Paradise Gold: The Mafia and Nazis battle for the biggest prize of World War II (Ben Peters Thriller series Book 2) (19 page)

‘
W
hat have
you done with Ronnie?’ Ben heard himself asking the question before his eyes opened. ‘Where is she?’

The room gradually came into focus. Grey granite walls. And it felt cold, a damp cold eating into his bones. One of the Nazis stood by the door and another hovered. He recognised Horst, but he wasn’t the one doing the talking.

‘Herr Peters, let me introduce myself. My name is Otto von Bayerstein, General von Bayerstein.’ He waited for a reaction and, getting none, continued: ‘You must answer my questions.’

‘Thought I recognised you,’ Ben said and made to get up from the chair.

‘I would not do that.’ Von Bayerstein put out a restraining hand. ‘Sudden movements make Horst nervous.’

‘Not your usual hangout, can’t see any dancing girls around.’

He hit Ben with the back of his hand, a ring catching his cheek causing blood to stream down into his mouth. ‘We can be civilised about this if you cooperate.’

‘Not quite my definition of civilised.’

The General ignored that. ‘Time is pressing. We’ve already wasted too much. My men were rather too enthusiastic with the chloroform and it took us some time to get you conscious.’

He almost wished they hadn’t succeeded.

Von Bayerstein looked agitated and fiddled with his monocle putting it in his eye and taking it out as though it didn’t fit properly.

He marvelled at the German’s perfect, clipped English and wondered if he had attended an English public school. ‘Why do you want to ask me questions?’

‘Just answer them and you can go.’

‘You still haven’t answered mine.’

Von Bayerstein cocked his head, failing to understand.

‘Where’s my driver, the girl?’

The General appeared confused and glanced at Horst for an answer, and he shook his head. ‘I am afraid she did not make it,’ he said with false sincerity and paused, about to add something, then thought better of it.

His head slumped onto his chest and from somewhere deep inside he growled: ‘You bastards, you don’t care for human life.’ He felt a greater loss than he could have imagined and it was overtaken by guilt for getting her involved. It was his business; she shouldn’t have suffered.

‘It’s war,’ von Bayerstein shrugged, ‘bad things happen when you are on the wrong side.’

‘I’m not going to answer any questions.’ He struggled to get up. ‘As a neutral American, I demand to be freed immediately.’

Horst stepped forward and put out a hand to stop him. ‘Answer the questions and you can go.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Let us not play games, it would not be good for you.’

‘Really?’

‘We could make you disappear.’

‘Magic, huh?’

‘Not quite, but as effective,’ von Bayerstein said. ‘No one will know, not even your masters if you are, as we suspect, an agent. They will not care about you; it is always more convenient to forget your failures. And your loved ones, if you have any, will never find out what happened to you.’

‘You’re mad...’ He managed a hollow laugh.

‘I know your cover story. Don’t you think we check everyone coming onto the island?’ He pulled over a seat, placing it only feet from his face, and sat astride it, his chin resting on its back. ‘It is pointless to resist. It only causes unnecessary suffering and wastes my time. Germany is winning the war in Europe. Our U-boats rule the Atlantic, soon Martinique will become our base to strike at America. We have the firepower, and the gold here will be transported back to finance the rest of our war plans.’

‘You can’t get the gold off the island.’ He realised they weren’t going to let him walk out alive even if he answered all their questions.

‘I already said our U-boats rule the Atlantic. They visit the harbour under cover of darkness and will slip out again carrying a load of gold before transferring it to our ships far out at sea.’

‘But–’

‘That’s enough, tell me what you have done with my men.’

He shook his head and tried to look bewildered.

‘The two men who were talking to you at the club.’

‘Oh, those two. Nice guys. When they finished hitting me, one was intent on carving lumps out of my face.’

‘So?’

‘So that’s what you call conversation in Germany?’

Von Bayerstein waved an arm at him. ‘What happened to them?’ he demanded.

‘Well, I asked them to give me the knife so no one would get hurt, banged their heads together and sent them on their way.’

Horst stepped forward, failing to disguise his desire to get his hands on him.

