Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

"Linah says Frau Apfel is awake now, sir."

"She slept so long," Horn said worriedly. "I don't mind waiting dinner,

of course, even until three in the morning.

But it seems very odd."

Pieter Smuts sighed wearily. "Sir, do you really think you have time to

dally with this young girl?"

"Pieter, Pieter," Horn admonished. "-It's much more than that. I don't

expect you to understand, but it's been years since I dined with a real

German.

And a Frau at me this indulgence."

Smuts looked unconvinced.

"What is she like, Pieter? Tell me.

"She's quite young. Early twenties, I'd guess. And bea tiful, I must

admit. Tall and slender with fair skin."

"Her hair?"

"Blond."

"Eyes?"

Smuts hesitated for an instant. "I didn't see her eyes, sir.

She was unconscious when she arrived."

"Unconscious?" Horn asked sharply"I'm afraid so."

"But I instructed that no drugs of any kind be used."

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid Frau Apfel arrived in rather poor condition, sir.

She had bruises about her legs and torso. I ordered the doctor to

examine her. She wasn't sexually molested, but he thinks the police

lieutenant who accompanied her from Berlin probably used an intravenous

barbiturate to quiet her."

Quivering with rage, Horn wheeled around to face the fire. "Can no one

follow orders!" he screeched. "Where is the swine?"

Smuts heard the old man wheezing, as if unable to get enou h oxygen.

"Hq's in one of the basement cells, sir. Do you have a particular

punishment in mind?"

Horn did not reply, but when he finally@ turned back around, his

distorted face had regained its composure. "All in good time," he

mumbled. "Help me, Pieter."

Smuts moved behind the wheelchair, but the old man -shook his head

impatiently. "No, come around front."

"Beg your pardon, sir?"

."Help me up," Horn demanded.

"Up, sir?"

"Do it!"

Smuts bent slightly and with slim but powerful arms drew the old man

bodily out of the chair. "Are you sure, sir?" he @Absolutely," Horn

croaked, trying to subdue the pain in ruined leg joints. "The Jungfrau

will see me as a natural n before she sees me as ... an invalid. Even

after these it two years, Pieter, I still can't accept it. That 1, once

a mfior athlete, should be reduced to this. It's obscene."

'It comes to all of us, sir," Smuts commiserated.

that's no comfort. None at all. Is dinner ready?"

"When you are, sir."

Horn's dun legs trembled. "Let's go, then."

"Take my arm, sir."

"Only to the hallway, Pieter. Then I'm on my own."

Smuts nodded. He knew the old man was in great pain, but he also knew

that if Alfred Horn meant to walk to the dining room under his own

power, nothing would stop him.

Seated in the huge dining room, Ilse tried desperately to conceal the

panic that knotted her stomach. She sensed the presence of the tall

black woman behind her, watching.

Fighting the urge to turn, she concentrated on the spectacular table.

She had never seen such splendor gathered in one place before:

Hutschenreuther china rimmed with eighteenkarat gold; fine lead crystal

from Dresden; antique silver from Augsburg. The fact that each piece

was of German manufacture reassured her. On the plane she had worried

that her captors might take her out of the country; now she felt Hans

could not be too far away. As she stared up into a sparkling

chandelier, Alfi-ed Horn appeared in the doorway and strode with slow

dignity to the head of the table.

"Guten Abend, Frau Apfel," he said, inclining his white-haired head with

courtly grace.

Ilse's heart leaped. The moment she saw the frail old man, she knew

that he had the power to free her. In spite of Horn's advanced age, his

gaze burned with an intensity Ilse had seen in very few men during her

life. She stamd to her feet, but the strong hands of the Bantu woman

pressed her firmly back into her seat.

Struggling to silence the screams of his arthrific knees, Alfred Horn

seated himself. "Please," he said, "do me the honor of sharing my table

before we discuss any details of this awkward situation. There will be

no chains or rubber hoses here. You might even find this to be an

enjoyable evening, if you but allow yourself to. Sit, Pieter."

Smuts took the nearest chair to Horn's left.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the old man said. "I am Alfred Horn,

master of this house. The man across the table from you is my security

chief, Pieter Smuts." Horn frowned at a large wooden clock hanging over

the buffet to his right' "And any moment now," he added, "we should be

joined by a young man wh@' A sudden flurry of footsteps in the hall

heralded the arrival of the tardy guest, a young man who hurried in and

took the seat next to Ilse without a word. He looked to be about Hans's

age, perhaps a couple of years older. His ne was short and thick, his

head a size too large-indeed all is features seemed a little

oversized-and his sandy hair, though freshly combed, was wet. Beneath

his sunburned nose, Ilse noticed something she saw all too often at

parties in Berlin, the gleam of clear mucus that often betrayed the

recent use of cocaine.

"You're late," Horn complained.

"Sorry," said the young man without a trace of apology.

"There's a late rerun of the Open on the telly." He appraised Ilse with

undisguised relish. "Who's this little plum, Alfred?"

"Frau Apfel," said Horn, annoyed, "may I introduce Lord Grenville9

He's English, if you haven't surmised that already."

"How do you do, milady?" the young man asked too courteously, and

offered his hand.

Ilse ignored it, keeping her eyes fixed on the white-haired man at the

head of the table.

Horn's eyes twinkled. "Frau Apfel is not favorably impressed," he

observed. Noticing Ilse's look of uneasiness, he softened his tone.

"Linah-the Bantu woman behind youremains only to bring us anything we

require from the kitchen. Ask for whatever you like."

Ilse swallowed. "Do you mean I'm free to leave if I wish?"

Horn looked uncomfortable. "Not exactly, no. But you do have the run

of the house and grounds-with certain restrictions. I think you'll find

that out here on the veld, there isn't much of anywhere to go.

Not without an airplane, in any case."

While Ilse pondered the word veld, Horn began to eat his salad.

Linah lifted the covers off large dishes of split-pea soup, red cabbage,

and dark pumpernickel bread-all classic German fare. A huge roast ham

sat at center-table, but Horn ignored it. He talked between healthy

bites @f the cabbage, acting more like a patriarch presiding over a

gathering of distant relatives than a kidnapper toying with his hostage.

"You know," he said, his mouth full, "I've tried to adapt myself to

African cuisine-if one ventures to call it suchbut it simply doesn't

compare to German food. Robust enough, of course, but terribly bland.

Pieter loves the stuff.

But then, he was raised on, it."

Africa ... ? Fighting the urge to bolt from the table, Ilse remembered

her vow to behave as unprovocatively as possible. "So you're originally

from Germany, then?" she stammered.

"Yes," Horn replied. "I'm something of an expatriate."

"Do you go back often?"

Horn stiffened for an instant, then resumed eating. "No," he said

finally. "Never."

My God, she thought, her face hot. Africa! No wonder it feels so warm

here. As Horn glanced around the table, Ilse realized that only one of