Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

waiting for him at the end of the block, surrounded by shopping bags.

Stuffing a large, oblong parcel under his arm, he jogged awkwardly up

the street.

"Don't tell me," said Hauer. "You bought the tennis racquet."

"The crossbow," Hans muttered. "I wasn't sure you could break into the

gun case."

Hauer opened his jacket slightly. The handgrips of two gleaming black

pistols jutted from his waistband. "Walthers.

Matched pair. A child could have sprung the lock on that case."

He closed his jacket and laughed softly. "That was pretty good acting

in there, Boris. You almost had me convinced."

"Let's just get the hell out of here," Hans snapped. "I had to sign six

autographs before they let me out of the store."

At that moment Salil pulled his taxi smoothly up to the curb.

"Your carriage awaits," said Hauer. He reached down and picked up the

boxed rifle, scope, and camera, and loaded them into the trunk of the

Indian's Ford. "Let's go shoot some pictures."

11:44 A.M. mI-5 Headquatlers, Charles Street, London, England Sir

Neville Shaw had not slept in his office for quite some time-not since

the Falklands War, his deputy had reminded him. But now he lay sound

asleep on a squeaky cot he had ordered brought to his office early this

morning. When Deputy Director Wilson came barging into the office

without even a perfunctory knock, Shaw came up off the cot like he had

as a child during the Blitz.

"What in God's name is it?" he bellowed. "World War Three?"

Wilson was breathless. "It's Swallow, sir. She's picked up Stern."

Shaw pounded his fist on his thigh. "By God, I knew that woman could do

it!"

"She boarded his plane at Ben-Gurion. They're airborne now, and Stern

is definitely headed for South Africa. Not only did Swallow overhear

Stern say that he had part of the Spandau papers, but she also heard him

discussing the involvement of the Duke of Windsor in the Hess affair."

"Good Christ! Discussing it with whom?"

"A German his professor. He's a relative of one of the tory Berlin

policemen who found the Spandau papers. Swallow thinks Stern plans to

use him to make contact with HE and ApfelShe called from the aircraft

telephone. She u a verbal code from the nineteen sixties, sir. It took

a crypto team two hours to dig the cipher key out of the basement."

Shaw left his cot and walked toward his desk. "With Swallow on his

tail, Stern's as good as dead. We can count on getting whatever portion

of the papers he's carrying."

Wilson looked uncomfortable. "if Swallow does kill Stern, sir, do YOu

think the fact that she's retired is enough to shield us from an Israeli

protest?"

,Protest! What do we care about one scruffy Yid? You can bet Stern

asked for it somewhere up the line. The Zionist terrorists in Palestine

were a damned sight mo re ruthless than your Palestinian today, Wilson.

A damned sight!" Shaw rubbed his hands together anxiously. "South

Africa," he murmured. "How in blazes did that old fox figure that Out?"

Wilson looked puzzled. "I'm not sure what you mean, but Swallow

overheard Stern discussing the wife of Sergeant Apfel. Frau Apfel seems

to have been kidnapped by someone in South Africa who is demanding the

Spandau papers as ransom."

For a moment Shaw seethed to have lost his breath.

"Where's my bloody ship, Wilson?"

"Ship, sir?" Wilson reddened. "Oh, yes. Lloyd's List has the MV

Casilda bound for Tanzania. However, I managed to get hold of some

American satellite photos which show her anchored in the Mozambique

Channel, off Madagascar.

There are two helicopters lashed to her decks."

"Thank God," Shaw said under his breath.

"Sir Neville?" Wilson said softly. "Does that freighter have something

to do with the Spandau affair?"

"Better if you don't know just yet, Wilson. If all this blows up in my

face, you'll be able to swear you never knew a bloody thing."

"For God's sak Wilson looked distraught. e, Neville, at least let me

help you!"

Shaw pursed his lips thoughtfully. "All right, man. If you really want

to help, I've got something that's just your line of country."

"Name it."

"There are some files I need. If this thing goes sour, we'll want them

shredded and burned in a hurry." Shaw picked up a pen and scrawled

three names on a sheet of notepaper.

"Might be a bit sticky, but you've done this kind of thing before." He

handed over the paper.

Wilson read the names: Hess, Rudolf Steuer, Helmut Zinoviev, V V "And

where are these files, sir?"

"The Public Records Office." Shaw watched Wilson closely.

"Although technically they're Foreign Office files.

There is also a Hess file in the War Office, but it's sealed until 2050.

I don't think anyone could get at that."

Wilson swallowed hard. "You mean ... you want me to steal files from

the Foreign Office?"

"Be thankful it's only paper, man. There are much dirtier jobs involved

in this case."

Wilson met Shaw's steady gaze. "Won't the missing files be noticed?"

"Probably." Shaw reached into a drawer and withdrew a thick, dog-eared

file. "That's why I m giving you this." He handed the folder across to

Wilson. :It's also a Hess file, but it's been ...

amended. The Zinoviev and Steuer files simply have to disappear, but

you can fill the Hess gap with that. It was prepared in the early

seventies, after we were forced.by statute to reveal certain information

on Hess. It was our insurance against the day some hothead like Neil

Kinnock started pressing for radical disclosures. I think it will serve

very well in this situation." Shaw sighed contentedly.

"Now pour us a Glenfiddich, eh, Wilson? You look like you need one."

1:L?5 Pm. Room 604, The Protea Hof Hotat Pretoria

Hauer looked forlornly around the hotel room. He had steeled himself

for an explosion that never came. Perhaps Hans was simply too exhausted

to get upset. And then perhaps it was something else. His reaction did

not fit the stimulus, and that bothered Hauer. The fact that three

pages of the Spandau diary were missing clearly reduced the chances of

getting Ilse back alive; yet when Hauer had revealed that the pages were

missing, Hans hadn't said a word. fris eyes had widened in disbelief;

he'd rubbed his temples, seen to sag a little; but he had not shouted at

Hauer for pilfer the papers on the plane, or blasted Professor Natterman

for his cowardice, or tried to attack Hauer as he had done to the

professor at the cabin. He'd simply stood up and walked into the

bathroom. Hauer could hear water running in the sink now.

He unboxed the Nikon N/2000 camera with macro/micro lens that he had

bought at the sporting goods store. Then he set up the special tripod

he had bought to facilitate the time exposures. Less than a foot high,

the squat instrument had short, splayed legs and fully pivoting head. It

reminded him of a robot from a 1950s science fiction movie. He set it

up on the table near the window and opened the drapes; then he mounted

the Nikon.

"Hans!" he called to the bathroom. "I need the papers!"

Thirty seconds later Hans emerged from the bathroom with the crinkled

foil packet containing the Spandau papers.

He handed it to Hauer without a word.

"Cover the door," Hauer said. "if anyone knows where we are, now is the

time they'll hit us."

Instead of drawing the Walther from his waistband, Hans leaned over and

picked up the crossbow held bought.