‘What did you do with them?’ Von Bayerstein waved him back, and the livid scar on the side of the German’s face was now bright red.

‘They beat me up.’ He pointed to his cuts and bruises. ‘Where do you think I got these, they’re not duelling scars.’

He stared at him, encouraging Ben to elaborate.

‘One of them hit me with something hard; I presume it was his gun and I passed out. Don’t know whether they thought they’d killed me or got bored. When I woke up, I was alone. The club had closed and I managed to get a taxi back to my hotel. That was my night. I guess you had a more exciting one with your dancer, quite a mover that girl.’

‘Who is your contact?’

‘Don’t have one.’ He screwed up his face.

‘Presumably, you are working with someone else on the island?’

‘The only person helping me was Ronnie, who was nothing more than a driver. She’s no use to you now.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘There’s no one; I’m here to write a book.’

‘Well, did anyone come to your rescue?’

‘I’ve told you what happened.’

‘It does not solve the mystery of my men who have disappeared.’

‘Maybe it’s more of your magic.’

The General lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke into his face. ‘We know something is about to happen on this island. You Americans and the British are very interested in what happens here. Then two of my men disappear and you were the last to see them. I guess that puts you in the, how do you Americans say it, the frame.’

It was pointless, but he shook his head vigorously.

‘Just tell me who your contact is. No one need ever know you have been here, let alone revealed his name. Otherwise–‘

‘Otherwise what?’

‘Otherwise, you may have to stay here until my men are found.’ And he smiled. ‘When we find them, you will be free to go.’

He thought that might take a long time. ‘And if you don’t find them?’

‘I’m going to let Horst take care of you,’ he said like a specialist passing along a patient to a junior doctor. ‘As you can see, he is eager to make your acquaintance. After that, you will be put in a cell and left. Nobody will know you are here and no one will be able to hear you. It will be interesting to see what happens. We have done experiments in the camps where we have left prisoners on their own without food for some time. And do you know that without food their hunger becomes too great to bear and after a time they start eating themselves.’

Von Bayerstein got back to his feet and looked at his watch. ‘Must go now, got an important meeting.’

‘What’s her name?’

The General ignored the remark. ‘Do not worry, Horst will take good care of you.’ He strode over to the door and paused. ‘Remember, we need just one name and you could be free.’ And he turned to Horst ‘What do you need?’

‘Just one name, Herr General,’ Horst replied with a lop-sided smile. ‘Just one name.’

S
he put
a hand to the source of the throbbing pain in her forehead and felt a large lump that was even more painful to the touch. Nausea deep in her stomach made Ronnie want to throw up yet she managed to pick herself up. She rubbed her eyes. She had double vision and although she blinked hard, it wouldn’t clear. Her car stood forlornly about ten yards away, slewed across the roadway and half on the grass verge. She remembered nothing. At some time, she guessed she’d got out of the car and wandered into the brush before collapsing. Her mouth had a strange metallic taste and she ran her tongue over her teeth checking if they were still all there and then spat on the grass to test for the presence of blood. Relieved there was none, she called out: ‘Ben, Ben.’

The only response came from a startled bird calling in the treetops. She staggered over to the car and every step increased the pain inside her head and it was like walking on a ship’s deck in a storm. There was no sign of Ben. Now she remembered the black Citroen that had attempted to force them off the road and their path blocked by another car. Everything afterwards was a blank. What had happened to Ben? But already she feared for him.

She circled the car looking for damage. There was a dent in the back, but to her relief it still had four wheels and four inflated tyres. Almost on the point of collapse, she pitched forward and was forced to sit down on the verge. Apart from the bang on the head, she seemed to be in reasonable shape – no cuts and, as far as she could tell, no broken bones. She couldn’t determine if she had an injury inside her head, and she worried she might pass out at any moment.

Through the car’s open door, she saw the key still in the ignition and she rose carefully to her feet, waving like a pine tree in the wind. If only it would start, she could drive back to Fort-de-France and maybe raise help to find Ben, although she wondered what she could do to rescue him from the Nazis. There was no way of telling how seriously damaged her car was. Any number of problems could prevent it from moving, but she refused to think about it. She turned the key, praying it would spark into life.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Again.

