James Herbert - ‘48

Five or six Blackshirts had managed to squeeze through that doorway and now every one of their guns was focused on me. The goon with the Sterling finished reloading and lifted the weapon chest-high, his hands as unsteady as mine.

‘The German’s dead if any one of you so much as scratches an itch,’ I warned.

Stern could hardly breathe, let alone speak, but damned if he wasn’t gonna make the effort.

‘Shut up, Kraut!’ I hissed into his ear. ‘I guess it didn’t take much searching to find your Fascist pals today when you left the hotel.’

He tried to squirm free, but I held him firm, digging the gun barrel even harder against his head just to cause him more discomfort The temptation to shoot him right there and then was almost overwhelming, but I needed him – we needed him – as a hostage.

‘Back off!’ I shouted as more Blackshirts pushed their way further forward. I was the one who backed away, bringing my protection with me. I didn’t like the craziness in their dark-smudged eyes, but then maybe they didn’t like the craziness they saw in mine, because they became still sure enough. We had a stand-off – or so I thought – and that was a slight improvement in the situation.

‘One bad move,’ I warned them, ‘and your Kraut friend’s brains’ll be dripping from the ceiling.’

I’d made up my mind to drop the one with the submachine gun first, then the two mugs on either side of him, each of them packing two pistols. When the rest scattered for cover I’d deal with Stern. All else was in the lap of the gods, but I was damn sure I’d never let them take me alive. I got ready to change my aim and the German stiffened even more, as though aware of my intentions.

‘By all means, Mr Hoke, shoot our alleged Kraut friend if it makes you happy.’

The voice drifted through the hallway outside the Pinafore Room and I knew whose it was, although I’d never heard the man speak before ‘cept once on a BBC radio broadcast early on in the war. I hadn’t realized he knew my name either and then it dawned on me that he’d obviously learned it just that day, and the informant was right here in my arms.

The Blackshirts at the door stirred again, stepping aside to let their leader through. Sir Max Hubble appeared, propped up by McGruder on one side and his thick walking stick on the other. What was left of the candlelight did nothing to soften his appearance and I heard one of the girls – Cissie, I think – utter a small, fearful cry. Hubble came to a shambling halt a few feet inside the room.

‘Well, Mr Hoke, aren’t you going to shoot this man?’ His sharp, wheezy voice was mocking as if he were taking pleasure from the situation. Maybe he enjoyed bluffing.

Well I had nothing to lose, so was prepared to call it. ‘Unless you all move out so we can leave, I’ll do that.’

Stern tried to tear my arm away, squawking something into my shirtsleeve that I couldn’t catch. I held him fast, half-choking him with my grip.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Hubble said, his bluish lips beneath the thin moustache managing to form a smile. ‘We’ll do it for you.’ He nodded at one of his men, who raised his pistol and pointed it at Stern’s head.

Yeah, sure, go ahead, I thought, and then I saw the man’s finger tightening on the trigger. ‘Jesus,’ I breathed.

‘No!’

It was Muriel who cried out and ran forward to stand between us and the Blackshirts. ‘You said nobody would be harmed. You promised me.’

She was staring straight at Hubble.

I couldn’t believe my ears or my eyes. The gun wavered in my hand as I gaped at her back. I caught movement in the corner of my eye and saw that Cissie was pushing herself from the table, watching her friend open-mouthed.

‘It’s up to the American,’ I heard Hubble say. ‘He has the choice of either laying down his weapon and surrendering to us, or forcing us to shoot the person he’s holding, and after that, him. We have other blood now.’

Cissie’s fist crashed down on the tabletop, nearly causing more than one gun to go off. ‘You brought them here!’ she shouted at Muriel. ‘You betrayed us. My God, how could you?’

Even in the flickering light I could see Muriel’s face whiten as she faced her accuser.

‘Miss Drake’s father and I were great friends,’ said Hubble as, like Muriel, he turned towards Cissie, using his whole upper body to do so, as if his neck had lost that small function. ‘Our principles, our ideals, were the same, so is it surprising that Lord Drake’s daughter should share those same values?’

I have to admit I’d never gone much on small-talk and after three years of none at all, save for the last couple of days, I wasn’t surprised to learn I still didn’t And anyway, why gab? I knew all I needed to know.

Shoving Stern aside, I shot a hole through pistolman’s throat – he’d had to be first because his trigger finger was already halfway to squeezing. I would’ve taken Hubble next, but Muriel was in the way and, as much as I despised her, good old-fashioned propriety wouldn’t allow me to shoot her in the back; so I settled for the goon with the Sterling, who was about to open fire again. I only winged him, but it was still enough to make him screech like a barn owl and collapse into three Blackshirts behind him, spoiling their aim and creating enough disorder for me to slide back across the table towards Cissie. I nudged her aside so I could get off a few clear shots at the enemy.

She screamed a warning as more Blackshirts came pouring through the double doors of the Princess Ida Room, and that was when I realized we didn’t have a hope in hell. The only thing in my favour was the gun in my hand and my speed, but I couldn’t shoot them all and I had nowhere to run.

Something – Lord knows what – struck me hard on the forehead and I went down, poleaxed. The next thing I knew, boots were stomping me and rifle butts were jabbing at arms and ribs. The Colt was wrenched from my grasp, bright flares were bursting inside my head, and somewheres a long way off someone was screaming.

All I could do – and there was no choice to it – was retreat into my own private sanctum, those lights fading fast, giving way to total darkness. I liked that darkness, I liked it a lot.

A DULL BUT SUDDEN PAIN semi-roused me; the sting of the second – it might really have been the third or fourth – had my eyes opening. I wasn’t happy at what was before me, so I closed them again and another slap, this one on the other side of my face, convinced me to keep them open. I had to blink them several times though, partly because the light hurt and partly because they couldn’t believe what they saw.

The light was everywhere, shining from the massive chandeliers in the ceiling and the low lamps set around the great lounge area. Yet more brightness flooded through the glass doors and windows of the riverside restaurant at the end of the lounge, as well as from the direction of the foyer and main entrance. For a moment I thought I must be dreaming, that the grand old hotel had returned to its former glory only in my unconscious mind; and then I took in the rotted corpses, many of them still seated or slumped in elegant but dusty chairs, while others lay on the carpeted floor, pushed aside with the furniture so that there was a clear space near the vast room’s centre. Blackshirts were still busy creating more space, pushing back low tables and easy chairs, upsetting chinaware and cake-stands, throwing more corpses into heaps near the mirrored walls, shifting those already on the floor with their boots, not caring if skulls crumbled and skeletal hands broke loose.

I looked up at the person who’d struck me and groaned when I saw his death’s eyes, the dried blood around their darkened lids, caked like biscuit crumbs in the lashes, the ulcerations and cyanotic discoloration of the man’s cheeks and jaw. He grinned down at me, exposing bleeding gums, and when I tried to strike out at him I found my wrists were tied to the cushioned arms of a high-backed seat, the kind of formally comfortable armchair in which patrons of the Savoy had once taken afternoon tea or pre-dinner drinks.