Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Feeling exposed on the lighted stoop, he pounded his fist against the

heavy oak.

"I'm not in uniform, for God's sake! Open up! Now!"

The bolt shot back with a bang. Klaus pulled the door open but remained

out of sight in the dark foyer.

"Take it easy," Harry said. "We'll play it as an official visit.

However you want."

Klaus's voice dropped in volume but doubled in urgency.

"Harry, get out of here! They're watching us!"

As Harry's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he recognized the stubby barrel

of a Makarov pistol in Klaus's hand. The East German wore only his

bathrobe, but his ashen face and the quivering pistol gave him a

frighteningly lethal aspect.

Harry glanced back at the street to try to spot watchers. He saw none,

but he knew that didn't mean anything.

"I tried to keep you out," Klaus said resignedly. "Remember that."

Writing off Klaus's pistol to paranoia, Harry slipped past the East

German and started toward the living room. With a hopeless sigh Klaus

shut the door and locked it behind them.

When Harry reached the living room, he saw that Klaus was indeed being

watched-but from inside the house, not out. Five men wearing dark

business suits sat leisurely on sofas and chairs arranged around a

glass-topped coffee table.

Harry looked back over his shoulder at Klaus. The German hovered

ghostlike in the shadows of the foyer, the Makarov slack against his

leg. Harry considered bolting, but Klaus hadn't tried it, so perhaps

things weren't so bad. Orperhaps, Harry thought uneasily, Klaus didn't

run because he knows the front door is covered from the outside.

Harry turned back to the living room. None of the men around the table

looked older than thirty, and no one had said anything yet. Was that

good or bad? Suddenly the oldest-looking of the group stood.

"Good evening, Major," he said in heavily accented English. "What can

we do for you?"

The young man's accent was unmistakably Russian. There would be no

attempt to pass these men off as other than what they were, Harry

realized. A very bad sign. He cleared his throat. "And by what rank

do I address you, Comrade?"

he asked in flawless Russian.

The Russian smiled, seeming to relish the idea of a catand-mouse game.

"You speak excellent Russian, Major. And I am but a lowly captain, to

answer your question. Captain Dmitri Rykov."

"What are you doing so far from home, Captain?"

"Am I so far from home?" Rykov asked gamely. "A debatable point.

But I'm protecting the interests of my country, of course."

The young man's candor was an unveiled threat. "I see," Harry said

warily. "I also note that we have a mutual friend," he observed, trying

to shift the focus away from himself. I In the foyer Klaus turned

deathly pale.

"Yes," Rykov agreed, giving Klaus a predatory I glance.

"This is proving to be an enlightening evening. Take his gun, Andrei.

No foolish heroics please, Klaus. It's not your style."

The East German slumped against the foyer wall, his pistol hanging

slack. He looked broken, already resigned to the grisly fate that

undoubtedly awaited him in Moscow. Corporal Andrei Ivanov moved to

disarm him.

"As you can see, Major," Rykov continued, "you've stumbled upon us at a

most inopportune time. I'll certainly speak to my superiors about it,

but I suspect that your unfortunate timing may cost you your life-"

Before Andrei could reach the unfortunate Klaus, the East German raised

the Makarov to his own temple and fired.

The sheer madness of the act stunned everyone, causing a moment of

confusion. In desperation Harry bolted for the door. He had his

fingers on the brass door handle when someone peppered the wall beside

him with a burst from a silenced machine pistol.

"Don't move, Major!" Captain Rykov ordered, his voice strained but

even.

Harry let his fingers fall from the handle. He turned around slowly. In

the time it had taken him to reach the door, the Russians behind him had

been transformed from a quiet group of social acquaintances into a squad

of paramilitary soldiers moving in concert to control the unexpected

emergency. Two men knelt over Klaus's body, checking for signs of life;

two others covered the front and rear windows of the house.

Rykov issued orders.

"Yuri, get the car. Major, move back into the room. Now!"

Rykov tapped the shoulder of a young man leaning over Klaus's corpse.

"Leave him, Andrei. Touch nothing. Klaus was a traitor; he deserved a

coward's death. Leave the gun in his hand. We couldn't have set this

up better ourselves."

"Shouldn't we take him along?" Andrei asked. "The Kriminalpolizei

aren't stupid."

Rykov's eyes gleamed. "Ideally, I suppose. But we won't have room for

him."

"What about the weapons compartment?"

"The major will be in there." Rykov turned to Harry.

You don't want to spend the next hour hugging a corpse, do you, Major?"

Harry's mind raced. If this Russian intended to kidnap an American army

officer from the heart of tightly controlled West Berlin, something very

big indeed was going on. And to Harry's mind, that something could only

be the events at Spandau Prison.

"Kosov won't like this," he said, remembering seeing the Russian colonel

at Abschnitt 53 this morning. "You better take some time to think,

Captain."

Rykov smiled. "You're very clever, Major."

The sound of an engine rumbled through the front door.

"That's Yuri," said Rykov. "All right, Major, let's go."

Harry didn't move.

"Conscious or unconscious, I don't care. But I must tell you, it's

never quite as clean as the movies when you bash someone in the back of

the head with a pistol."

Harry moved. He couldn't warn Colonel Rose if he was dead.

It was only a few steps from the front door to the car, a black Mercedes

190. The Russians crowded close around him all the way.

There's got to be a way out, thought Harry.

Got to be. I've got to warnDmitri Rykov slammed the butt of his

Skorpion machine pistol into the base of Harry's skull. He heard a dull

thud but no crunch. "Americans are so gullible," he said, laughing.

"Lucky for this one he has a wooden head."

Corporal Ivanov looked distressed. "Are you sure we shouldn't just kill

him here?" he said anxiously. "Make it look like some illegal

business, perhaps a homosexual tryst?"

"I'm in command here," Rykov snapped, losing a bit of his earlier

control. "I'll do the thinking."

"Yes, sir. I was only thinking of Colonel Kosov. If he doesn't

approve-"

"I know what Kosov wants, Corporal. Did he not choose me for command?

We may need this American later as a bargaining chip."

Rykov's voice softened. "Andrei, the other team is running down

Sergeant Apfel's wife as we speak.

Kosov is with them. Do you want us to return to East Berlin

empty-handed?"

Ivanov did not look entirely convinced, but he said no more.

Lying half-conscious at their feet, Harry slipped a hand into his inside

coat pocket, fished out a white business card, and let it fall.

There was no name on it-only a telephone number. As the Russians lifted

him into the Mercedes, he glanced down. He saw his own blood, but the

white card had already vanished against the snow.

10.31 Pm. LieLzensee Park, British Sector

"Once again," Ivan Kosov said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Where did the girl get out?"

Pressed into the corner of the taxi's rear seat, Eva Beers scowled and