Jack Ludlow - A Broken Land

‘It might have been for you.’

She punched him in the balls then, which given he was naked, had him out of the bed and hopping. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘You are a liar.’

Still rubbing hard, he acknowledged the truth. ‘I know, and not a good one with you.’

It had been a strange relationship: he was fond of her without being in love, she, determined never to have another man rule her life. If there was sex between them, and there had just been that, and very enjoyable too, then it was based on deep friendship rather than passion, and if she knew that she was being used, it was a situation that troubled her not at all.

‘Two years without a man in my life,’ she said, her voice deep as she tugged him back into the bed. ‘I hope you have not been too wounded — by that punch.’

She was asleep when he left, and when she awoke she found a thick wad of high-denomination Reichsmarks on the table and a one-line note, which read, ‘ For Inge’s new clothes. Invent a rich relative XXX. ’

He was down at the docks before the line of railway trucks arrived, having used the papers he had to get through the main gate into the free port area and make sure the SS Barhill was at its berth, then getting back to the main gate to await the arrival. The way they took him was so professional that he did not see it coming at all: the van drew alongside, men in working gear appeared from nowhere, he was hit just hard enough to be stunned and then bundled into the back, thrown onto the metal floor with a knee digging into his back.

The command to stay still was backed up by a slap to the head and he knew his hands were being tied. He was thinking this did not make sense, unless Goring had had a change of mind; but why would he do that, because MCG in Athens would not get paid? Had there been a leak, with so many — far too many — people in on what was planned? There was nothing he could do but lie still and speculate.

The hollow sound when the van stopped told him he was in some kind of garage; there was the squeak of the door opening and he was hauled out, one man on each elbow hurrying him along through a doorway, then a couple of corridors, so he had trouble keeping his feet. He was taken into a bare room with a single chair in the middle, the sinister single light bulb above, then sat and tied down, realising as he moved that the legs were fixed to the floor. Then he saw the battered table against the wall with the rubber truncheons on it.

And then he was alone, but not for long, and the smiling blond fellow who entered gave him a shock, which he was not able to hide; this was bad, very bad, worse than Goring reneging. The last time he had seen Gottlieb Resnick had been on a Black Sea dockside, and the German had wanted to just shoot him then; he would want more now.

‘Mr Jardine,’ Resnick said in his accented, horribly ungrammatical English, ‘you did not me believe when auf Wiedersehen I said, but here are we, once more with each other in company.’

‘Are you still an Obersturmbannfuhrer or did you get busted to Gefreiter for that cock-up in Constanta?’

‘It had on me no effect, but when you to hell get there is waiting a very damaged Romanian colonel to greet you.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Painfully so, but before he expired finally he express did the wish that you would as he did suffer.’

‘Something you are looking forward to carrying out.’

‘Tut, tut, Jardine. My rank allows that I watch others pain inflict, though in case yours I might an exception make, the payment for a fool making me look.’

‘You really ought to do something about your English, it’s bloody awful.’

Resnick came close and bent low, so his nose was nearly touching Jardine’s.

‘You joke now, but beg to die you will and listen I will not. If these walls could speak maybe Yiddish you would hear the voices of those before you gone, the shits who think that the Reich they can cheat and take elsewhere their stolen money.’

The laugh was more chilling than the words. ‘They all think they their loot will keep hidden — that is the word, is it not? — but they tell, maybe when they have seen raped and sodomised their wife before their eyes by criminals diseased from the Hamburg jail, then to lie on the floor forced and clean Aryan piss drink. Even then some hold out, but when their pizzle is electric fried they talk.’

How long had they known he was in Hamburg? Did they know about Lette? Was there any point in even thinking about that?

‘I have been away from Hamburg too long; anything I can tell you is long cold.’

‘I from you want nothing of information. This is for my pleasure alone. You have out of me a fool made, I will make a wreck of you and maybe see how to die long it takes you.’

‘I don’t think I’m in a position to stop you, but there are people who know I am here in Hamburg.’

‘But not in this room! First, a little bubble I puncture. You will wonder how you in Germany I know.’ He went to the table and brought back a folder. ‘When a certain fellow you approached, he was not sure if you were who you said, so he contacted German embassy.’

Resnick produce two photos, one showing blurred figures and spots of light. ‘Hard to get right in dark, but in morning light, look at this.’

The second picture was as clear as day, not surprising given it had been taken at dawn. It showed him smiling and waving at the taxi in which MCG’s wife, Elena, was departing the Grande Bretagne Hotel.

‘Makes a whore of his wife, does he?’

‘She is not his wife, just secretary, and for extra pay, she plays a part.’

Clever little bastard, Cal thought, I certainly underestimated him. How the hell had he managed it so smoothly?

The door opened and the two men who came in looked like what they were: inflictors of pain, thick-necked, hairy forearms, muscles to spare and faces only a mother could love. One had a knuckleduster which he was keen Cal should see him play with, the other a long spike which he knew was soon going to be inside him and twisted.

You never know if you can stand this, all you can do is hope that somehow you keep a bit of your dignity. He had made a right chump out of Resnick in Romania and had enjoyed rubbing a little salt into his open wound. Positives? No mention or show of Lette or her children; she would have been bad enough, but if they started on Inge?

Was it better to plead for mercy quickly — appear to break early, scream and plead? Resnick was not after information but personal satisfaction. Too early and it would not work — maybe once they had his teeth out with that knuckleduster and had broken a few bones. Or was it the wires on his cock?

That the door burst open was not remarkable; that Colonel Brauschitz was standing there, looking as elegant as he had previously, seemed extraordinary. He held up a paper with a very large eagle on it.

‘Resnick, I have an order here from the deputy Fuhrer. This man is to be released immediately.’

‘No.’

Brauschitz shook his head and gave a wan smile. ‘You have a choice, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer . You can either obey this order, or rest assured you will yourself be tied to that chair before the day is out.’

Unable to obey, Resnick just stormed out.

‘Be thankful we tap the telephones of those we do not trust, and also that General Goring has the power to frighten a man like Resnick.’

As well as having, Cal thought, the certain knowledge that without me there would be no payment.

‘The railway trucks.’

‘Are at the quayside.’ Brauschitz looked at his watch. ‘Nearly unloaded by now, I should think. The telephone connection has been set up in the harbour master’s office, so you may make your call to Athens.’