Against the Tide (45 page)

Carl kicked him in the ribs then stood back and surveyed his handiwork.

Everyone had frozen when Alf pulled the gun. Now he pointed the weapon at the chubby Belgian and the English knight. ‘You two, Sleeman and Fairfield – over here, or I'll set my dog on you.'

Carl growled.

At that moment, Phillips emerged from the hotel and barged his way in. ‘I don't know who you people are and I don't care. None of you are local. I demand that we all go to the parish hall and get the duty centenier to deal with this.'

He stopped, aware of Alf's gun. ‘Put that away. Don't you realise it is a criminal offence to point a gun in a public place?'

He sounded so offended, I thought he was going to pop.

Instead it was the gun that popped as Alf shot a bullet into the front tyre of the Jaguar. The explosion was so loud in the enclosed courtyard space that the reverberation took several seconds to dissipate.

Everyone stayed frozen except Isobelle, who strode from the portico and advanced on Alf. She held out her hand imperiously. ‘Give me that gun, you silly man, and let Sir Edward go.'

Alf regarded her with surprise and disbelief.

For one moment, I thought he was going to comply then he laughed thinly and backhanded her across her face.

She staggered, blood spurting from her mouth, but didn't fall. She shook herself and, stretching out her hand, approached him again.

‘Stay back, you silly bitch, or I'll shoot you and anyone else who gets in our way.'

She ignored him and moved closer.

He was raising the pistol to point at her when Fred shouted, ‘No!' and rushed at him, revolver in hand.

Alf spun towards the new threat but Carl was even quicker. His black cosh swished down onto Fred's wrist. The gun clattered to the ground as the cosh swung across and slashed into his neck.

My uncle collapsed onto the tarmac with a sickening thud.

I reacted without thought and charged from the shadows, taking the little bastard in a low rugby tackle that carried him onto the bonnet of the Jaguar. Carl was dazed so I grabbed his head and banged it against the door pillar.

I heard my father shout just as a gun fired. I waited to feel the pain, the rush of blood, but there was nothing, only the hiss of another deflating tyre after the gunshot echoed into silence.

‘That's enough. Now do as you are told before I shoot someone.' Alf shoved Isobelle out of his way, lifted Carl up and gestured him towards the Wolseley, indicating he should reverse it and turn to face the exit.

Disoriented, he felt the side of his head with his hand and pulled it away to show a dark sticky patch. He held it out to me as he advanced, the cosh once more in his fist.

‘Oh, if you must. But hurry up. The boat won't wait for ever. And pick up that bloody gun.' Alf pointed his pistol at the others and urged Fairfield towards the car again.

Carl scooped up Fred's revolver and handed it to Alf, who slotted it into his pocket.

The two uniformed policemen were rooted to the spot. I looked at them as Carl advanced but they were in thrall to the gun.

I watched his right hand. His face was smeared with his own blood but he was grinning. I was sure my father would rush in so I screamed at him. ‘Stay where you are. This is my fight.'

Carl laughed, a thin, almost girlish giggle, as he closed in.

43

Miko rushed between us with a carving knife in his hand pointed at Carl's throat. We all froze but there would be no referee's whistle this time.

Alf was the first to move. He grabbed his companion and threw him towards the car. ‘Get in and drive. Take those fucking Germans with you.' He pointed to Kempler and Schmitz.

He grabbed Fairfield and pointed the gun at Sleeman. ‘You two, come with me. Carl, you know the way. The breakwater. Now go.'

Carl bundled Schmitz into the back of the Wolseley and slammed the door. He shoved Kempler into the driver's seat and slid in alongside then pulled a flick knife from his pocket sprung it open and pressed the point into Kempler's neck and ordered him to drive.

I had to jump out of the way as Kempler reversed at speed, braked sharply, struggled with the gears before finding first then drove off.

I was wondering where my father was as our Standard Ten came barrelling around the corner and attempted to ram the Wolseley. Its nearside bumper made contact but he managed to accelerate and swerve away from the glancing blow. The Wolseley bounced off the wall, demolished a length of fencing then sped up the track.

Braking hard, our car lost traction and skidded into the side of the building. Father stumbled out and moved towards Alf.

