Winter of the World (Century Trilogy 2)

Robert said: ‘You have no right!’

Macke could not close the place on his own, Lloyd thought; then he remembered how the Brownshirts had crowded on to the stage at the People’s Theatre. He looked towards the entrance – and was aghast to see Brownshirts pushing through the door.

They went around the tables knocking over bottles and glasses. Some customers sat motionless and watched; others got to their feet. Several men shouted and a woman screamed.

Walter stood up and spoke loudly but calmly. ‘We should all leave quietly,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for any rough stuff. Everybody just get your coats and hats and go home.’

The customers began to leave, some trying to get their coats, others just fleeing. Walter and Lloyd ushered Maud and Ethel towards the door. The till was near the exit, and Lloyd saw a Brownshirt open it and begin stuffing money into his pockets.

Until then Robert had been standing still, watching miserably as a night’s business hurried out of the door; but this was too much. He gave a shout of protest and shoved the Brownshirt away from the till.

The Brownshirt punched him, knocking him to the floor, and began to kick him as he lay there. Another Brownshirt joined in.

Lloyd leaped to Robert’s rescue. He heard his mother shout ‘No!’ as he shoved the Brownshirts aside. Jorg was almost as quick, and the two of them bent to help Robert up.

They were immediately attacked by several more Brownshirts. Lloyd was punched and kicked, and something heavy hit him over the head. As he cried out in pain he thought: No, not again.

He turned on his attackers, punching with his left and right, making every blow connect hard, trying to punch through the target as he had been taught. He knocked two men down, then he was grabbed from behind and thrown off balance. A moment later he was on the floor with two men holding him down while a third kicked him.

Then he was rolled over on to his front, his arms were pulled behind his back, and he felt metal on his wrists. He had been handcuffed for the first time in his life. He felt a new kind of fear. This was not just another rough-house. He had been beaten and kicked, but worse was in store.

‘Get up,’ someone told him in German.

He struggled to his feet. His head hurt. Robert and Jorg were also in handcuffs, he saw. Robert’s mouth was bleeding and Jorg had one closed eye. Half a dozen Brownshirts were guarding them. The rest were drinking from the glasses and bottles left on the tables, or standing at the dessert cart stuffing their faces with pastries.

All the customers seemed to have gone. Lloyd felt relieved that his mother had got away.

The restaurant door opened and Walter came back in. ‘Commissar Macke,’ he said, displaying a typical politician’s facility for remembering names. With as much authority as he could muster he said: ‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’

Macke pointed to Robert and Jorg. ‘These two men are homosexuals,’ he said. ‘And that boy attacked an auxiliary policeman who was arresting them.’

Walter pointed to the till, which was open, its drawer sticking out and empty except for a few small coins. ‘Do police officers commit robbery nowadays?’

‘A customer must have taken advantage of the confusion created by those resisting arrest.’

Some of the Brownshirts laughed knowingly.

Walter said: ‘You used to be a law enforcement officer, didn’ you, Macke? You might have been proud of yourself, once. But what are you now?’

Macke was stung. ‘We enforce order, to protect the Fatherland.’

‘Where are you planning to take your prisoners, I wonder?’ Walter persisted. ‘Will it be a properly constituted place of detention? Or some half-hidden unofficial basement?’

‘They will be taken to the Friedrich Strasse Barracks,’ Macke said indignantly.

Lloyd saw a look of satisfaction pass briefly across Walter’s face, and realized that Walter had cleverly manipulated Macke, playing on whatever was left of his professional pride in order to get him to reveal his intentions. Now, at least, Walter knew where Lloyd and the others were being taken.

But what would happen at the barracks?

Lloyd had never been arrested. However, he lived in the East End of London, so he knew plenty of people who got into trouble with the police. Most of his life he had played street football with boys whose fathers were arrested frequently. He knew the reputation of Leman Street police station in Aldgate. Few men came out of that building uninjured. People said there was blood all over the walls. Was it likely that the Friedrich Strasse Barracks would be any better?

Walter said: ‘This is an international incident, Commissar.’ Lloyd guessed he was using the title in the hope of making Macke behave more like an officer and less like a thug. ‘You have arrested three foreign citizens – two Austrians and one Englishman.’ He held up a hand as if to fend off a protest. ‘It is too late to back out now. Both embassies are being informed, and I have no doubt that their representatives will be knocking on the door of our Foreign Office in Wilhelm Strasse within the hour.’

Lloyd wondered whether that was true.

Macke grinned unpleasantly. ‘The Foreign Office will not hasten to defend two queers and a young hooligan.’

‘Our foreign minister, von Neurath, is not a member of your party,’ Walter said. ‘He may well put the interests