Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

pages. In the middle of some football stadium, with a dozen guns

sighted on Ilse and himself, anything could happen.

Suddenly Hans felt his throat tighten. Though he had been @ng straight

at the back of the Zulu's head, his conscious @d had only now registered

what his eyes were seeing.

Behind the Zulu's right ear-in plain sight-was the ominous design

sketched in the Spandau papers: the eye-the mark of Phoenix! Yet unlike

Funk's men, this tribesman wore no tattoo. The eye had been branded

onto his scalp with a red-hot iron! The ugly, whitish-pink keloid scar

chilled Hans's blood. He @tared, hypnotized by the mark.

What did it really symbolize? Follow the Eye, the Spandau papers had

charged. Yet it seemed to Hans that the eye was following him!

"How ... how far do we have to go?" he stammered, trying to keep his

anxiety in check.

The Zulu said nothing.

Hans touched the haft of the knife in his shirt. Obviously the black

man didn't intend to reveal anything about the upcoming rendezvous. Hans

forced his eyes away from the scar and concentrated on the road. The

shimmering highway stretched in a seemingly endless line across the

veld, toward a destination Hans could only pray would reunite him with

]Ilse. If the kidnappers were as hard as the land they now passed over,

he thought, their chances of getting out alive were small. He caught

himself wondering if he should have told Hauer the truth about the

rendezvous after all. Maybe Hauer could have pulled off the exchange.

Maybe ...

"Too late now," he muttered.

"Bine?" the Zulu said sharply.

"]Vichts!" Hans snapped. He tried not to stare at the branded eye as

the Range Rover droned on.

10:45 A.m. Horn House. The Northern Transvaal

Linah had set out a fine brunch in the enclosed garden near the

southwest turret of the estate. Subtropical fruit trees splashed

blossoms of color against the high stone walls.

Alfred Horn and his security chief sat together drinking coffee and

speaking quietly.

"And what of Captain Hauer?" the old man asked.

Smuts shrugged. "I had four men at the Voortrekker to kill him, but he

never showed up."

"Could he be following Sergeant Apfel?"

Smuts shook his head. "He might try, but my driver will know if he

does. We'll have no problems from Hauer."

Horn nodded.

"How long do you expect it will be before we hear something from the

Arabs? Three days? A week?"

"I've already heard," Horn said casually, and took a sip of his coffee.

"Qaddafl himself called me an hour ago. He has accepted our terms. What

did I tell you, Pieter? If you want a job done quickly, hire a hungry

man. Prime Minister Jalloud will return tomorrow night with men to

transport the weapon."

"Tomorrow night!" Smuts exclaimed. "I had no idea it would be that

soon. Two hours ago I sent half my men back to then-tine."

Horn smiled. "That was a little premature, Pieter. But I shouldn't

worry. There will be no problems with the Libyans. And if there were,

I am confident that you-could protect us from that. You have had years

to prepare year defenses."

Smuts looked uncertain. "Did Qaddafl mention Major K?" Smuts nodded

suspiciously. "Karami is planning some kind of double-cross. I'm

certain of it. I'd better make additional security arrangements."

Horn smiled cagily. "You might want to make some arrangements before

tonight, Pieter. I have the feeling we may need a few extra men."

Smuts squinted curiously At his master. But before he could ask for

clarification, Lieutenant Jiirgen Lahr opened a sliding glass door and

marched toward the table. Horn eyed the tall German suspiciously, but

Smuts waved a greeting.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Oberleutiiant." "Guten Morgen! " Luhr replied,

clicking his heels together smartly. He inclined his head first to

Horn, then Smuts.

"Sit," Smuts commanded.

"Just a moment," Horn interjected. "Show me your mark, Herr

Oberleutnant."

Instantly Luhr moved to the old man's wheelchair and leaned down so that

Horn could inspect the tiny tattoo behind his ear. Horn actually licked

his finger and rubbed the mark to make sure it was indelible. When he

was satisfied, he gave Luhr permission to sit down.

"Danke, " said Luhr, taking a chair and sitting ramrod straight.

Horn stared at Luhr some time before speaking. His one flickering eye

lingered on the blond hair, the hard blue eyes, the trim figure and

classical features. He nodded slowly. The young policeman had sparked

something in his memory.

"Has your stay in our cell taught you some respect for orders?"

Luhr had prepared for this. "Sir, I drugged Frau Apfel only for her

welfare, I assure you. She struggled so hard against her bonds that I

feared she might injure herself."

Horn's single eye glazed like a chip of ice. "There is no excuse for

insubordination! A man who disobeys orders is a threat to everyone

around him!"

Luhr wiped a sheen of perspiration from his forehead.

"But," Horn went on in a softer tone, "my security chief seems to think

I should give you a second chance. He speaks highly of your work in

Berlin."

Luhr raised his chin proudly.

"Frau Apfel will be joining us soon, Herr Oberleutnant.

When she arrives at table, you will issue an immediate apology.

Then the matter will be closed.. Clear?"

"Absolutely," Luhr said solemnly. He had never balked at licking the

proper pair of boots.

While Linah poured coffee for Luhr, the sound of someone talking softly

drifted around the corner of the house.

Shortly Lord Granville appeared, wearing dark sunglasses and muttering

to himself. A huge white square of gauze was taped high on the left

side of his head, but it did little to conceal the massive purple bruise

that extended from behind his ear to his left eye.

"My God!" Smuts exclaimed, as the Englishman wobbled to the table.

"What have you done now, Robert?" Horn asked wearily.

"Got pissed again. Literally. Took a fall in the loo last night that

would have killed a bloody wildebeest. Didn't break the skin, though,

thank God. I'd have bled to death on the spot." He pulled a silver

flask from his pocket and poured two jiggers of brandy into his coffee.

"King and country," he toasted, and drained the mixture.

Smuts glared. Such conduct by anyone else in the old man's presence

would be unthinkable, yet Stanton made it rule.

"Robert," Horn said, "when will our next payment from the Colombians

arrive?"

Stanton tried in vain to mask his surprise at this question "What?

Oh. It's coming in by ship next week, remember?

Brazilian gold this time. Supposedly it's never even seen the inside of

a bank."

Horn leaned his head back and smiled. His good eye looked past Stanton

and settled on a fragrant eucalyptus tree.

"And how will our gold get from this mysterious ship to here?"

"By helicopter," the Englishman said, frowning now. "I told you that

yesterday."

Pieter Smuts looked quizzically at his master.

"Yes," Horn said, "yes that's right. You did."

Everyone looked up at the sound of the garden gate. Ilse stood there,

her blond hair uncombed, her eyes swollen from lack of sleep.

"Guten Morgen, " Horn called. "Please join us."

Ilse edged toward the table, her wary eyes on Stanton.

With an effort that stunned all present, Alfred Horn struggled from his

wheelchair and stood until Ifse had seated herself in the wrought-iron