Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

face. Then an odd calm settled on him. "I won't do it, " he said

simply. I almost collapsed "What?" I cried Speaking in a voice almost

too low to hear, Banks said that all along Churchill had been the man

who had stood up to Hitler That no mauer what extremes of capitalist

greed Churchill stood for, Churchill wanted Hitler dead It seemed that

this alone was now enough for "Big Bill" Banks. The 's f man anatical

communist zeal had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I wanted to shoot him on the spot. I could see that his uncertainty was

having a similar effect on Fox. Immediately I redoubled my efforts to

convince Banks to push on. Helmut did his best to help me, and after

several minutes of emotional appeals Banks started to come around.

Somehow Helmut had redirected Banks's anger onto ChurrhilL It was

Churchill who'd brought the air raids down on England he said, Churchill

who'd actually killed Banks's parents. "Big Bill" took hold of his Sten

and began marching around the room, a snarl on his lips and tears in his

eyes. His rededication steeled Fox for his task, and I believed that

our mission might yet succeed But disaster struck again, this time in

the form of Sherwood. We heard the group's secret knock at the door

Helmut answered it, ready to brain whatever fool had broken his order

not to come around. The moment he unlatched the door, Sherwood burst in

with a revolver and ordered me against the wall. Jabbing the gun at me,

he told the others that I really was El Muerte, the Russian torturer

from Spain.

I calmly called the man a lunatic and told him he was about to wreck the

greatest strike for world communism since 1917. Sherwood laughed

wildly. Both Helmut and "Linle Bill" Fox urged him to put the pistol

down, but the fanatic showed no reluctance to point the gun at his own

countrymen if they interfered.

Sherwood Stepped up to me and laid the barrel of the pistol between my

eyes. "Tell them, " he said. "Tell them who you really are. " I could

almost see Helmut's brain spinning.

No one suspected him yet, but he had to be careful. "Comrade Zinoviev

comes from Moscow!" he told them. "From Stalin himself!

Don't bring Stalin's wrath down upon us. " But Helmut@ words had no

effect on Sherwood. "He thinks we're fools, Bill!" Sherwood shouted to

Banks. "Wants us to kill our own King, he does! Wants us to kill

Churchill and help Hitler! " Banks looked confused "Why would a Russian

want that?" he asked Sherwood Sherwood scowled "Aye, he@ a Russian,

Bill, but he's no Communist. He's a Tsarist killer and a bloody

Nazi-lover too! Aren't you?" he said, jabbing me with the revolver I

told Sherwood he was mad, all the while praying that Helmut had a pistol

on him. This couldn't go on much longer, I knew, and it didn't.

Sherwood suddenly called out a name, and a ragged old man shambled

through the door My blood ran cold Before me stood the interrogator's

nightmare@ne of my former victims, a man whose arm I had ordered broken

in several places. I could not conceal my shock.

The man had only one arm now, but I remembered his face from Spain.

While Sherwood pointed his pistol at me, the old man raised his one arm

and slapped me in the face. "Bastard, " he said. Then he turned to the

others and said, "This is El Muerte. " Sherwood's eyes sparkled with

glee. "Little Bill" Fox stood shaking his head in disbelief. Sherwood

took two steps back and steadied his aim; he meant to kill me on the

spot.

In that moment Helmut saved my life. He jerked a knife from his pocket

and buried it in Sherwood's heart. The stunned Englishman staggered

back, gurgled once, fired the pistol and fell dead.

Everyone in the room stood still, not quite sure what had happened. I

had the insane notion that we might yet salvage the mission. Then-in

a.flash of insight-"Big Bill" Banks understood it all. "You're a Nazi,"

he said to Helmut, his face slack with astonishment. "You-you always

have been. " He looked like a shell-shocked recruit. "But you fought

with us at Jarama, " he mumbled "And Madrid. " Helmut tried to deny it,

but Banks heard nothing. His eyes narrowed and his lips grew white and

thin. It was the killing look-I'd seen it a hundred times before.

Had Banks simply shot Helmut, I would not be here today-but Banks was a

huge man, and his instinct was to smash what he hated with his hands.

Clutching the Sten gun like a bat, he smacked its stock across Helmut's

face. I felt Helmut's blood hit me as it sprayed across the room. He

staggered, but held his feet. Dazed, he tried to reason with Banks, but

the Englishman raised the Sten above his head and brought it down on

Helmut's skull Helmut crumpled to the floor Banks's fury at the loss of

his parents had been unleashed, and nothing short of death could stop

it.

Fox and the old man who had pointed me out backed against a wall, cowed

by the violence of their comrade. As Banks raised the Sten once more, I

snatched up Fox's Sten from the table, pulled back the bolt, and pointed

the gun at Banks. The man did not even notice me. I could have cut him

down at that instant, but I hesitated. By killing him, I would be

admitting that my mission hadfailed. Of course it already had, but I

could not yet accept that. My finger quivered on the trigger How could

this specter from my past have traveled to this very room after so long?

And the bombs-how could they have fallen right on Banks's house! How

could it possibly have happened!

I saw Banks bring the Sten down once more onto-or rather into-Helmut's

skull, and I pulled the trigger Whirling around the room in fury, I cut

them all down in seconds, then bolted for the car I had just got it

started when I remembered my forged papers-my "orders from .Moscow. "

Dashing back inside, I searched for my suitcase, but couldn't find it in

the main room. I checked the kitchen, found nothing, then returned to

the room where the bodies lay. I caught sight of my case in a dark

corner I started toward it, then froze. A pair of tall workboots stood

beside it. And standing in the boots was a thick pair of legs. Bill"

Banks, the red-haired giant, had somehow gotten to his feet, and he

still held his Sten.

He wobbled, then fired. He hit me twice-once in the right arm, once in

the right shoulder I had no choice but to rum At worst, I thought, the

forged papers implicated Stalin-not Hitler-so I ran. I cranked the old

car, and in the confusion of the air raid I managed to escape to the

countryside east of London. I used my escape plan just as if the

mission had been accomplished. I lay low for a few days on the British

coast, with a, German agent who maintained a radio link with Occupied

France-then crossed the Channel to safety.

I served out the remainder of the war in Heydrich's SD, and near the end

fled with some others to South America.

My dream of returning to my native Russia was crushed forever in 1944. I

must live with the knowledge that the terrible shadow my Motherland

lives under is in no small part due to my failure in England in the

spring of 1941. Surely that knowledge is punishment enough for my

failure.

Signed, V V Zinoviev, Paraguay, 1951

Witnessed, Rudolf Hess, Paraguay, 1951

Stern's stomach rolled. Rudolf Hess? 1951? Good God!

What did it mean? Had Hess survived the war after all? Had he fled to

Paraguay with Zinoviev after his failed mission?