Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Jaguar hit the bus head-on.

9.14 A. M. Bronberrick Motel. South of Pretoria

Hauer closed the door to the dank-smelling motel leaned against a

battered veneer desk. After much searchinglast night, he and Hans had

finally taken this ratho the N-1 motorway, ten miles south of the

capital.

Hans sat sullenly on a twin bed, fanninl, himself with ,he'd found in

the mildewed -bathroom. His knife jammed into his belt; his Walther lay

a few inches from his right hand.

"I found another car," said Hauer, his face slick with sweat. "A Ford.

From a small firm, just what we wanted.

I dumped the Toyota in an underground garage."

"Good," Hans replied without looking up.

"I really think it would be safer if you came along Hauer pressed.

"You don't need me to help you calibrate the scope. And I'm not taking

any chances on missing the rendezvous."

"But you're not going to the rendezvous," Hauer said, pocketing the

keys. "Didn't you realize that? This rendezvous is where I use our

leverage to turn the tables on the kidnappers. If you show up, Phoenix

will assume you have the papers with you. They'll simply kidnap you,

then kill you. I'm going to the Voortrekker alone. You'll keep the

papers safe here."

Hans nodded slowly. "I see. But I'm still not going with you now.

Anything could happen out there. You could kill us just by forgetting

to drive on the left side of the road.

Where would we be then?"

Hauer nodded pensively. "All right. But don't leave this room for

anything, understand? I'll be back in three or four hours After I

zero-in the scope, I'm going to scout for an exchange location. I saw a

stadium on the map that looks good. I'll be back long before six."

Hans forced a smile. "I'll be waiting."

"Fasten the chain behind me."

Hans stood to see him out.

"And for God's sake get some sleep, would you?" Hauer said. "Ilse

wouldn't even recognize you like this."

As soon as he heard Hauer's car pull away, Hans picked up the telephone.

"This is room sixteen," he told the desk clerk, his voice edgy. "Call

me a taxi. Bitte? Of course I can pay for it!"

He slammed down the phone and trudged over to the lav The mirror was

cracked in a starburst pattern, causing reflection to stare back at him

like jumbled pieces of a . Hauer was right. He looked as bad as he

felt. bllodshot eyes, sallow cheeks, dirty blond hair sticking out in

all directions. If he didn't sleep soon, he would collapse where he

stood. All night he had lain awake in the stifling heat, listening to

Hauer's steady snoring, fighting the solitary hours of his imagination.

From the moment he had learned the spandau diary was incomplete, his

fears had been working in him, tapping in the back of his brain like a

dull pick hammer.

Hans turned the cold tap, wet a washrag, and brought it to his stubbled

face. The water felt good, but it didn't improve his appearance.

He stuck his head under the tap and soaked his hair, then smoothed it as

best he could. He hadn't planned to lie to Hauer about the rendezvous

time. But when he heard the cold voice on the telephone The driver

rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb toward the @ backseat. Hans

climbed in and the cab screeched away.

phone last night in the Burgerspark suite, some deep part him had simply

overridden his conscious will. He believem- The Voortrekker Monument

sits atop a hill @ miles in Hauer's abilities. If anyone could save

Ilse by using lo his father could. But what if no one could? Hans had

seen miraculous rescues during his short tenure with the police

department. But he had seen other cases, too. And the harder he tried

to shut those cases out, the clearer they becam in his mind.

Throughout the night vaigue images had turned to sean nightmares.

The dead blond girl from the Havel, fished out of the muck by a

grappling hook two days after the safe" police rescue operation.

Anonymous Berliners had died by gunfire, by stab wounds, other ways. Et,

Weiss's gouged and bloody chest. He thought of the from the Havel. The

police had used the ransom as bait they always did. A half-million

Deutschemarks in @ash._B the kidnappers had managed to withhold the girl

just long enough to escape. For Hans the lesson was clear. No plan was

fail-safe. And no matter how deeply he believed Hauer's commitment, he

could not risk seeing Ilse pulled from that river, or one like it. Who

could predict how d kidnappers would react when Hauer tried to turn

their operation back against them?

Rational men would probab make a deal. But rational men did not tattoo

eyes on the scalps or gouge religious symbols into the chests of Jews.

At the veneer desk, Hans scribbled a note to Hauer on the back of a

promotional flyer. Then he picked from the bed and laid it on top of

the note.

The ring of the telephone startled him.

growled the desk clerk.

Hans took a long last look at his pistol, but could not take it where he

was going. He rea the mildewed mattress and withdre@ the Sp, which he

had stolen while Hauer showered. He into his shirt (beside the knife he

had taped to he stepped out into the glaring sun. A blue M idling in

the parking lot. He walked over to the dow.

"You know the Voortrekker Monument?" he English.

south of central Pretoria. Visible from most parts of the city, this

dun-colored building is the spiritual symbol of the Afrikaner nation.

Its domed Hall of Heroes holds a huge frieze 'commemorating the Great

Trek of the Boer pioneers, who fled northward from British colonial rule

in 1838. Hans caught a glimpse of the massive dome as his driver exited

the N-1 freeway, then swung back under and headed west.

imb . ing the monument hill, he realized he would be ten minutes early

for his rendezvous.

min He paid off the cab, then moved as instructed to a spot dimctly

beneath the frieze in the Hall of Heroes and studied it like a Muslim

who has finally reached Mecca. The tourists shuffling around him were

mostly Afrikaners. With his classic German looks, Hans thought he

probably looked as Afrikaner as the rest. He was wrong.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he whirled to see a Bantu man of medium

height-a Zulu, actually, but Hans knew nothing of such distinctions-with

a large camera bag slung over his shoulder. Hans failed to notice the

irony of a black'man visiting the monument that memorialized the

conquest of his native country. The Zulu never once glanced up at the

frieze. He hurried out of the building and down the slope, Hans

scrambling after him. A shining blue Range Rover waited at the base of

the hill. The Zulu indicated that Hans should get into the rear seat.

Hans climbed in.

"You have the papers?" asked-the Zulu in broken German.

Hans nodded. "Are you taking me to my wife?"

Without a word the Zulu started the engine and drove down the hill, then

swung the Range Rover onto R-28 and beaded into central Pretoria. He

drove until they intersected the N-1 freeway, then climbed into the

northbound traffic.

Hans looked blankly out the window as the suburbs gave way to gaudy

storefronts, liquor stores, and finally the government matchboxes of

black settlements outside the city.

Hans fingered the knife beneath his shirt. The thought of what the

kidnappers might do if they realized the diary was incomplete made his

bowels squirm, but what choice did he have? At least by acceding to

their demands he had gained a chance to try to explain the missing