It coughed and spluttered and the engine turned over for a couple of revolutions before dying. She slammed a hand down hard on the dashboard and swore at it. Again, she jerked at the key and it whimpered into life, making a noise like gravel being dragged over piano wires. And her heart fluttered. This time it stayed and with every second it became stronger although an ominous black cloud of smoke was belching out of the back.

She had no idea how long the drive to town took or what route she followed. All she could remember was it passed in a blur to a soundtrack of blaring horns, screeching tyres and angry shouts. By the time she reached Fort-de-France, her head was hurting even more. She feared she was about to pass out, and she vomited down the front of her dress although she didn’t realise it until she felt its wetness. Whatever else, during the journey she devised a plan that must work. Desperation perhaps, but it was the only one that might save Ben.

The girls at Alphonse’s house were surprised. Someone banged on the door as though being chased by the hounds of hell and when they opened it a woman with sick all down her front fell into the hallway.

‘What’s the commotion about?’ Natalie parted her colleagues to get a better look. She knelt down by the injured woman and gently turned her head, realising it was Ben’s driver. If anything had happened to Ben, it could affect all their plans.

Fifteen minutes later, Ronnie awoke to find she was lying on a chaise longue with Natalie dabbing her forehead with a cold towel.

‘You’re back,
chérie
.’ Natalie smiled as her eyes flickered around the room. ‘You’re safe here; you’re amongst friends.’

‘Where, where am I?’ she asked, disoriented. ‘I don’t remember–’

‘What’s happened to Ben?’

‘Ben?’ The memory gradually formed in her head and her eyes opened wide as she trembled. ‘He’s in great danger.’

‘What happened?’ Natalie pressed her.

She recounted her story, or as much of it as she could, with Natalie encouraging her as she softly caressed her brow.

The Nazis had taken him and Natalie realised he wouldn’t last long at the hands of his interrogators. She had seen too many of those who’d endured interrogation. Poor souls, now shells, terrified of shadows, and listening to their own voices as though fearing what they might divulge. Time was not on their side. She laid aside the towel and took Ronnie by the shoulders. ‘Where are they holding him?’

‘It’ll be Fort Desaix, but it’s hopeless.’ And her bottom lip trembled. ‘Once people go in there, they never come out.’

‘You came to us for help?’

‘Yes, yes,’ her face brightened as she recalled her plan. ‘Maybe you’re the only one who can save Ben.’

Natalie looked puzzled. ‘How?’

Her eyes widened. ‘You know the General.’

‘I’ve made his acquaintance.’

‘You’re close to him.’ Ronnie emphasised and was surprised to see Natalie blush as she felt the gaze of the other girls on her.

‘Yes, I know him, but how can I help?’

‘You could speak to him. Tell him Ben isn’t any danger to them. I’m sure he’d listen to you.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Please, you don’t know it, but Ben is a good man. If you can get the Nazis to release him, I’d look after him.’

‘Perhaps I could.’ Natalie smiled.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ she said and embraced her. ‘If you can, I’ll be forever in your debt.’

Natalie stood up and ran a hand down over her dress. She had to move fast for both Ben’s and her sake.

Ronnie swung her legs off the chaise longue and staggered to her feet. ‘I’m coming with you.’

T
hey left
Ben alone in the cell for some time and he wondered if this was part of the psychology of torture. He had no way of telling the time as his watch had smashed in the crash and he was becoming disoriented. The longer you waited to receive the pain, the greater you imagined the suffering. He heard footsteps outside in the stone corridor, a key turning in the lock, and the door squeaking open. Accompanied by two others, Horst came in wearing a lop-sided smile like a diner who has survived a bad meal and was looking forward to desert.

‘Get on with it.’ He instructed his men to handcuff Ben to his seat and, turning to his prisoner, said: ‘It is of no concern to me, but you could save yourself a lot of pain by telling us what you know.’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Ben said.

‘Still bullshitting, eh?’

