

  “Here?”

  “Here.”

  “But . . . but she’s been shot. We need to get her to hospital.”

  “Stop the ambulance here.”

  Koehler was still looking out the windscreen, but now his Mauser was in his right hand, resting on the back of the driver’s seat, inches from the driver’s head.

  “Stop,” the medic said to the driver, who eased to the side of the road.

  “Thank you,” Koehler said quietly.

  “We need to get her to the hospital.”

  “Get her some dressings and whatever else you have here to help her.” Koehler turned back to Ma Price.

  “Ernst, what the hell are you doing?” Neumann was out of his seat now, still speaking in German.

  “Saving our lives,” Koehler replied in English, as he helped Ma Price into a sitting position on the side of the stretcher. “Go stop a taxi.”

  Ma Price’s head was bowed slightly, one hand pressing against the fresh bandage on her shoulder.

  “Please, Erhard, go get her a taxi,” in German this time, softly.

  Neumann swept a hand across the top of his head and then spun, almost kicking the back doors of the ambulance open.

  The cold air off the street rushed in, and Ma Price visibly shivered as she gingerly lowered her feet onto the floor. She stood, one hand on his arm, head still bowed. A second passed, and then she looked up and smiled at him.

  “I knew you’d see sense, Mr. Koehler.”

  “You lie to me, I’ll find you and then I’ll kill you.”

  “Help me out the back.”

  “Don’t doubt me, woman.”

  “Yes, yes, now help me out the back. We ain’t got much time.”

  With the medic’s help, Koehler led Ma Price down the two steps and out onto the pavement.

  He gestured to the ambulance man.

  “Give her your coat.”

  “I have to pay for this.”

  “You’ll pay for it if you don’t.”

  The ambulance man reluctantly slipped out of his overcoat, and then gently placed it across Ma Price’s shoulders.

  “You’ll get it back,” she said as she took a few steps unaided away from the ambulance, toward where Neumann was standing next to a black taxi.

  Passersby were watching but not stopping as Koehler followed Ma Price. His hand hovered an inch from her, ready to catch her in case she fell. She shuffled through the snow to the taxi as Neumann opened the back door.

  “She’s been shot, Ernst,” Neumann said in German as Koehler helped push Ma Price up into the back of the cab. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I’ve been shot before, I’ll most likely be shot again,” Ma Price surprised them by replying in excellent German. She sank into the seat with a sigh, helped down by Koehler, who sat next to her.

  Ma Price puffed out her cheeks, catching her breath, watching the driver, who was staring back in his mirror, a look of concern on his face.

  “Oooh, it does sting a bit, mind,” she finally said, looking at Koehler. “Open the window and get out.”

  Koehler looked at Neumann, who was still by the door, then gestured that he should move back and make space.

  Once Koehler was outside, leaning his head through the open window, Ma Price spoke again.

  “We could do with some privacy?”

  Koehler banged on the glass partition, causing the driver to turn and look at him.

  “Get out.”

  “You what?”

  “Get out of the taxi, we need privacy.”

  The driver rolled his eyes, cursing himself and his bad luck for stopping by an ambulance. He climbed out of the cab and stood next to Neumann on the pavement.

  “So?” Koehler leaned back in through the window.

  “The Yanks, Kennedy especially, they don’t want the scientist anymore. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I’ll wager it’s because they don’t want to upset you lot.” Price took a deep breath and put her hand to her shoulder again, this time under the overcoat. “I was told to kill her, Ruth Hartz, but I wasn’t going to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she was worth more to me alive than she was dead.”

  “You were going to sell her?”

  “I wanted to. I was going to buy my way out with her, out of this shithole.”

  “Who was going to buy her?”

  Ma Price smiled sadly, considering her words carefully.

  “Nobody must know I told you this.”

  “Nobody ever will.”

  “If it got out that I told you this, I’d be dead before dinnertime.”

  “Nobody will know, I swear . . . on my daughter’s life, I swear.”

  “Sir James Sterling wants Ruth. He thinks he can get her to Canada. He thinks she can build a bomb for Britain. Or, at the very least, convince the Yanks she’s worth working with.”

  “James Sterling?”

  “Yes.”

  “The civil servant?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was a fascist before the war. He marched with Mosley.” Koehler tried to compute the information.

  “I know.”

  “He is in the resistance?”

  “He is the resistance. You get him, you get the girl, and plenty more as well.”

  “How do I know this isn’t just you getting rid of Sterling?”

  “I don’t think you want to kill Sterling, although I don’t care if you do. I’ll wager you’d just as soon do a deal with him, same as you’re doing one with me. You’re fighting for your life, Mr. Koehler, I can see that.”

  “I’m fighting for my daughter.”

  “Same thing,” Ma Price replied, wincing.

  “Does Rossett know about Sterling?”

  “What I’ve heard about Mr. Rossett, it won’t take him long to find out if he doesn’t.”

  Koehler nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the two others on the curb, and then leaning back in to Price.

  “If I manage to get Hartz, if I manage to clear this up, the slate is clean between us. If I don’t, if I’m questioned . . . I don’t know what will happen. I gave you my word, but—­”

  “I’m a big girl, Mr. Koehler. When you see your daughter you hold her tight. Mark my words, you don’t ever want to let go again.”

  Koehler nodded, then stepped back from the taxi and turned to the driver.

  “Go.”

  “Where’s she going?”

  “Out of this shithole.”

  CHAPTER 48

  BILL FRASER HAD his shoulder and his foot to his front door, but still it moved toward him.

  “You can’t just push your way in here, this is my home.”

  Rossett shoved again. This time Fraser rocked back a step under the pressure.

  The door was now open wide enough for Rossett
to walk through, but he didn’t.

  He stared at Fraser from the front step.

  “I’ve known you for ten years, Bill. Ten years, and you try to slam a door in my face?”

  Fraser looked at Ruth, who was standing behind Rossett.

  “I don’t need this.”

  “You slam the door on me?”

  Fraser scratched the back of his neck.

  “I’ve had a hell of a morning, John.”

  Rossett and Ruth both raised their eyebrows.

  Fraser sighed and shrugged, then took a step back and lowered his head.

  They stepped into the hallway. Rossett ignored Fraser and walked past him toward the door at the end. Ruth watched Rossett look into the kitchen, then open the door to the back room of the house.

  Ruth could hear a voice on a radio somewhere; it sounded like one of the political discussion programs that featured a lot on the BBC nowadays. She remembered how they had been piped into the labs at Cambridge when she first had first arrived. That lasted a few months, until various members of staff complained they were unable to think with the constant twittering of “Nazi intellectuals.”

  The radio had been switched off at Cambridge, and some of those staff had moved on a short time later, never to be seen again.

  She looked at Rossett, standing at the far end of the hall, hands in his coat pockets, staring at Fraser. Fraser was still stationed next to the front door, nervously toying with a button on his cardigan.

  Ruth broke the silence.

  “Could I use your bathroom?”

  Fraser nodded, pointing up the stairs.

  “First door on the left.”

  “Thank you.” She started up the stairs, then leaned over the banister.

  “John?”

  Rossett looked back at her.

  “We’re guests.”

  Rossett nodded. “Put the kettle on, Bill.”

  THE RADIO WAS still mumbling to itself in the corner of the front room when Ruth came back downstairs. She had washed her face and run wet fingers through her hair in an effort to encourage it into behaving.

  Rossett and Fraser were sitting silently together in the front room. The door was open and Ruth stood framed in it. Rossett smiled.