Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

the long highway. Lean as an impala, he looked as if ne were scanning

the veld for game herds. Whenever a car or truck whizzed past, he

stared into the vehicle as if searching for someone he knew.

Hans was getting angry. They had been on the road for hours, and they

had stopped like this twice@ before. After a quick glance at the Zulu,

Hans climbed out of the Rover on the shoulder side and looked around.

Back toward Pretoria, the sun burned down relentlessly, shimmering like

a layer of oil just above the road. To the north, however, Hans saw a

vast wall of slate gray clouds. Beneath the leaden ceiling, sheets of

rain rolled south toward the Rover, seeming to qM the night behind.

"In," the Zulu commanded, scampering back into the driver's seat.

When Hans climbed into the backseat, he found a thin black arm dangling

a long black cloth before his eyes. 'No, he said.

The Zulu dropped the blindfold in Hans's lap and turned back to the

windshield. His posture told Hans that unless he obeyed, the vehicle

would not move one inch further toward his wife.

Hans cursed and tied the scarf around his eyes. "Now," he muttered,

"move your ass."

The next thirty minutes felt like a G-force test. The Zulu swung off of

the road immediately, and the bone-crashing ride that followed would

have totaled a vehicle less sturdy than the Range Rover. Hans peeked

around the blindfold when he could, trying to maintain some rough idea

of their progress, but taking accurate directional bearings was

impossible. By the time they finally leveled out, his head had taken

several vicious knocks and the.Zulu's goal of disorienting him had been

well and truly achieved.

The road surface felt like rock scrabble now, but that didn't help Hans.

All he could do was press himself into the rear seat and wait for

journey's end. Thirty minutes later the Rover stopped and the Zulu

ordered him out. When Hans's feet hit the ground, the Zulu pushed him

against the side of the vehicle and searched him. He immediately

discovered the knife taped to Hans's ribs, and ripped it away from the

skin. He told Hans to wait.

When Hans heard receding footsteps, he pulled off the blindfold.

He stood before an enormous building unlike any he had ever seen.

Before he could examine it in any detail, however, a great teak door

opened and a tall blond man stepped out, his well-tanned arm extended in

greeting.

"Sergeant Apfel?" he said. "I'm Pieter Smuts. I hope the ride wasn't

too rough. Come inside and we'll see about getting you more

comfortable."

"My wife," Hans said awkwardly, holding his ground.

"I've come for my wife."

"Of course. But inside, please. Everything in good time."

Hans followed the Afrikaner into a majestic reception hall and down a

long corridorIn a cul-de-sac full of shadows, they stopped beside two

doors. Smuts turned to him.

"The Spandau papers," he said softly.

"Not until I see my wife," Hans retorted, raising himself to his full

height-which was about eye level with the Afrikaner.

"First things first, Sergeant. That was our agreement.

When we are satisfied that no copies'exist, you will be reunited with

your wife."

Hans made no move to comply.

A brittle edge crept into the Afrikaner's voice. "Do you intend to

break our agreement?"

Hans held his breath, struggling to cling to the illusion that he had

entered Horn House with bargaining power. It was now painfully clear

that he had not. He had probably.

made the worst mistake of his life by coming here. He had gone against

the advice of the one man who might have been able to help him, and now

Ilse would pay the price for his stupidity.

Smuts saw Hans's pain as clearly as if he had burst into tears.

He opened a door and motioned for Hans to enter the small bedroom

beyond. "The papers," he repeated.

Like a zombie Hans withdrew the tightly folded pages.

Smuts did not even look at them. He slipped the wad into his pants like

pocket change, then nodded curtly. "I'll be back soon," he said. "Get

some rest."

"But my wife!" Hans cried. "You've got to take me to her! I've done

everything you asked!"

"Not quite everything," Smuts admonished. "But enough, I think."

He closed the door solicitously, like a well-tipped bellman. , "Wait!"

Hans shouted, but the Afrikaner's footsteps faded into silence.

Hans tried the door, but it was locked. It's out of my hands now, he

thought hopelessly@. Is that what I wanted all along? He wondered how

long the procedure to detect photocopying would take. He was still

wondering that when the countless hours without sleep finally

overpowered him. He collapsed onto the small bed, his mouth moving

silently as exhaustion shut down his frazzled -brain. For the first

time since childhood, Hans Apfel fell asleep with a prayer on his lips.

When the Afrikaner jerked him awake ten minutes later, Hans knew that

his desperate gamble had failed. Smuts's eyes burned with feral fire,

and though he spoke even more quiedy than before, violence crackled

through his every syllable like static electricity.

"You have made a grave mistake, Sergeant. I will ask you only once.

Your wife's life depends upon your answer.

Where are the three missing pages?"

Hans felt as if he had suddenly been sucked high into the stratosphere.

His ears seemed to stop up. He couldn't breathe. "I-I don't

understand," he said stupidly.

Smuts turned and reached for the doorknob.

"Wait!" Hans cried. "It's not my fault! I don't have the other

pages!"

"Dieter Hauer has them," Smuts said in a flat voice.

"Doesn't he?"

Hans gulped in surprise. "Who?" he asked lamely.

"Polizei Captain Dieter Hauer!" Smuts roared. "The man who helped you

escape from Berlin! What kind of game is the fool hying to play? Where

is he now?"

Hans felt suddenly faint. Phoenix knew everything. They had known from

the beginning. "Hauer doesn't have the pages, I ' I ' he said. "I

swear it. The pages were stolen in Germany.

Smuts grabbed him by the sleeve and jerked him across the room toward

the window. Hans was amazed by the strength in the wiry arm.

Pulling back the curtains, Smuts waved his arm back and forth across the

pane. Satisfied with what he saw, he motioned for Hans to step forward.

Puzzled, Hans put his face to the glass. When he saw what waited

beyond, every muscle in his exhausted body went rigid. Thirty meters

from the window, Ilse Apfel stood facing the house. Her hands were

bound with wire. Affixed@ to the wire was a long chain, held at the

other end by Hans'-@ Zulu driver. At the Zulu's feet lay an old black

tire; beside.

him stood Lieutenant Jiirgen Luhr of the West Berlin police Luhr wore

civilian clothes, but his tall black boots gleamed, in the sun.

seeing Hans in the window, Luhr smiled and pressed a Walther PI against

Ilse's left temple. Smuts caught Hans in a bear hug and held him still.

"Ilse!" Hans shouted.

Ilse moved her head slightly, as if she had sensed the, sound but could

not locate its source. When Luhr jabbed the' pistol barrel into her

ear, Hans jumped as if the gun had struck his own head. He sucked in a

rush of air to shout again, but Smuts cut him off.

"Scream again, Sergeant, and she dies. I presume you know that man out

there?"

Hans had only spoken to Jiirgen Luhr in person once, but he would never

forget it. Luhr had called him in for the, polygraph session at