Paradise Gold: The Mafia and Nazis battle for the biggest prize of World War II (Ben Peters Thriller series Book 2) by Vic Robbie
Authors: Vic Robbie
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rap on the door and a thickset man entered on her command. Although he wasn’t wearing a uniform, she could tell he was a soldier by his bearing. He stared at her, his eyes running over her body, then clicked his heels and slightly bowed his head. ‘Pardon, for disturbing you. My name is Major Braune and I bring a message from General Otto von Bayerstein…’
When she didn’t show any recognition, he elaborated. ‘You may know he is the Third Reich’s representative on the island.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ she replied as if it were of complete indifference to her.
The German attempted what he intended to be a friendly smile although it was as sharp as sunlight on broken glass. ‘Forgive me, fräulein. I realise in your line of work the politics of Martinique may not be of interest to you.’
She picked up a hairbrush and brushed her hair earnestly all the while studying him in the mirror. ‘Please stop calling me fräulein.’
‘Sorry, mam’selle, I meant no offence,’ he said, flustered.
‘You should remember Martinique is still French.’
‘As may be,’ he said thinking it a situation that would soon be rectified. ‘My General would like to meet you.’
She stopped brushing her hair and stared back at him in the mirror. ‘I’m tired. I want to go home to bed – alone.’
‘I am sure the General is not suggesting any impropriety.’ Braune coloured and spluttered, knowing full well he did.
‘Well, he’ll be the first. Tell him to come down to the club and he can buy me a drink.’
He regained his composure before replying: ‘I do not think you understand. He wants to meet you now.’
‘Well, where is he?’
‘I have been ordered to take you to him.’
‘No way, chéri .’ Her hair flowed over her face like waves as she shook her head.
‘I insist–’
‘Insist all you want, chéri, the answer’s still no. Run along and tell him in future he must come himself rather than send an errand boy. I don’t come running when someone crooks their little finger.’
‘Fräulein, when the General wants something he usually gets it.’ Braune snorted.
‘Well, he’s not getting me.’ At least not yet, she thought.
His nose almost touched hers, and his breath smelled of onions. ‘My orders are to bring you with me. It would be better for you to obey me and come now.’
She pulled away from him, but he grabbed both arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. ‘Come, fräulein, be sensible,’ he insisted in desperation, fearing the price of his failure.
‘You heard the lady, she’s going nowhere.’
Alphonse had been listening outside and threw open the door, launching himself into the room and grabbing the German by his collar and lifting him off his feet.
Immobilised, Braune emitted a tortured smile. ‘Do not worry, I am sure the General will understand when I relay your message to him.’
16
Manhattan, New York: Tuesday, October 28th, 1941
H G Steegan sat at a table in The Plaza Hotel with several dishes of delicacies before him. A big man. He was twice the man he had once been and getting bigger all the time, and he had eyes only for what he was devouring. A napkin tucked into his collar caught anything escaping his full-lipped mouth and he held a cup of Earl Grey tea with the pinkie of his right hand extended. Durant thought the Palm Court, dotted with palms in large pots, with its mirrored arched windows and its stained-glass lay light high above, an incongruous place for a meeting. Typical of Steegan, unusual to say the least.
The word oleaginous sprang to mind when describing him. In this environment, he looked harmless yet Durant knew he was anything but. To his superiors, he could be charming and ingratiating in equal measure although he was no man’s servant and served only his own ends. To others, he was conniving and dangerous, not a person to cross and certainly not someone with whom to share confidences. His influence came from being one of the advisers, who
When she didn’t show any recognition, he elaborated. ‘You may know he is the Third Reich’s representative on the island.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ she replied as if it were of complete indifference to her.
The German attempted what he intended to be a friendly smile although it was as sharp as sunlight on broken glass. ‘Forgive me, fräulein. I realise in your line of work the politics of Martinique may not be of interest to you.’
She picked up a hairbrush and brushed her hair earnestly all the while studying him in the mirror. ‘Please stop calling me fräulein.’
‘Sorry, mam’selle, I meant no offence,’ he said, flustered.
‘You should remember Martinique is still French.’
‘As may be,’ he said thinking it a situation that would soon be rectified. ‘My General would like to meet you.’
She stopped brushing her hair and stared back at him in the mirror. ‘I’m tired. I want to go home to bed – alone.’
‘I am sure the General is not suggesting any impropriety.’ Braune coloured and spluttered, knowing full well he did.
‘Well, he’ll be the first. Tell him to come down to the club and he can buy me a drink.’
He regained his composure before replying: ‘I do not think you understand. He wants to meet you now.’
‘Well, where is he?’
‘I have been ordered to take you to him.’
‘No way, chéri .’ Her hair flowed over her face like waves as she shook her head.
‘I insist–’
‘Insist all you want, chéri, the answer’s still no. Run along and tell him in future he must come himself rather than send an errand boy. I don’t come running when someone crooks their little finger.’
‘Fräulein, when the General wants something he usually gets it.’ Braune snorted.
‘Well, he’s not getting me.’ At least not yet, she thought.
His nose almost touched hers, and his breath smelled of onions. ‘My orders are to bring you with me. It would be better for you to obey me and come now.’
She pulled away from him, but he grabbed both arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. ‘Come, fräulein, be sensible,’ he insisted in desperation, fearing the price of his failure.
‘You heard the lady, she’s going nowhere.’
Alphonse had been listening outside and threw open the door, launching himself into the room and grabbing the German by his collar and lifting him off his feet.
Immobilised, Braune emitted a tortured smile. ‘Do not worry, I am sure the General will understand when I relay your message to him.’
16
Manhattan, New York: Tuesday, October 28th, 1941
H G Steegan sat at a table in The Plaza Hotel with several dishes of delicacies before him. A big man. He was twice the man he had once been and getting bigger all the time, and he had eyes only for what he was devouring. A napkin tucked into his collar caught anything escaping his full-lipped mouth and he held a cup of Earl Grey tea with the pinkie of his right hand extended. Durant thought the Palm Court, dotted with palms in large pots, with its mirrored arched windows and its stained-glass lay light high above, an incongruous place for a meeting. Typical of Steegan, unusual to say the least.
The word oleaginous sprang to mind when describing him. In this environment, he looked harmless yet Durant knew he was anything but. To his superiors, he could be charming and ingratiating in equal measure although he was no man’s servant and served only his own ends. To others, he was conniving and dangerous, not a person to cross and certainly not someone with whom to share confidences. His influence came from being one of the advisers, who
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