Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

tightened at Colombia's airports.

Perhaps it was easier to take the gold out by ship. Who knows?"

"Indeed." Horn glanced at the thin face of Pieter Smuts.

"Tell me, Robert, do you miss England? You've been with us a month

now."

Stanton took a huge swallow of his Bloody Mary. "Glad to be away from

the bloody place. It's winter there, isn't it?

Though I must admit I'd like to get down to Jo'burg for a weekend.

Not much female companionship to choose from here. I don't have the

fancy for dark meat Smuts has. I suppose it's an acquired taste."

Stanton grinned. "There's always the pretty new Fraulein, of course,

our own Aryan princess.

Horn's solitary eye burned into Stanton's face. "You will keep your

distance from Frau Apfel, Robert," he said sharply. "Is that absolutely

clear?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, old boy. Not my type at all." The young

Englishman tried to look nonchalant, but he could not remain cool under

the smoking gaze of Horn's security chief. "Would you mind terribly not

doing that, Smuts?" he said irritably. "Gives me the galloping

creeps."

Smuts continued to stare like a wolf at the edge of a dying fire.

After several moments, Horn said, "It won't be long now, Robert, and

everything will be back to normal. I have some business to take care of

first, that is all. It's a matter of security."

Security, Stanton thought contemptuously. In two days you're going to

find out about bloody security. He slipped on a pair of Wayfarer

sunglasses to hide his eyes while he considered his remarkable position.

Three months ago, two very powerful people had decided they wanted

Alfred Horn dead.

One was a ruthless Colombian drug baron who wanted access to Phoenix's

European drug markets. His motivegreed-Stanton clearly understood. The

other was a rather terrifying gentleman from London named Sir Neville

Shaw.

Stanton knew nothing about his motive. All he knew was that both Shaw

and the Colombian had asked him to assassinate Alfred Horn. With his

own hands! Stanton had refused, of course. He didn't want to murder

the old man.

Horn had made him rich-something his worthless title had never done. But

the terrible pressure to kill the old man had not relented. The

Colombian had threatened Stanton's life, a threat Stanton could afford

to ignore as long as he lived under Horn's protection. Sir Neville Shaw

had also begun with threats. I'll bury your title under a mountain of

dirt and blood, he'd said. Stanton had laughed. He didn't give two

shits about his title. Even as a child he had sensed that the name

Granville was held in quiet, profound contempt among most of the British

peerage. That was one reason he'd turned to the life he had, and also

why, upon his father's death, he had accepted the aid and protection of

Alfred Horn.

But then Shaw had changed tactics. Kill Horn, he'd said, and the Crown

will allow you to keep the companies you own and operate under Horn's

supervision. Stanton had paused at,that. Because the time was long

past for Alfred Horn to pass on his empire to a younger man. For five

years Stanton had been the majority stockholder of Phoenix AG, yet not

one decision regarding the administration of the giant conglomerate had

been made by him. His father had played a similar role before him, but

his father had been allowed to make decisions-his father had been

trusted. Robert was a mere figurehead, almost a joke. Yes, the time

for change had come. Yet Stanton could not do the dirty work himself;

even if he succeeded in killing Horn, Pieter Smuts would tear him limb

from bloody limb. No, the old man would have to be killed in such a way

that Smuts and his security force died with him. Stanton had pondered

this problem for a week, after which time he had hit upon a rather

brilliant plan. He would simply bring together the two parties who

shared a common goal. On a day trip to London he had communicated his

plan to Shaw, then left the devious mI-5 chief to work out the details.

Thus the present plan; thus the ship. All that remained now was the

execution.

"Drunk already, are you?" Smuts goaded in his flat voice.

For once Stanton looked the Afrikaner dead in the eye.

"Just thinking," he said. "You should try it sometime, old

sport."

Ilse Apfel stood on a gentle swell of grass and stared across the vast

high-veld. She had fled Horn House after the nightmare in the X-ray

room, running as far and as fast as she could. No one had stopped her,

but Linah had followed at a respectful distance, pausing whenever Ilse

did, keeping pace like a distant shadow. After Ilse's panic had carried

her nearly two miles from the house, she'd calmed smoothed out a place

in the rough grass to rest.

Alfred Horn had spoken the truth at dinner, si On this empty plateau

there was simply nowhere to. Not without a map, a gun, and a good

supply Far to her left, scrawny, humped cattle grazed. Beyond them a

pair of reddish horses pranced in the sun. A black haze hung low in the

distance, touching the brown horizo& Though Ilse did not know it, the

black smoke rose from the coal-fueled cookstoves of a small native

kraal, or village.

Such smoke marked most native dwellings from Capetown to the Bantustan

of Venda. In winter it was worse. Then the dark palls hung perpetually

over the settlements, blocking out the sun. In South Africa electricity

is a selectively p@, vided commodity.

Ilse looked down at the sun-baked earth. What hope had she here, so far

from Germany? What chance did her childm have? Hans was on his way

here now, if Horn could be believed . And from Smuts's questions in the

X-ray session, shorn thought there was a chance Hans's father might be

coming too. She hoped so. Even from Hans's rare comments about Dieter

Hauer, Ilse had gleaned that he was a highly respected, even feared,

police officer. But what could he do against men like Pieter Smuts?

Again!

Jiirgen Luhr, who had slashed a helpless policeman before her eyes?

She thought of Alfred Horn. Lord Grenville was right about one

thing-the old man had taken to her. Ilse had enough experience with men

to recognize infatuation, and Horn had definitely fallen for her. And

here, she realized, his infatuation might be the key to very survival.

And to her child's survival. She wonder what madness the old man had

planned for tonight. From what Stanton had told her of Horn's business

dealings, meetings could augur no good for anyone. Still. she c not

very well refuse to attend-not if she wanted ate herself further with

Horn. And she might le@ thing that could help her escape.

Pulling a long blade of grass from the ground and started back toward

the house. She had wandered afield than she'd thought. Linah was no

longer in sig before Ilse had covered fifty meters, she confronted thing

she had not seen on her way out: a shimmering stretch of hot asphalt

running off through the grass and scrub. A @? Her heart quickened with

hope. Then she saw the plane. Three hundred meters to her right, on a

round asphalt runway, Horn's sleek Lear-31A. Ilse sighed hopelessly,

and continued west.

a long rise, she caught sight of Horn House about away. She gasped.

Fleeing the house earlier, she had not looked back. But now she saw

the whole estate laid out before her like a postcard photograph, stark

and stunning in its originality. She had never seen anything like it,