By now the hotel management should have alerted the police to the gunshots but, as two of their cars were already here, I supposed it would take some time to get others mobilised.

Alf was backing away, the gun still pointed at us. Isobelle knelt down to attend to Fred as Alf, pulling Fairfield and Sleeman with him, retreated towards his Talbot in the car park.

Kohler started to follow then stopped and pointed at Rachel. ‘You, come here!'

‘No, don't move, Rachel.' Saul sounded desperate.

‘Relax, little boy. We're not going to hurt her. Just some additional insurance.' He whispered to Alf, who listened then nodded.

‘Do as he says. Now. Or I shoot your friend.' Alf pointed the gun at me.

I ignored him. ‘Don't, Rachel, please.'

She looked at the gun then at me, gave a helpless shrug and walked calmly towards Kohler. She was almost within reach when Miko stepped in front of Alf, his knife glinting in the spotlight.

‘You, German, Nazi. Let her go or I kill you now.'

‘You are very polite, my friend, but we are not Germans.' Alf pointed at me. ‘You ask him and his uncle. I think they understand.'

‘They might not but I do.' Saul's voice carried across the courtyard. ‘
Voetsek
, you're Afrikaners. It
is
about the bloody diamonds. That's why you want the Belgian. You're working for De Beers and Oppenheimer, aren't you?'

Alf threw a stream of what I now recognised as Afrikaans at Saul.

He growled at me, ‘That little shit talks through his bum hole. These two are thieves.' He spat in the gravel. ‘They have some questions to answer, that's all. We will let the others go.'

‘But why? What have they done?' Fred struggled to his feet and leant on Isobelle. He stood behind Miko, clutching his right wrist to his chest.

Alf laughed. ‘Tell me, my commie friend, what does Stalin do with thieves? I'll tell you if you have the stomach for –'

‘I know where the diamonds are!' I shouted.

That startled him.

‘Make him let her go and I'll tell you.'

He recovered quickly and grinned. ‘You are a strange young man. Much promise. A shame you waste it on these fantasies. There are no diamonds.'

‘They're on Hayden-Brown's gin palace – his boat,
Lorelei.
It's taking them to a Portuguese freighter, the SS
Espírito Livre
.'

Now he looked annoyed.

I struck again. ‘While you were chasing us around the rocks, your bloody diamonds were cruising behind you on their way to his ship. Didn't you search his boat, or his house?'

‘This is nonsense.'

‘You didn't find anything in my uncle's house either, did you, though you broke enough. Don't you
kaffirs
like opera music?'

He snarled and aimed the gun at my head. ‘Don't use words you don't understand. I should kill you for that insult.'

I stared him down, praying that Rachel would break away but instead she stepped between us.

‘Go on, shoot. I'm just a Jewish bitch – pull the trigger if you can.'

Her words echoed around the courtyard, stunning us all into silence.

Suddenly he moved and grabbed Hayden-Brown. ‘You, as Stalin would say, are a “useful idiot”, so come with me.' He gestured to Kohler. ‘He can make his own way.'

He fired the pistol again – this time into the front nearside tyre of our Standard.

When the echoes had subsided, he had almost reached his car, shoving Fairfield, Sleeman and Caroline's father in front of him.

Before any of us could react, Kohler kicked Miko in the crotch, snatched the knife, grabbed Rachel and dragged her towards the car park.

Caroline called out, ‘No, Rudi, don't. Let her go. We'll sort this out. Don't do this.'

‘Sorry, Caroline, it's too late. I can't wait for the wheels of British justice to turn. I have to get away. She's my ticket.'

Saul had crept into the field alongside the car park while Caroline was pleading with Kohler and emerged now behind the Bugatti.

Kohler had his back to him and hadn't realised that he was crouching, waiting. I willed him to get out of the way. He would be no match for the German.

We followed, keeping a safe distance as he backed towards the sleek red vehicle. The policemen seemed bemused. Clitheroe was helping Greaves to his feet. They'd lost their weapons and the Bluebottles weren't armed. They followed carefully, no doubt hoping for an opportunity to catch Alf off guard.

My only concern was Rachel.

