Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Hauer gingerly unwrapped the foil while Hans loaded a stubby,

razor-sharp bolt. "I'm going to bracket the f-stops," he said. "I'll

shoot at the widest aperture flash at one@eth of a second. Then

progressively longer exposures until we'reach two full seconds, just to

make sure."

Hans said nothing.

"I know you're still worried about the pictures, but Ilse said the

kidnappers could detect whether photocopies o'f the papers had been

made. This is no different than looking at the papers. We've got no

choice, Hans. We're going to have to trade the original Spandau papers

for Ilse. This is our fallback. Besides, to crack Phoenix in Berlin,

Ive're going to need a copy of the papers, plus the evidence in the fire

safe at Steuben's house."

Hauer worked his way through the exposures for the first page-seven

shots altogether-then carefully set it aside.

Hans handed over the second page; Hauer repeated the procedure.

The first roll of film ran out halfway through page four. While Hauer

reloaded the Nikon, he heard Hans whisper: "Damn that old man."

Hauer kept working while he talked. "It isn't the professor's fault,

Hans. That blond Afrikaner got them, and whoever killed him got the

papers. The professor should have told us about the missing pages, but

you know why he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to admit he'd lost

them.

He knew you'd go crazy, and to no avail. We couldn't have done anything

about it anyway."

Hans sat silently.

"Listen," said Hauer. "Natterman was stupid to put these blank sheets

in with the papers. It made the missing pages twice as obvious.

When we make the exchange, we'll use only the six matching pages.

The kidnappers won't know the difference."

Hans's opinion of this theory was painfully clear on his face.

"You know better than that," he said softly. "They have Ilse, and she

knows exactly what I found. She can describe it down to the-" Hans's

mouth stopped moving. "Phoenix would torture her to find those things

out!"

"Stop talking like that!" Hauer snapped. "Ilse's smart.

She'll tell them what they want without a fight. Look, Hans, all we

need is Ilse in the open and ten seconds to get her clear. The

kidnappers won't have more than ten seconds to examine the papers.

That's the situation I intend to arrange.

Anything else is unacceptable."

"Ten seconds is enough time to count pages," Hans observed.

Hauer sighed heavily. "At the cabin you said you trusted me, Hans. Now

you've got to prove it. We've got the leverage here, not them. They

know they'll never get the papers back if they kill Ilse.

The moment they make contact, we set out our terms for the exchange.

They have to accept them.

And once they accept our terms, we've got them."

Hans met Hauer's eyes. "But do we have Ilse?"

Hauer picked the last diary page up off the bed, shot his last seven

exposures, then removed the film from the camera. He folded the Spandau

papers into quarters, then eighths, then he wrapped the aluminum foil

tightly about them again.

"I'm going to find a lab that can process the film in an hour or two,"

he said, slipping the cartridges into his pocket.

"I want you to sleep while I'm gone. You've been up for thirty-six

hours, and I've been up longer than that. Airplane sleep doesn't count.

The Burgerspark rendezvous is at e tonight.

Call the desk and set a wake-up call for seven-thirty."

Hans looked up stonily. "You expect me to steep now?"

"Just shut off the light and breathe deeply. You won't last five

minutes. You should see your eyes right now. They look like they're

bleeding."

Working his jaw muscles steadily, Hans finally said, "Shouldn't I keep

the papers here?"

Hauer considered this. Hans had held the papers until now . . .

"They're safer on the move," he said suddenly. He slipped the packet

into his trouser pocket and headed for the door. "Get some sleep.

I'll see you when we wake up."

Outside the hotel the sun burned down without mercy.

Hauer wished he'd thought to bring a hat. Moving watchidly through the

tree-lined streets, he tried to gauge their chances of success. Tonight

would be their first and possibly only chance to turn the tables on the

men who held Ilse, the men behind Phoenix. And with no backup to rely

on, every move could be their last. Hauer needed time to think. And

most critical now, he needed sleep. Maybe worse than he ever had in his

life. He could feel the sun sapping his energy by the minute.

He paused in the shade of a purple-blossomed jacaranda tree. He leaned

against its trunk, folded his arms, and waited for a taxi. None passed.

He did not know that in South Africa taxis may not legally cruise for

business, but must wait in ranks at designated locations.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he wondered if Hans might be right.

Would the kidnappers make their main move at the Burgerspark tonight?

Would they risk showing themselves this early in the game?

He didn't think so, but this wasn't Berlin. Maybe on their own

territory the bastards would act with impunity. Maybe he should find a

place to hide the papers before the rendezvous. Maybe"T i!"

ax A red Madza driven by an enterprising soul made an illegal U-turn and

screeched up to Hauer's shade tree. For a moment Hauer thought the

driver was Salil, the talkative Indian, but it was only his exhausted

mind playing tricks on him. A tanned Afrikaner leaned out of the

window.

"Where to, mate?" he asked in English.

"I need some film developed," Hauer replied. "Fast."

"How fast?"

"Yesterday."

"Got money?"

"All I need."

"Right," said the driver. "Get in, then."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I30 Pm. Horn House, Northern Transvaal, RSA Seated in his motorized

wheelchair on the north lawn, Alfred Horn chewed an Upmann cigar while

Robert Stanton, Lord Granville, paced nervously around him, gulping from

an enormous Bloody Mary. For an hour the young Englishman had been

ranting about "corporate expansion." The corporation he referred to was

the illegal and wholly invisible one which carried on the lucrative

drug- and currencysmuggling operations he had administered for Alfred

Horn for the past eight years. The old man had sat silent during most

of the tirade. He was curious, but not about increasing his illegal

profits. He was curious about Stanton himself.

Today the young nobleman's voice had the semblance of its usual

brashness, but something in it did not quite ring true.

He was drunk, and Horn intended to give him as much rope as he would

take.

"I don't even know why I'm trying," he lamented. "Do you realize how

much money we have lost in the past three days, Alfred? Over two

million pounds! Two million. And I have no idea why. You shut down

our entire European operation without a word of explanation."

"To whom do I owe explanations?" Horn rasped.

.Well ... to no one, of course. But Alfred"certain people might get

angry if we don't resume operations very soon.

We have commitments."

A faint smile touched Horn's lips. "Yes," he said softly.

"I'm curious, Robert, this gold that is scheduled to anive day after

tomorrow. Why is it coming by ship? Normally those deliveries are made

by air."

This question surprised Stanton, but he recovered quickly.

"The final leg will still be made by air," he said. "By helicopter. I

don't know why, Alfred. Perhaps the currency export restrictions were