Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Stern cast Hess a disparaging look. "It actually might have worked," he

said, "but for a confused Englishman who came to his senses just in time

to thwart the assassination. If my guess is right, the only man to

escape from that part of the mission-a Russian named Zinoviev-fled to

the same German agent Hess did." Stern looked at Hess.

"Isn't that right? Isn't that where the two of you met?"

Hess smiled distantly.

"Zinoviev never went back to Germany as his journal claimed, did he?"

Hess chuckled.

"And in spite of your eye wound," Stern guessed, "the two of you escaped

together to South America, and finally ended up here." Stern's eyes

flashed as he looked at Hess.

"Zinoviev tried to warn us, you know. In 1967. He must have realized

then how mad you were."

Hess flung out a scarecrow-thin arm. "Zinoviev was weak! All he cared

about in the end was his precious Mother Russia! Holy Russia.

He was practically a religious fanatic by 1967." Hess sighed.

"We found out about that warning, though, didn't we, Pieter? And dear

Vasili had to meet his maker a bit earlier than even he wanted to."

"Why didn't you return to Germany?" Hauer asked.

Hess looked genuinely sad. "I was confused. It was never even

considered that things could turn out as badly as they had. You must

understand: I had long accepted in my mind that by May eleventh I would

have succeeded in my mission or I would be dead.

Yet I had failed, and I was still alive. It seemed foolish to kill

myself at that point. And stranger still, Churchill's government had

chosen to believe-publicly at least-that my double was, in fact, me.

Day after day, hiding on the coast, I listened to reports of my capture

while Zinoviev t@ended my eye. And then came the news from Germany-from

the Fuhrer himself-that I was mad. I had suggested he say that if the

worst happened, but it was unnerving all the same! The pronouncement

told me how things stood. The Fuhrer had assumed that eidier I had

committed suicide as planned or the British had indeed captured me. His

only option was to discredit me publicly. It was the most difficult

moment of his life, I am sure. Not only had he lost his most faithful

friend, but he now faced the impossible situation we had sought to avoid

in the first place! With the failure of my mission, war -on two fronts

was inevitable."

Hess took a deep breath. His face was pale and sweating.

"Nine days later, I managed to get a message to the Fuhrer.

I told him what had happened, that I was alive, and asked for

instructions." Hess's face steeled with resolve. "I mentioned nothing

of my wound, and I offered to do what cowardice had not let me do on May

tenth-take my own life.

Hitler's reply came two weeks later. First, he awarded both myself and

Helmut the Grand Cross. As a foreign national, Zinoviev received only

the Iron Cross. Then came my orders: I was to sail to Brazil, and there

administer a massive network of assets and companies that the Fuhrer had

moved for safety to South America. The coming two-front war had sobered

him. At this time he was still of sound mind, and he knew the chances

for ultimate victory were problematical.

The Fuhrer was surrounded by traitors; Himmler plotted ceaselessly to

take his place. Some of the@ Party's top bankers had already fled

Germany. Hitler wanted-he neededsomeone he could trust outside the

country, preparing a place for him should his position become

untenable." Hess's face glowed with pride. "I was that mant When the

time came, Zinoviev killed the agent who had hidden us, and he and I

traveled to South America. Just as Alfred Horn had become Rudolf Hess

to the world, I became Alfred Horn.

Zinoviev served as my lieutenant and bodyguard until we emigrated to

South Africa." Hess looked up at Smuts. "And Pieter assumed that

position after I arrived."

"There's one question you haven't answered," Stern said, recalling

Professor Natterman and his obsession with the Hess mystery. "Was the

Duke of Windsor really a traitor?"

Hess mopped his forehead. "Who knows? Windsor was a fool. He just

wanted to be king again."

"Yes, but did he knowingly conspire with the Nazis to regain the throne?

That's what I want to know."

"It never came to the test!" Hess snapped. "Don't you understand, Jew?

It was a setup! A double-cross from the very beginning. They used us.

Me, Windsor ... even the Fuhrer.

British Intelligence discovered their own bloody traitors and played

them back against us! They lured me to England, damn them. Of course

Windsor conspired with us! Would he really have assumed the throne as

Hitler's vassal? Would he have stolen the throne from his murdered

brother? No one will ever know!" Hess shook his head in desolation.

"Lies ... all lies. Letting us hope for peace with England until it was

too late . . ."

Hess's head swayed oddly on his neck. He seemed to have forgotten his

audience. "Bor-mann," he murmured. "Ilse always knew. Abandoning the

Fuhrer in his hour of need!"

Smuts tried to calm Hess, but the old Nazi slapped the Afrikaner across

the face. "Borrnann terrorized my family! My own wife! He tried to

evict my Ilse from our house! Thank God Himmler stopped him!"

"My God," Ilse murmured. "No wonder he had a fixation on me."

Hess's eye came clear again. "The swine paid for his impudence!

In 1950 1 I saw him hanged with piano wire by members of the ODESSA!

I have the film in my study!"

"Enough!" Stern cried, stepping in front of Hess. "Everyone, stand

back! The time has come to bring down the curtain on this farce.

Dr. Sabri, prepare the weapon for detonation."

"Wait!" Hans cried, springing up to Stern. "Listen to me.

To hell with Hess! To hell with the Nazis! I understand your love for

Israel, but not everyone here is a Jew. I am German.

General Steyn is South African. We want to live. Does that make us

cowards? If it does, I'm a coward! Look at my wife. She's pregnant,

you understand? We want our child to live! What right have you to take

that away from us?"

"The right of the greater good," Stern said soffly. "I'm sorry,

Sergeant."

"You're sorry? Do you plan to murder everyone who doesn't agree with

you?" Hans pointed to the South Africans Gadi had shot. "How are you

different than the Nazis?"

Stern looked at Ilse. His face softened momentarily, but he quickly

turned away. "Captain Hauer," he said tersely, "do you believe I am

wrong about what must be done here?"

With a strange sense of fatalism Hauer looked down at the dead South

Africans. He looked at General Steyn, bleeding steadily from his

shoulder and heaving for breath. He looked at Hans, his own son, his

face flushed with passion for life, his innocent fervor mirrored in his

wife's beautiful eyes. He looked at Hess, cadaverous and gray, a living

anachronism sitting aloof on the floor beneath his Afrikaner protector.

And finally at Stern. Hauer had known the old Israeli less than a day,

yet he felt closer to him than he did to many men he had known all his

life. Stern is no fanatic, he thought.

He's a realist He's seen enough of the world to know that giving fate

one chance to beat you is one chance too many.

Or perhaps he's just my kind of fanatic. Hauer didn't want to die. But

what choice was there? To fight their way out was impossible. With all

eyes in the room turned to him, he stepped toward Hans and Ilse with a