Kohler was almost there now, he would have to let Rachel go to open the door unless he made her climb over it. As soon as she turned, she would spot Saul.

I would have to wait until Kohler was close enough to Saul to give him the slightest chance before I called out something to distract him, but short of “Heil Hitler
”,
I couldn't think of anything.

Just then, Alf's Talbot, with Hayden-Brown driving, roared off, side-swiping my bike as it spun in the gravel. It sped away and just missed a taxi that was turning into the lane. The driver blared his horn.

Kohler turned towards the noise and Saul's movement caught his eye. He twisted, deflecting the charge, and chopped Saul to the gravel with the side of his free hand.

Caroline rushed past me. ‘Please, Rudi, don't hurt her.'

Kohler's eyes flamed. He screamed at her, ‘
Bumsen weg!'

She stopped and he ordered her into the driver's seat, threatening to draw the knife across Rachel's throat if she didn't.

Defeated, she climbed in and started the engine. He clambered over the low door of the convertible and sat on Rachel's lap, pinning her to the seat.

Caroline let out the clutch and sped off, rear tyres spinning, struggling for grip on the dusty surface.

Fred was at my shoulder. ‘Leave them. Alf will dump the Germans. He only wants Sleeman and the diamonds.'

‘What about witnesses, Uncle. Does he want those as well? And what about Kohler? He's out of control. He has Rachel and Caroline. I can't leave them. My bike's wrecked. Let's follow on yours.'

‘I can't ride it and I won't be able to hold on.' He dangled his damaged wrist in front of me.

‘Where's the key, Uncle?'

‘It's too dangerous, Jack.'

‘It's too dangerous not to.'

My father strode forward, held out his hand. ‘Give him the key, Fred. He has to do this. He won't be able to live with himself otherwise. You know what I mean…'

Fred stared at his brother-in-law then grimaced in submission. ‘Here, you'll need these as well. Don't do anything stupid.' He used his left hand to fish his goggles and the key out of his pocket. He handed them to me. ‘
Mêfi'-ous.'

I grabbed the key and rushed towards
Boadicea
. Alf had mentioned the breakwater. That could only be St Catherine's. They must have brought their cruiser around. I went through the starting routine, pleased to feel her strength under me again. The engine was ticking over when I felt her sink on her springs.

Miko had jumped on. ‘S
pumá!
' he shouted in my ear.

44

The three cars in front were all powerful, especially the Bugatti, but
Boadicea
had sufficient acceleration to overtake all of them. However, I didn't want to give them the opportunity to ram us so, as soon as I caught up with Caroline, I held back, trying to work out my options.

Overtaking alongside would be suicidal but, if I used the side roads, I could pass them with impunity – that's if they were actually going to St Catherine's. I couldn't think of any alternatives at this stage, though the tide would soon be high enough for Gorey harbour. Alf had shouted about the breakwater though and that's where they seemed to be heading.

Caroline obviously thought the same and the Bugatti was tearing along the road to Five Oaks. She carried on the main road to St Martin's Church, which was, theoretically, the shorter.

I turned right on to Prince's Tower Road, towards La Hougie Bie, and twisted the throttle to the stop. I couldn't see the speedometer as it was vibrating so much but we must have exceeded eighty miles per hour. Without the goggles I couldn't have managed. It was reckless but not as much as trying to overtake.

Miko clung on tightly with his hands braced against the pillion rack, moving with me as I leant
Boadicea
into the corners. We shot past the mental hospital – based on current behaviour, I would have qualified for entry – then past Faldouet.

I hesitated at the junction with the main road from Gorey but reasoned that I could meet them head-on if I rode towards St Martin's Church.

Alternatively, I could turn off before the church and go to the farm to get my rifle, though by the time I retrieved it, I would be too late to rescue Rachel. I could shoot a few people but I couldn't protect her from that distance. I had to try and grab her from them and that meant the slipway. This was my parish and I knew most of the byways intimately. I shot across the main road and into the network of lanes, which led, ever more steeply, down to the coast road.

Boadicea
's brakes were squealing and beginning to fade as we plunged 200 feet down through the quarry to Archirondel, where the British had started but abandoned the second arm of their great harbour.