Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

his left boot, pulled his trouser legs down around his feet, and

sprinted toward the sound of confusion.

In the brief moments it took Hans to respond to the whistle, a routine

police matter had escalated into a potentially explosive confrontation.

Near the blasted prison gate, five Soviet soldiers stood in a tight

circle around two fortyish men wearing frayed business suits. They

pointed their AK-47s menacingly, while nearby their commander argued

vehemently with Erhard Weiss. The Russian was insisting that the

trespassers be taken to an East German poliee station for interrogation.

Weiss was doing his best to calm the shouting Russian, but he was

obviously out of his depth. Captain Hauer was nowhere in sight, and

while the other policemen stood behind Weiss looking resolute, Hans knew

that their Walthers would be no match for the Soviet assault weapons if

it came to a showdown.

The sergeants of the NATO detachments kept their men well clear of the

argument. They knew political dynamite when they saw it. While the

Soviets kept their rifles leveled at the wide-eyed captives-who looked

as if they might collapse from shock at any moment-the Russian

"sergeant" bellowed louder and louder in broken German, trying to bully

the tenacious Weiss into giving up "his" prisoners. TO his credit,

Weiss stood firyn. He refused to allow any action to be taken until

Captain Hauer had been apprised of the situation.

Hans stepped forward, hoping to interject some moderation into the

dispute. Yet before he could speak, a black BMW screeched up to the

curb and Captain Hauer vaulted from its rear door.

"What the hell, is this?" he shouted.

The screaming Russian immediately redirected his tirade at Hauer, but

the German bnisquely raised his hand, breaking the flood of words like a

wave against a rock.

"Weiss!" he barked.

"Sir!"

"Explain."

Weiss was so relieved to have the responsibility of the prisoners lifted

from his shoulders that his words tumbled over themselves.

"Captain, five minutes ago I saw two men moving suspiciously inside the

perimeter. They must have slipped in somewhere between Willi and me.

I flashed my light on them and shouted, 'Halt!' but they were startled

and ran. They charged straight into one of the Russians, and before I

could even blow my whistle, every Russian on the lot had surrounded

them."

"Radios," Hauer muttered.

"Captain!" the Soviet "sergeant" bellowed. "These men are prisoners of

the Soviet government! Any attempt to interfere-" Without a word, Hauer

strode past the Russian and into the deadly circle of automatic weapons.

He began a rapid, professional interrogation of the prisoners, speaking

quietly in German.

The black American sergeant whistled low. "That cop's got balls," he

observed, loudly enough for all to hear. One of his men giggled

nervously.

The terrified civilians were elated to be questioned by a fellow

countryman. In less than a minute, Hauer extracted the relevant

information from them, and his men relaxed considerably during the

exchange. It revealed a familiar situation-distasteful perhaps, but

thankfully routine. Even the Russians holding the Kalashnikovs seemed

to have picked up on Captain Hauer's casual manner. He patted the

smaller of the two trespassers on the shoulder, then slipped out of the

circle. A few of the rifles dropped noticeably as he stepped up to the

Russian officer.

"They're quite harmless, Comrade," he explained. "A couple of homos,

that's all."

Misunderstanding the slang, the Russian continued to scowl at Hauer.

"What is their explanation?" he demanded stiffly.

"They're homosexuals, Sergeant. Queers, Schwiile ...

golden boys, I think you call them. Looking for a temporary love nest,

that's all. They're all over Berlin."

"No matter!" the Russian snapped, grasping Hauer's meaning at last.

"They have trespassed on Soviet territory, and they must be interrogated

at our headquarters in East Berlin." He motioned to his men. The

rifles jerked back up instantly. He barked an order and started

marching toward the parking area.

Hauer had no time to consult his superiors as to legalities, but he knew

that allowing Russian soldiers to drag two of his fellow countrymen into

the DDR without any semblance of a trial was something no West Berliner

with an ounce of pride would do without a fight.

Glancing,around, he tried to gauge the sympathies of the NATO squads.

The Americans looked as if they might be with him, but Hauer knew he

couldn't rely on that if it came to a fight. Force would probably be

counterproductive in any case, he thought; it usually was. He'd have to

try a different tack.

Five steps carried him to the departing Russian. He grasped the burly

man by his tunic and spun him around.

"Listen, Sergeant," he whispered forcefully, "or Major or Colonel or

whatever the hell you are. These man have committed no serious offense

and they certainly pose no threat to the security of this site.

I suggest we search them, then book them into one of our stations just

like anybody else. That way we keep the press out of it, understand?

Pravda?

izvestia? If you want to make an international incident out of this,

you're quite welcome to do it, but you take full responsibility.

Am I clear?"

The Russian understood well enough, and for a moment he considered

Hauer's suggestion. But the situation was not so simple now. He had

gone too far to back down in front of his men. Ignoring Hauer, he

turned to his squad.

"These men are suspected enemies of the Soviet Union!

They will remain'in Soviet custody until the objective of their mission

has been determined! Corporal, put them aboard our bus!"

Furious but outgunned, Hauer thought quickly. He had dealt with Russian

officers for more than twenty-five years, and all his experience had

taught him one lesson: the communist system, inefficient as it was, had

grown proficient at breeding one thing out of its citizens-individual

initiative.

This Russian had to be reminded that his actions could have serious

international implications. With two fingers Hauer removed his Walther

from its holster and handed it to an astonished Weiss with a theatrical

flourish. Again, the Soviet riflemen paused uncertainly, their eyes

riveted on the unpredictable policeman.

"We have a stalemate, Comrade!" Hauer declared loudly.

"You wish to keep these men in Soviet custody? Very well!

You now stand on the only plot of Russian soil in West Berlin-an

accident of history that will soon be rectified, I think. You may keep

the prisoners here for as long as you wish-" The Russian slowed his

march.

"-however crossing into the DDR with two citizens of the Federal

Republic is an entirely different matter-a political matter-and quite

beyond my power or yours to authorize. The prisoners must remain here

until we have contacted our superior officers! I shall accompany you to

the command trailer, where we can make the necessary calls." Hauer

looked over his shoulder. "I would also suggest to the British sergeant

that he join us, as we are in the British sector of the city."

Hauer started toward the trailer. He didn't intend to give the Russian

time to argue. "Apfel!" he shouted. "Weiss!

Drive everyone back to the station, then go home! I'll handle the

paperwork on this!"

"But Captain!" Weiss protested.