Horst slapped his face, almost a playful blow not intended to cause damage, but it made his teeth rattle. From a sheath attached to his belt, the Nazi extracted a long hunting knife with a wicked blade and ran a finger along it, testing its sharpness, and licked his lips at the thought of what it could do. He stepped back and studied him.

Put him in a smock and give him a paintbrush, Ben thought, and he might have been a portrait painter surveying his latest subject, wondering how to reproduce his sitter’s best features. Only in this case instead of creating something, he wanted to destroy it. ‘If you’re trimming your nails, be careful. It looks sharp.’

‘Still an
arschloch
.’ Horst moved towards him, the knife poised, before a rattling of the door stopped him in his tracks. He glanced at it, irritated that someone would interrupt his work.

The Major entered and looked around the room as Horst and his two men clicked to attention. ‘Put it away, you’ll have to find something else to amuse yourself,’ he said with obvious distaste. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’

‘Herr Major–’

‘You are wasting your time. From what we can tell, he knows nothing. He may have been planted on this island, but he is just a small cog in a very big wheel.’

Horst decided not to argue and replaced his knife in its sheath. ‘Are you releasing him?’

‘No, of course not.’ Braune looked exasperated. ‘We must not have any complications.’

‘What do you want me to do with him?’

‘Simple, really,’ Braune said, running a hand across the wall, gauging its texture. He hated the Gestapo more than he despised the General and it pleased him he could deprive them of doing what they liked most, hurting people. ‘We are at war and you know what we should do with spies.’

‘Of course, Herr Major.’ Horst drew himself up and gave the salute, struggling to hide his disappointment. ‘I will put it into operation immediately.’

‘Very well,’ Braune snapped.

Horst barked an order at his men, who shuffled out of the room, and came over to Ben. ‘Come with me,’ he said, releasing him from his handcuffs. ‘This is your lucky day. I am ordered to treat you as an officer and a gentleman.’

He followed Horst along a maze of corridors before they stepped outside into a courtyard flooded with sharp sunlight that forced him to close his eyes. The granite walls on three sides closed it off from the rest of the Fort, and it was covered in gravel that crunched under their feet as they traversed it. Halfway across, Horst stopped with a genuine smile on his narrow face. ‘Cigarette?’ He opened a small tin box full of irregular handmade cigarettes and offered him one.

Although he didn’t smoke, he took one and felt a twinge of gratitude. He knew what was about to happen. He put the cigarette between his lips, and the German lit it for him and then stepped backwards surveying his act of tradition. ‘Please, follow me,’ he ordered.

Small round holes pockmarked the surface of the wall at the far side, and Horst’s henchmen, who had followed them over, placed him in front of it. Ben’s hands were pulled in front of him before he was handcuffed again. Through the door, another German emerged, carrying six rifles, followed by another six Nazis to whom he handed each a firearm. They marched to the centre of the square but didn’t face Ben. A soldier came over, carrying a French Lebel 8mm revolver – similar to the one Bernay had given Ben when he left Paris – and handed it to Horst, who let it dangle from the fingers of his right hand. One of Horst’s henchmen stepped up and placed a blindfold over Ben’s eyes and tied it behind his head. Another pinned a small red ribbon to his chest.

‘Don’t–’ Ben attempted to get the words out, but the cigarette impeded his speech and when he tried to spit it out it stuck to his top lip.

Without sight, his other senses were enhanced and he smelt the smoke of the cigarette, feeling it burning his nose, and heard the Nazis nervously shuffling their feet. Everything was going too fast, slipping away like sand in a timer and he realised his life and everything he had worked for ended here. There wouldn’t be any more tomorrows. He wanted to shout stop, maybe just a pause, to catch his breath, to let him take stock. This is a mistake. You’ve got the wrong person. I can tell you who it is. But the words refused to come out. Then, a calm settled on him, and he could hear the soldiers breathing. Otherwise, there was not a sound, not a bird singing or even a breeze rustling the leaves of a tree.

The order in German broke the silence.

‘Squad, attention.’

‘Get ready.’

‘Take aim…’