“You don’t know exactly?”

“Eighty-four. I’ve every birthdate, set of fingerprints, and photo in the car, plus all the relevant documentation, if you would like to see it.”

Schmitt smiled and nodded to Koehler, who beamed like a proud father, and then went back to looking around the corner into Caroline Street.

“Do we expect any trouble from the other residents of the street?”

“No, but in case there is we’ve brought along twenty Home Defense Troops, armed with clubs. We’ll get them to form up as soon as the bobbies enter the house.”

The Home Defense Troops were mostly made up of ex–British Union of Fascists members and a few thugs who just liked cracking heads. Many had been interned at the start of the war, and they had quickly joined up as soon as Mosley had moved into Downing Street. The incoming Germans had organized them with uniforms and, at first, a mostly German command structure.

They tended to be unarmed and, in some areas, worked alongside the regular police, their sky blue uniforms with red shoulder flashes contrasting sharply with the somber serge of the British bobbies.

The farther north you went, the fewer Home Defense Troops there seemed to be. North of the demarcation line, which stretched from Liverpool to Newcastle, they were virtually nonexistent. North of the D line, the country was governed by the Northern Assembly, which operated under the British Nazi Party. It was demilitarized in theory, but Rossett knew that there were a few thousand German troops up in Glasgow; he’d seen the trains full of them one night leaving Nine Elms goods yard. Rumors abounded of another base centered on the Luftwaffe station in Lossiemouth. And, no doubt, there was a German naval base guarding what was left of the British Navy stuck in Rossyth.

The Germans had gotten everywhere.

The Home Defense Troops’ command structure had gradually evolved to accommodate ex–British officers who had come over to the cause, and as time passed, they had become more disciplined. Many new members had joined for the extra rations and security the organization brought.

Rossett had noticed that the Germans still hadn’t armed the group, though; old suspicions died hard.

“Are we ready to proceed, Sergeant? I have an important meeting at nine,” Schmitt said, still peeping around the corner.

“I’ll have the men fall in.” Rossett nodded to the uniformed police sergeant, who was now standing some ten feet away at the back of one of the wagons. He, in turn, whistled softly, and the HDT and police started to climb down from the back of the trucks. Everyone was silent, aware that the two Germans had arrived. From the area car, the two inspectors appeared. Both happy to let Rossett deal with the situation, they crossed the road to watch proceedings from afar.

Rossett watched them and silently shook his head; only his hands would be getting dirty again.

He walked to the rapidly falling-in groups of bobbies and troops.

“You’ve all been briefed, boys. Fast and thorough, understood?”

Some nodded while others drew truncheons. The HDT troops shouldered pickax handles and made ready to run into the middle of the road.

“On my whistle.” Rossett held up his police whistle and stood at the head of the group. He waited a moment for the silence to fall again, took a deep breath, and blew hard.

 

Chapter 3

ROSSETT RAN AT the head of the group, the sound of their studded boots echoing off the high buildings either side of the narrow street. He arrived at the door and signaled for the first policeman to kick it in; it crashed aside almost immediately. The first few bobbies rushed past him and he turned to watch the rest and the HDT. All was going well, just as it had done so many times before.

He took a moment and then entered the hallway, waving the coppers up the stairs, urging them on, keeping them moving.

“Come on boys! Speed and noise! Come on!” Rossett shouted, and in return, the officers around him started to shout also, urging the house occupants to get out of bed and show themselves.

Rossett stepped aside as blue-clad Valkyries charged past him and up to the startled families, who, bleary eyed, were being dragged from their beds by hair and hands. It always surprised him how easy it was to motivate the men around him; maybe it was the thrill of the hunt.

Rossett turned when the door behind him in the hallway opened. He hadn’t expected anyone to be in the small front room at this time of the morning. He spun and found Levi Cohen, one of the community elders with whom Rossett had been liaising for the last few months, peeking around the doorframe.

Rossett pushed open the door fully and saw that the old man was standing in tattered gray long johns. Across his shoulders was an even older, threadbare dressing gown. It struck Rossett that it was the first time he’d seen Cohen without a star of David sewn on his chest.

He pushed past the old man to look into the room. On a makeshift bed lay Cohen’s wife, Martha, and two other old people. He realized they’d been sleeping near the fireplace for warmth.

“What is happening here?” Cohen was angry now, pulling his dressing gown across his pigeon chest and watching as police officers herded people down the stairs. Many of the Jews had no shoes or outdoor clothing and were complaining loudly. One passed with blood running down his face from a scalp wound, inflicted as encouragement to come quietly, the fresh red the only color in the hallway.

“Get up and get outside.” Rossett spoke to the people in the bed, pointing first at them and then at the street.