Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

"What?" growled a tired voice at last.

"Colonel Rose?" he said, concentrating on his English pronunciation.

"Yeah, Rose here. Who's this? Clary? Jesus, it'S tWO A.M."

"Colonel, my name is Julius Schneider. You don't know me. I'm a

detective with the West Berlin Kriminalpolizei."

"What?"

"Are you awake, Colonel? I have something very important to tell you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake. Go ahead."

"This is a very sensitive matter. Perhaps we could meet somewhere."

Rose was definitely awake now. His voice took on a hard edge of

suspicion. "Who did you say this is?"

"Detective Julius Schneider, Colonel. Eighteen months ago you gave a

lecture on NATO intelligence-sharingNovember, U.S. Army headquarters in

Dahlem. I attended along with nine other Kripo detectives."

"Uh-huh," Rose grunted. "Okay, let's say I'm mildly interested.

What's your problem?"

"As I said, Colonel, I don't feel comfortable going into it on the

telephone."

"Outline the situation."

"I'd prefer to meet you somewhere."

"It's gonna take more than that to get me out into the cold alone, son.

Give me something."

Schneider glanced through his office window at the sluggish activity of

the night duty officers. "I think you've got a man over the Wall," he

whispered quickly.

"A what?" Rose sounded incredulous. "What do you mean? A defector?"

Schneider spoke still lower. "No, Colonel, I think one of your officers

has been taken over the Wall against his will-"

"Don't say another word! " Rose snapped. "Where are you?"

"The Tiergarten Kripo station."

Colonel Rose pulled a map of Berlin from his bedside table.

"Okay, Mr. Detective," he said slowly, "you know the Penta Hotel?

Should be two blocks from where you are now."

"I know it."

"Be standing in the front service doorway in fifteen minutes.

I'll cruise by with my door open-you jump in. Got it?"

"Ja.

"You in uniform?"

"Nein. Kripo don't wear uniforms."

"When you move toward the car have both hands extended. Empty.

Wait a second ... what was your name? Full name?"

"Julius K. Schneider, Kripo Detective First Grade."

"Right. Fifteen minutes."

Schneider heard Rose disconnect. Looking at his watch, he decided to

wait fourteen minutes in his office, then sprint the two blocks to the

Penta. At two-twelve he donned his hat and overcoat, said good night to

the duty sergeant and strolled casually out of the station.

The wind hit his face like a shrew's slap. Schneider turned into the

blast and began running with surprising speed for a man of his bulk.

He glanced at his watch as he crossed to the next block.

Twothirteen.

Come on, Colonel ... A car moved up from his rear, slowed, passed.

Halfway up the second block, he ducked into the front service doorway of

the imposing Penta Hotel. His gasps filled the lighted alcove with

steam.

Two-fourteen, and still no colonel. Schneider pulled off his left boot

and smashed the fluorescent bulb over his head.

No sense in advertising, he thought, tugging the boot back on. As he

straightened up, a battered U.S. Army Ford came roaring up the

Nijrnberger Strasse. The passenger door swung open thirty meters from

the Penta's service door, but the car showed no signs of slowing.

Schneider judged the Ford's speed at sixty kilometers per hour.

Like a fullback he charged from the safety of his niche and sprinted

alongside the car with both hands extended. He could see the

bull-necked American colonel in the driver's seat, scrutinizing him over

the barrel of what looked like a .45 caliber pistol. Tiring quickly,

Schneider flailed his arms for Rose to stop. The Ford slowed to thirty

kilometers per hour. Schneider could hear Rose yelling for him to jump

in.

Almost out of wind, he managed to catch hold of the doorframe and dive

headlong across the front seat. When he tried to rise, he felt the cold

metal of a gun barrel pressed to his temple.

"That's a Colt .45 on your noggin, son," Rose growled.

"Don't move until I say so. Understand?"

"Ja, " Schneider grunted.

With a skillful swing of the steering wheel Rose simultaneously slammed

the passenger door and swung onto the six-lane Hohenzollemdamm, heading

west. "Full name?" he barked.

"Julius K. Schneider."

"Rank?"

"Detective, First Grade."

"Length of service?"

"Seven-no, eight years."

"Name of spouse?"

"What the hell does it matter? I'm the one-" Rose jammed the pistol

barrel into Schneider's ear.

"Name of spouse!"

"Aarrghh! Liese, damn you!"

Rose withdrew the gun. "Okay, get up."

Rattled and angry, Schneider thrust himself against the passenger door

and rubbed his cheek where the gun had scraped it. "What the hell was

that for?"' he asked in German.

"You ought to have expected it," Rose replied,in English.

"You call in the middle of the night to tell me one of my men has been

kidnapped, and you expect a cocktail party?"

"Is this the way Americans return favors?" Schneider said stiffly.

"Last I checked, you hadn't done me any favors. We'll see how I return

one when you do. Now what the hell's this all about?"

"Major Harry Richardson," Schneider answered, relishing the poorly

concealed look of shock that crossed Rose's face.

"You know him?"

"Go on," Rose said noncommittally.

"Very well, Colonel. Tonight I was called to the scene of a murder. A

house near the Tiergarten. The murdered man was one Klaus Seeckt, an

East German trade liaison employed by my government. My colleagues

believe Seeckt surprised a gang of professional thieves who murdered

him, then tried to make it look like suicide. And they could be right,

of course. The Kripo are famous for their skill in solving homicides."

"Get to the point, Detective."

"I believe a real suicide took place, Colonel. Not a simple suicide,

but a suicide still."

"I'm listening. You can speak,* German-if you like."

Schneider sighed with reliel "Physical evidence, Colonel.

First, eight 7.65mm slugs fired into an interior wall beside the front

door-burst pattern- We found no shell casings to match these slugs.

Second, no fingerprints on the pistol in the corpse's hand except his

own. Third, I found something odd outside the house. It was a white

business card"Schneider paused for effect@'with nothing but a telephone

number on it."

He saw Rose's jaw tighten. "When I called the number on the card, I got

an answering machine with a message from one Harry Richardson.

As I'm sure you're aware, Major Richardson makes a rather special effort

to know Berlin.

Consequently, we Berliners know him."

Rose exited right off the Hohenzollemdamm onto ClayAllee, then looped

under to the Avus autobahn. Solemn ranks of bare trees closed about the

car as it rolled into the Grunewald. The colonel seemed to feel more

comfortable here, Schneider noticed. Perhaps because from the heart of

the Grunewald jutted the Teufelsberg-the Devil's Mountain-a massive hill

constructed from the millions of tons of rubble that was Berlin after

the war. Schneider thought it depressingly symbolic that the highest

peak in Berlin was crowned by the futuristic onion domes of a gargantuan

U.S./British radar spying station. Rose slowed and turned to Schneider

as they rolled through the darkness.

"And what does all that tell you, Mr. Detective?"

"The 7.65mm slugs tell me Czech vz/61 Skorpion machine pistol. I