Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Churchill and the dnd! I should write it up for the King, man.

We saved England's bloody 7-imesP' The blood drained from Wilson's

cheeks.

"Surely you're joking, Sir Neville. You're overwrought."

"But I'm deadly serious."

The deputy director glanced behind him to the closed office door.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said soffly. He pulled a revolver from his

coat pocket.

Shaw studied the gun. "A bit noisy for murder, don't you think?

Too many people around."

Wilson gave his superior a wintry smile. "Not murder, Sir Neville.

Suicide."

Shaw smiled appreciatively. "Ah. I'm about to crack under the strain

of a failed operation, eh? You'll 'discover' me with my head bleeding

over the Hess file, the mandarins will cover it up 'for the good of the

service,' and you'll take my chair as director general. Is that it?"

Wilson nodded. "I've been laying the groundwork ever since you locked

yourself in here like a hermit. The secretaries are already whispering

about you."

Shaw sighed. "You were Horn's man all along, weren't you? As long as

my efforts went toward keeping the secret, you went right along.

But you and your bloody uncle-Lord Amersham, isn't it?-you didn't know

that some of the conspirator families had asked me to liquidate both

Hess and Number Seven, did you? Gutless bastards. They claimed Horn

had gone senile, that he had too much power. I saw the truth, though.

Glasnost had those blue-blooded cowards pissing their beds at night.

Gorbachev's whole program was openness, sweeping out the past.

Couldn't have that, could we? Our brave peers were scared silly that

the Russians might not veto Number Seven's release next time around."

Shaw raised a forefinger. "And they were right, you know? ; Two days

ago I learned that Gorbachev had recently indicated to Hess's son that

he was on the verge of releasing Prisoner Number Seven."

Wilson kept his pistol pointed at Shaw's chest. "How did you kill

Number Seven without my knowledge?" Shaw shrugged. "Easily. I used a

retired SAS man Michael Burton. The whole Hess business has always been

run outside official channels. That's why you knew nothin about the

Casilda. But you found out in time, didn't YOU?

Wilson's face reddened. "I warned Horn."

You warned Hess about the raid."

"My God," muttered Shaw. "You didn't even know who you were working

for, did you? Just like that idiot in MI-6.

At least his mother was South African."

The revolver shook in Wilson's hand. "Why was Hess allowed to live? Why

did we let him out of England at all?"

Shaw smiled humorlessly. "We never had Hess, Wilson.

We only caught Ho e double Heydrich sent to confuse us. We never found

out how Hess escaped, if he came here at all. mI-6 finally located him

in Paraguay in 1958. The Israelis and other Nazi-hunters never found

him because they weren't looking. As far as they knew, Rudolf Hess was

locked inside Spandau Prison."

"Why didn't you kill Hess in Paraguay?"

Shaw snorted. "You think your friends are afraid of the Spandau papers?

Hess knew the name of every bloody British traitor involved in the coup

attempt. He claimed he had taken steps that would make those names

public in the event of his untimely death, and we believed him."

"But why kill number Seven after all this time? He'd held his silence

for decades. Why should he break it?"

"Because his wife and daughter were dead," Shaw explained. "Had been

for years. We kept Number Seven quiet by threatening his family, just

as Hess must have. If Number Seven had been released from Spandau, he

-might have discovered they were dead. And we would have lost our

leverage. If the Russians hadn't vetoed his early release every year,

we would have had to kill him years ago."

Sir Neville Shaw steepled his fingers. "Tell me one thing, Wilson. How

much have you told Hess's people about Jonas SternT' "Nothing, until

today. I assumed Swallow would kill Stern before he became a threat,

and I didn't want to risk further direct contact.

Stern must have blown his cover himself Two hours ago Horn's security

chief called me and asked if I knew anything about a Jew who had come

after Horn."

Shaw nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you intend to burn my memo?"

"Yes, actually."

Shaw reached out his hand. "Here. Let me shred it for YOU."

Puzzled, Wilson handed Shaw the letter, then watched incredulously as

the mI-5 chief fed both pages into his highspeed shredder. "But .

.. why? What are you doing?"

Shaw smiled. "Don't worry, there's a copy in my safe.

But things haven't quite reached the stage where I feel compelled to

send it." Shaw looked over Wilson's shoulder to a dark corner of the

large office. "Sergeant," he said crisply, "please arrest Mr.

Wilson. The charge is treason."

Like a thousand fools before him, Wilson whirled to face an imaginary

threat. When he looked back at Shaw, there was a silenced Browning

Hi-Power pistol in the old knight's hand.

"Sorry, old boy," Shaw said, but he had already pulled the trigger.

Wilson's astonished eyes went blank as the bullet tore through his

heart. He dropped dead on the floor without a sound.

Shaw calmly lifted his telephone and punched in a number. The call was

answered immediately.

"Rose here," said a gruff voice with a Texas twang.

"Good morning, Colonel," said Shaw. "I am authorized to agree to your

terms-if you believe the Hess secret can still be kept."

"As if you had any choice," Rose growled.

"About Jonas Stern," Shaw said dill-;dently. "Her Majesty's government

doesn't want the Israelis getting hold of this story."

"I figure Stern's dead by now," Rose said. "Sir Neville."

Shaw sighed with forbearance. "Is there any further word from South

Africa?"

"Negative. Your precious secret's in Captain Hauer's hands now.

Who knows what a friggin' Kraut'll do?" Rose laughed away from the

phone. "Hey, Shaw, I've got a guy here, name of Schneider. He says

Hauer'll kill Hess if gets the chance. That make you feel any better?"

Shaw smiled with satisfaction. "Thank you, Colonel. I shall be in

Berlin by noon."

IL

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

826 A.M. Angolan Airspace

At eighteen thousand feet the Lear 31-A turbojet knifed southward

through the sky and down the length of Africa. In the sumptuously

appointed passenger cabin, Prime Minister Abdul Bake Jalloud sipped from

a glass of sherry and contemplated the excited face of Dr. Hamid Sabri.

The bespectacled young physicist could barely restrain his enthusiasm.

In a matter of hours he would be shepherding back to Libya the first

nuclear weapon ever to stock an Arab arsenal. Prime Minister Jalloud

was more subdued. Despite Muammar Qaddafi's repeated assurances that

all was well, Jalloud could not shake a vague suspicion that something

was not as it should be.

"Are you all right, Excellency?" asked Dr. Sabri. "You look pale."

"It's the food," Jalloud muttered. "I shouldn't have eaten anything."

"I'm nervous myself," Sabri confessed. "I cannot wait to return home

with the device."

"I can't wait to return home, period," Jalloud murmured.

This curious statement disconcerted the young scientist.

He glanced through his window at the'clouds below. "Excellency?"

he said quietly. "I must admit I am glad Major Karami is not

accompanying us on this trip. He makes me uncomfortable. I do not

believe Mr. Horn liked him either."