Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

"Russians!"

Hans's exclamation brought Hauer out of his chair like a cannon shot.

"Tell me, Eva, hurry!"

Eva related the story of their escape from Kosov's team, ending with

Ilse fleeing into the dark alley. Hans slammed his fist against the

table. "But you don't know where she is now?"

"No, but she told me to give you a message."

"What message?"

"Mittelland."

"That's it? One word?"

"That's it. Mittelland, like the canal. I guess she didn't want me to

know anything."

Hans shook his fist in exultation. "Eva, that's it! I know where she's

gone."

"So get her, you damned fool! And you'd better get some serious help. I

don't think your Polizei friends are up to it."

She paused. "And if you come up on a young fellow called Misha .

.

'.YesT' "Kill the bastard. Send him to hell. He cut my face."

Hans felt his heart thump. "What happened?"

"Just find Ilse, Hans. If anything happens to that girl, you're going

to answer to me. And stay the hell away from her-e. Your apartment

sounds like a Bremen bar fight." Eva hung up.

Hauer grabbed Hans's shoulder. "You said Russians."

"Eva said Russians came to the apartment looking for me.

"How does she know they were Russian?"

Hans shrugged. "She's been around, you know? She's an old barmaid who

turns a few tricks for rent money. She got Ilse out of the building,

but that's all she could tell me."

"It must be Kosov," Hauer muttered. "The quiet colonel from Funk's

polygraph session. He knew that test was rigged from the start.

Did Ilse have the papers with her?"

"I don't know."

"For God's sake, Hans, you've got to start thinking like a policeman."

"I don't give a damn about those papers!"

"Quiet! You'll bring Ochs in here. And you'd better give a damn about

those papers. They may be the only thing that can keep us or Ilse alive

now." He held up a forefinger.

"You said you knew where Ilse had gone. Where?"

Hans's eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you?" he asked, suddenly

suspicious. "Christ, you might have brought me here just to find out

where she is. Where the papers are!

God, you might-2' Hauer slapped him, hard. "Get hold of yourself, Hans!

You brought me here, remember? You've got to trust somebody, and I'm

all you have."

Hans scowled. "Wolfsburg," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Ilse's grandfather has a small cabin on the Mittelland Canal, near

Wolfsburg. It's an old family retreat. The professor must have been

working there and Ilse found out. God, I hope she's made it."

His face clouded. "But how could she?

I've got the car!"

"Train?" Hauer suggested.

"She didn't have any money at home."

"All women have money at home, Hans, believe me. They hide it for

emergencies we never think about."

"Captain, I've got to get to Wolfsburg!"

"I agree. But before I give you the keys, you're going to listen to me

for ten minutes. Then I'll figure out a way for us to get out of

Berlin. You know you'd never make it without my help."

Hans knew Hauer was right. He could never evade Funk's dragnet on his

own. "Ten minutes," he agreed.

Hauer sat down and leaned forward. "You've got to understand something,

Hans. Early this morning you stumbled into a case that I've been

working on for over a year. That's what I meant about Steuben.

There's more that needs protecting at his house than his wife and

children. There's a fireproof safe full of evidence that he and I have

compiled over the past year. Until a couple of hours ago, I had no idea

that Spandau Prison had anything to do with this case, but now I'm

almost certain that it does."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those papers you found at Spandau aren't just some relic from the past,

Hans. The Russians haven't gone crazy searching for a museum piece.

Those papers pose a very serious threat to someone now-in the present."

Hauer took a cigar from his pocket and bit off the tip.

"Before I tell you anything else, you must understand some thing very

important. Right now, as we speak, Germanythe two Germanys-are very

close to reunification."

"What? "

"I don't mean it's going to happen tomorrow, or next week. But six

months from now ... a year ... maybe."

"Are you mad?"

Hauer paused to light his cigar. "Most Germans would say so," he said.

"And they would be as wrong as you are. Tell me, as you grew up, didn't

you notice all the societies who clamor for the reunification of the

Fatherland? I don't mean administrative committees plodding through

mountains of paper; I mean the hard-core groups, the ones that exist

only to restore Germany's lost might."

Hans shrugged. "Sure. So what? What's wrong with working to make

Germany strong? I agree with them. Not some of the crazier factions,

maybe, but I want Germany to be united again. One nation, without the

Wall."

Hauer raised an eyebrow.

Hans colored. "It's my country, isn't it? I want it to be strong!"

"Of course you do, boy. So do 1. But there are different kinds of

strength. Some of these groups have some very strange ideals. Old

ideals. Old agendas.' "What do you mean? How do you know?"

Hauer studied his cigar. "Because we've been to their meetings-Steuben

and 1. I stumbled into this whole thing by accident.

About two years ago, I got drawn into a Special Tasks drug case.

The money trail led me to two police officers. In short order I became

aware that quite a few cops were involved in the drug traffic flowing

into and through Germany. And in spite of orders to the contrary, I

began to compile evidence on these officers. Steuben helped me all the

way. It didn't take us long to realize that their drug operation

extended into the highest ranks of the force."

"Prefect Funk?"

"Excellent example. But then things got strange. Pretty soon we

discerned a attem. Every officer involved in the drug traffic was also

a member of a semisecret society called Der Bruderschaft."

"The Brotherhood? I've heard of that."

Hauer exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. "I'm not surprised.

I joined it myself last year. That's what the tattoo is about.

The eye is their symbol. Ever see a policeman with a bandage behind his

right ear? That means he's gotten the mark.

They wear the bandage till the hair grows back. I don't know what the

eye means, but I was only a month away from getting it myself. You get

marked after a year in the group." Hauer stood up and flicked some

cigar ash into Ochs's sink. "The real name of the organization is not

Der Bruderschaft, however; it's Bruderschaft der Phoenix. Have you

heard of that?"

Hans's eyes widened. "I have! It was in the Spandau papers.

Something about the 'soldiers of Phoenix' appeanng before Prisoner

Number Seven."

"Christ, what else do you remember?"

Hans shook his head. "I only remembered that because it was in German,

not Latin."

Hauer began pacing the kitchen. "God, it's so easy to see now.

Der Bruderschaft is neo-Nazi. It would only be natural for them to try

to contact Hess in prison, to try to use him as some kind of mascot.

But maybe Hess didn't like the idea, eh? Maybe-my God," Hauer said

suddenly. "They might well be the ones who killed him! Hess would be

much more valuable to them as a martyr than a pathetic prisoner!"

"Who comes to these Bruderschaft meetings?" Hans asked.

"A bunch of malcontents and young toughs, mostly. You know the type@ops