Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

The burly policeman slammed down the lid and moved back to the side of

the car. He had no legal reason to detain these men, however badly he

might want to. Brusquely he handed the passport and other papers back

to Rykov. "Pass," he said.

Grinning, Rykov slid halfway into the Mercedes and started the engine.

While he waited for his comrades to climb in, he stared at the policeman

through the open door and laughed. I love this, he thought.

The idiot knows, yet he can do noth"Aaarrrgh!" he shrieked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Herr Gritzbach! I didn't realize!"

The police sergeant had slammed the heavy Mercedes door on Rykov's

exposed leg. "Are you all right, Herr Gritzbach? Should I call a

doktor?"

Rykov's ashen face quivered with rage. "No!" he snarled, rubbing his

leg furiously.

"But your leg might be broken."

Rykov lifted his throbbing leg into the car and slammed the door.

"Very well, then," the policeman said gleefully. "I hope your stay in

West Berlin has been a memorable one."

"I'll remember you," Rykov vowed, his face twisted in pain.

"Depend on that."

The Mercedes screeched away. It stopped perfunctorily at the western

checkpoint, then shot beneath the raised barrier on the East German

side, accelerating all the way. "Just as I thought," the sergeant

muttered. "Precleared." He turned and signaled the next car forward.

Benjamin Ochs swallowed his fear, placed a reassuring hand on his wife's

arm and eased the Jaguar toward the roadblock. The sergeant turned his

back to the bowling wind and lit a cigarette; then he walked back to the

police van. A younger officer stepped up to Ochs's window.

"Guten Abend, Officer," Ochs said, handing over his passport. "Is there

some emergency?"

"I'm afraid so, Herr ... Ochs. We're looking for two fugitives.

I must ask you a few questions. What is the purpose of your visit to

East Berlin?"

"Family emergency. My nephew has been killed. We're on our way to

Braunschweig."

Frau Ochs gave a little sob, then turned away as if she were crying. The

young policeman leaned over and peered in at her, then scrutinized her

husband's papers.

Ochs patted his wife's shoulder. "Now, now, Bernice.

We'll be there soon."

Inside the dark boot, Hans could hear every word distinctly.

"Captain," he whispered. "What do we do if-"

"Shut up," Hauer breathed. "It's all up to the old man now."

"But if they open the boot ... do we fight? Do you still have your

gun?"

"If they open the boot we do nothing. If I pulled out a gun this close

to the Wall, they'd be hosing us off the street in the morning.

The old couple, too. Just be quiet and don't move."

Though every muscle twitched in pain, Hans struggled to remain still. He

tried to ignore the voices outside, but it was impossible.

"He died in an auto accident early this evening," Ochs was saying.

"My brother called me. A horrible thing. Fourcar pileup."

"Why do you exit here?" asked the young officer sharply.

"Braunschweig lies due west."

Ochs tried to think of what Hauer had told him to say, but he hesitated

a second too long.

"Open the trunk, please," the policeman ordered. "You may remain in the

car if you have an automatic release."

With his heart in his throat, Ochs slowly reached for the button.

"Why is this taking so long?" Frau Ochs cried suddenly.

"He's only doing his job, Bernice," Ochs said, his heart pounding.

"The men we're after murdered two policemen,'@ the young man answered

stiffly. "They must be brought to justice." He looked over at the van

and motioned toward the Jaguar's boot.

The surly sergeant who had smashed Rykov's leg walked to the rear of the

Jaguar. He drummed his fingers on the boot lid, waiting for Ochs to

release the catch.

Inside, Hans tensed like a coiled spring. Hauer shoved his Walther deep

into the spare tire receptacle, praying it wouldn't be spotted until

they were safely away from the vehicle. Just as he got the pistol

covered, the catch popped open. The lid rose a little, then the

sergeant flipped it all the way up. Seeing the old blanket, he took

hold of a corner and jerked it aside.

Blinding glare from the checkpoint spotlights struck Hans and Hauer full

in the face, illuminating their twisted bodies.

The big policeman froze. This tiny compartment was the last place he

had expected to find the fugitives. He groped clumsily for his gun.

Squinting into the light, Hauer discerned the outlines of the

policeman's face. "Steiger!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

The policeman gaped in surprise, then leaned low over the trunk.

"Dieter!" he whispered. "What the hell are you doing?"

Hauer shook his head violently.

Sergeant Steiger glanced around the boot lid at his companion, who was

still questioning Ochs. Then he leaned lower and looked into Hauer's

eyes. "Dieter, was it you?" he whispered. "Did you kill Weiss?"

Hauer shook his head still more violently. "Funk, " he spat.

"That bastard ordered it."

Steiger straightened up and glanced over the trunk lid, past his

partner, to the American checkpoint, and then farther on to where the

East German Vopos waited. He made a hard decision very fast. Leaning

back over the boot, he shoved down hard on the car frame with his thighs

and hands, giving the impression of checking for a false bottom.

Then he stood up, glanced once at Hauer, and slammed the lid.

"Nothing here," he called to his partner. "Suitcases."

Steiger sauntered to the police van and picked up his cigarette.

His partner was still questioning Ochs.

"This is highly irregular," the young man said officiously.

What's happening? Ochs thought wildly. Why didn't that policeman jerk

them out of the boot? "My wife is very upset, Officer," he stammered.

"There's an old synagogue in East Berlin-in the Kollwitzstrasse, not far

from here. She was practically raised in that synagogue. Before the

war, of course' "

"You are Jewish?" the policeman asked sharply.

Ochs heard blood roaring in his ears. Memories of his youth flooded

into his mind. Midnight knocks at his door ...

screams for help ignored-"Yes," he answered quietly. "We are Jewish."

The young man smiled and handed back Ochs's papers.

"There is also a very beautiful synagogue in Braunschweig," he said.

"You must see it. I spent my summers there as a boy.

That's why I asked."

Ochs swallowed the lump in his throat. "Thank you. Yes, we've seen it

many times." With a shaking hand he shifted into first gear.

"You have your money ready for the Vopos?" the policeman asked.

"You know you must change twenty-five Deutschemarks as you cross over."

"I've got it, thank you. Right here." The old tailor patted his breast

pocket. He let out the clutch pedal and moved slowly away from the van.

Crushing out his cigarette, Sergeant Steiger stepped away from the

police van and waved to the West German checkpoint guards. They raised

the barrier from inside their booth and let the Jaguar pass unmolested.

Ochs rolled to a stop on the East German side. In the boot, Hans held

his breath and listened for the voices of the Vopos. He heard Ochs

inquire about the exchange rate, complaining a little but not too much.

The wait seemed interminable to Hans, but at last the red-and-white post

lifted and the Jaguar glided slowly past the dragon's teeth, barbed

wire, minefields, and machine gun towers that fortified the eastern side