Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Libyans will never reach the house," Smuts assured him, his voice taut.

"But we must raise the shields, just in case."

"Very well," Hess said thickly. "Raise the shields."

Smuts pressed the button. Throughout Horn House, black anodized metal

shields rose up from the floor, blocking every door, staircase, and

window leading from the outer wings to the central complex. The

Afrikaner sighed with satisfaction.

Suddenly an explosion rocked the turret. Leaping to the window in

alarm, Smuts heard the distinctive crump of a mortar. Seconds later a

round fell just short of the outer wall of the house. Two more crashed

through the roof of the west wing. Horn House was on fire. As if urged

forward by d flames, twenty Libyan commandos started across the killing

zone at a fast run.

"Damn you, Karami!" Smuts shouted. He climbed back into the Vulcan and

opened up on the Libyan mortar position&. He quickly silenced one, but

a replacement immediately took its place. After forty seconds of

continuous firing, the Vulcan's drum magazine ran out.

Smuts screamed at one of his soldiers: "Hurry, -man! Load the fucking

gun!"

While the Libyan machine guns chattered and the mortar shells rained

down on the outer walls, Smuts scanned the dark rim of the bowl.

Just as he started to look away from the horizon, he saw the help he had

desperately hoped for. A hundred meters southeast of the Libyans, a

squat black shape stood silhouetted against the lesser shadow of the

falling night. A pair of halogen headlamps winked once, twice, then

died. The black shape crept slowly forward, hesitated again.

By God, that's Graaff, Smuts thought with elation. "It's Major Graaff!"

he cried. "He made it!" Smuts hammered his fists against the Vulcan in

triumph. If he knew Graaff, that armored car was only the spearhead of

a veritable army!

"Drum loaded!" shouted the man beneath the VulcanSmuts fired a

celebratory burst into the darkening sky, then he opened up on the

Libyans with a vengeance.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Poised on the ridge above Smuts's killing zone, Hauer watched the burst

of spectacular tracer fire lance up into the sky from the observatory

turret.

"That's itf' he shouted. "They think Major Graaff sent us!

Go!"

"Wait!" General Steyn called to the Armscor's driver.

"Look at that tracer fire, Hauer. That's a rotary cannon. This

vehicle's tough, but they could blow us to pieces in seconds with that

gun."

Hauer ripped his respirator aside. "General, you gave me tactical

command of this operation!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you sacrifice my men without any hope.

of success."

"'They think we're here to help them! We've got a clear path to the

house!"

General Steyn shook his head. "We need reinforcements."

Hauer stared in disbelief. He had come too far to be stopped here by

one man's lack of nerve. He struggled to keep his voice steady.

"General, my only son is down there.

And the longer we wait, the greater the chance that he will be executed.

If I must, I'll go down there alone and on foot."

"You won't have to, Captain."

Gadi Abrams's pledge was punctuated by the chunk of his assault rifle

being cocked. He did not point it at anyone, but the threat was plain

enough. General Steyn's hand moved toward the pistol at his hip.

Gadi ripped his gas mask off and gave the general a look of open

contempt.

"Israel fights," he said quietly. "Germany fights. What of South

Africa?"

General Steyn's red face whitened. He knew he was being manipulated,

but in front of his men the Israeli's challenge

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was simply too personal to ignore. He leaned forward into the driver's

compartment and shouted, "Over the top!"

Hans and Ilse dashed down the smoky corridor with towels held over their

faces. Horn House was burning, and the inner complex was sealed against

them. They had searched nearly every room in the outer triangle of the

house, yet they had seen no sign of Stern. Only panicked servants and

their children. Hans carried an attache case in his right hand; they

had brought it from Horn's study.

"Hurry!" Ilse called. "It's the only room we haven't checked!"

As they neared the hospital unit, she wondered why she had skipped it

before. But she knew: the nauseating memory of being strapped to e

X-ray table had simply been too horrible to face again. Now she had no

choice. She felt a jolt of terror as she eased open the infirmary.

door. The room was dark, but the smell of alcohol hit her immediately.

Signaling Hans to follow, she crept through the shadows toward the

interior doors. A crack of light shone beneath one of them.

Halfway to the door, she froze. The sound had stopped her.

The terrifying buzz cut short by the low, metallic clang. Ilse closed

her eyes in remembered terror, then, opened them again. She padded over

to a countertop and felt her way along it. "Here," she whispered,

closing her hand around the base of a heavy niicroscopeHans set down the

briefcase and took the scope.

Ilse turned the doorknob as quietly as she could. As she pushed on the

metal door, the sound came again. Buzz ...

clang. In the eerie amber glow of the X-ray machine's dials Ilse saw a

blond man standing with his back to her. He was peering through the

thick bubble window in the lead radiation screen.

"Are your balls getting warm yet, Jew?" the man called.

He cackled wildly.

Ilse gasped.

The figure whirled.

"You," Hans murmured.

Luhr wore his police uniform, the green trousers tucked into his

spit-polished boots. He looked first at Hans, then at Ilse. He laughed

derisively. "You stubborn Arschloch. Don't you know when to quit?"

He dropped the cable trigger.

This time Funk isn't here to stop me."

"He's the one, Hans," Ilse said hoarsely. "The one who cut the

policeman's throat in Berlin."

"That's right," Luhr said with a laugh. "Just like slaughtering a

fucking pig."

"Steuben," said Hans, his voice trembling. He felt his throat constrict

with unspeakable hatred. He looked down at the microscope in his hand,

then let it crash to the floor.

"Frau Apfel? " cried a weak voice. "Is that you?"

Ilse darted around the lead shield. Jonas Stern lay pale and bloodied

beneath the leather straps that had bound her just two days ago. "Hans!"

she'cried. "Help me!"

Hans heard nothing. He watched Luhr's lips tighten into a thin, pale

line as he dropped his shoulders like a boxer and moved out from the

X-ray machine. Hans's nerves tingled like live wires. Luhr feinted

with his right hand and kicked Hans high in the chest. Hans took the

blow, staggered, steadied himself. Luhr jabbed with his left hand. Hans

did nothing to block it. He felt his right cheek tear, but he ignored

the pain. A crashing roundhouse struck him on the side of the head. He

absorbed the shock, but this time he raised his fists and moved forward.

Backpedaling away, Luhr fired off a right that drilled into Hans's eye

socket.

Hans roared in pain, but he shook the tears out of his eyes and lunged

blindly forward.

As Luhr pivoted to evade him, he felt his back collide with the

faceplate of the X-ray machine. At that instant Hans lashed out. His

fist moxied from his side to the bridge of Luhr's nose without seeming

to cross the space between.

One moment Luhr's face was pale with fury, the next it was covered in

blood. Hans had broken his nose. Luhr screamed in agony, then tried to