Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Ilse caught his arm, meaning to restrain him, but,when Stern whirled,

something in his eyes moved her into some region beyond logic, beyond

reason. She counted to three, and together they flung themselves

against the wood.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

7,05 Pm. MozambiquelSouth Africa Border The helicopters stormed

northward on the Mozambique side of the border, hugging the plain

between the Lebombo Mountains and the Limpopo River. Occasionally they

jinked westward long enough for Burton to take bearings. The Englishman

knew this part of Africa well, and the Kruger Park had enough landmarks

to keep him oriented.

The border itself, a garish scar of bare earth bisected by a huge

electric fence, divided two countries that might have been different

continents. On the Mozambique side, a desolate war-ravaged plain

stretched toward the sea. On the South African side, the lushness of

the Kruger Park began immediately. Wide green troughs of river in

vegetation snaked westward out of sight. Forests of mopane, Sycamore

fig, and Natal mahogany sheltered herds of elephant and zebra, white

rhino and lion.

"Take her back up!" Alan Burton ordered.

Juan Diaz breathed a sigh of relief. The Cuban pilot prided himself on

his flying skill, but this crazy English gringo had badgered him about

the altitude until he wondered if the man had a secret death wish.

Burton pointed to the north and shouted above the rotor noise "We want

to keep on this heading until we see the Olifants River! Then we'll

veer west and cross the park at treetop level!" He showed Diaz the map.

"The house we want lies about halfway between the western edge of the

park and this little town here." Burton pointed to Giyani, then

indicated an X marked about fifteen kilometers from the western edge of

the Kruger Park.

Diaz nodded, then returned his gaze to the plain below.

"The Kruger Park's about the size of Wales," Burton told him.

"But it's thin-runs north to south."

Diaz ignored him.

"Probably never heard of Wales, eh?" Burton laughed.

"The Prince of Wales?"

Diaz shook his head. Either the Cuban hadn't understood or he simply

did not want to be bothered. Burton switched to a more relevant

subject. "That fence down there," he yelled, pointing westward, "11,500

volts! They fry a whole gang of Mozambican refugees on that thing every

year.

Bloody awful."

The Cuban grimaced. He knew about dead refugees.

Glancing back into the cabin of the JetRanger, Burton looked the

Colombian soldiers over again. The presence of 'Alberto, the big MNR

observer, made them look even more unprofessional. "What do you think

of our South American friends, Diaz?" he yelled.

The Cuban pilot did not share Burton's confidence in the deafness of the

Colombians. He pulled the Englishman's head down near his own.

"Banditos, " he muttered. "No soldiers." He cut his eyes back toward

the cabin, then crossed himself so that only Burton could see.

"Bloody hell." Burton had hoped Diaz might know something encouraging

about the Colombians that he didn't. Suddenly the Englishman sighted a

silver serpentine glittering beneath the dark clouds to the north.

"There's the river!"

he shouted, Diaz nodded, then banked westward and dove for the plain.

Their sister ship followed closely, behind and to the right.

The green sea of the Kruger Park rushed toward them.

The JetRangers skimmed over the border fence and swept westward over the

verdant foliage below. Burton saw a herd of antelope raising a huge

cloud of dust as they fled the noise of the approaching choppers. Diaz

pointed to the dark cloud ceiling above them.

"Much rain when it comes?"

"Buckets this time of year!"

Diaz frowned, but Burton smiled wryly. The weather didn't worry him;

that was the pilots' problem. But the accuracy of his intelligence

reports did. Who in hell was the English informer who supposedly waited

inside the target house? Probably anything but a soldier, Burton

thought ruefully. The informer had reported that Alfred Horn relied

primarily upon isolation for security-isolation and a neo-Nazi security

chief. Burton wondered if the informer would even recognize defensive

measures if he saw them. Swallowing his anxiety, he slapped Diaz on the

back and grinned.

"Rain's good for us!" he yelled. "Better cover!"

Diaz glanced doubtfully back into the cabin where the bearded Colombians

crouched. He dropped a little closer to the trees.

Horn House: The Northern Transvaal

Ilse sat opposite Alfred Horn at the long mahogany dining table and

stared sullenly at her plate. All the other chairs were empty. In

spite of their furious efforts, she and Stern had been unable to break

out of the bedroom before Linah arrived to take them to dinner. Stern

had pleaded an unsettled stomach, so Ilse had come alone. She wondered

if the old Israeli was still trying. As Linah leaned over her left

shoulder to pour white wine, she looked up at Horn.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, trying to hold her voice steady.

"Pieter has work to do," Horn replied. "And of course your grandfather

remains in your bedroom." He smiled. "I believe he would rather finish

reading that notebook I gave him than eat."

Ilse lifted her fork and tried to make a show of eating.

Stern had advised her to carry on as she had been, but now that she knew

Hans was almost surely somewhere inside the house, she couldn't contain

herself. "Where is my husband?" she cried suddenly.

Horn looked up slowly from his plate. "He has not yet arrived, my

dear."

"Liar! He's here!"

Horn swallowed some wine, then set his crystal goblet on the table.

"Who told you that?" he asked quietly. "Your grandfather?"

"No one. I ... I just feel it."

"Ah, woman's intuition. An overrated faculty, I've found.

Do not worry, your Hans will arrive soon."

Ilse 9 uivered with anger. "You're lying," she said stubbornly.

'Hans is here."

Horn slammed his frail hand against the table, rattling the silver.

"I will not tolerate this at my table! You will behave as a German

woman should or-" At that moment Pieter Smuts marched into the dining

room with Jiirgen Luhr on his heels. "Aircraft approaching the house,

sir," he announced. "fwo blips, so far. They're at the edge of the

Kruger Park now."

"What type of aircraft, Pieter?"

Smuts smiled coldly. "No radio contact, no IFF, but from their speed I

would guess helicopters."

Horn sighed deeply. "@ the bunkers manned?"

"Yes, sir." Smuts's face was taut. "Everyone's in place."

"And Lord Granville?"

The Afrikaner shook his head. "I'm not sure where he is."

While the men spoke, Ilse slid her right arm off of the table, taking

her silver dinner fork and salad fork with it.

"Take Frau Apfel to her room," said Horn. "Then get to the tower.

I'll be in my study."

"But, sir, with Granville loose-" Horn silenced the Afrikaner by ringing

a hand bell that summoned Linah. "To the tower, Pieter," he commanded.

"I am in no danger."

"Bring the girl," Smuts told Luhr, and hurried out.

"Frau Apfel?" Luhr motioned for Ilse to stand. He forced himself to

smile. As soon as Linah had wheeled Horn Out Of the dining room,

however, he snatched Ilse up by the arm and dragged her into the hall.

"Lock her in!" Smuts called from up the corridor. "Then meet me at the

reception hall elevator!"

When Ilse and Luhr reached the bedroom door, she reached into her pocket