Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

boat. Copy?"

"That's a roge, sir."

Schneider looked bewildered.

"ETA camp ten minutes," Rose snapped.

"Copy that, sir, I'm outta here."

"Out."

Rose pushed the speed limit all the way through the Grunewald.

The American certainly knew his way around, Schneider reflected.

Despite the labyrinth of icy lanes winding through the forest, he burst

out of the trees less than a mile from U.S. Army headquarters.

"Russians," he muttered.

"Idiots."

"I beg your pardon, Colonel?"

"The Russians, Schneider. The goddamn Russkies, Reds, Commies,

whatever."

"What about them?" Schneider bit his lip. He had almost called the

American colonel "sir."

"I'll tell you what about them," Rose grumbled. "If those sons of

bitches have kidnapped my man and taken him over the Wall, that's a

goddamn act of war, that's what. And they're gonna find out who really

runs this burg, that's what!"

Schneider shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And that is?"

"The U.S. Army, by God."

The German gave a hollow laugh, "Cut out that American imperialist

lingo, would you, Colonel? It makes me nervous."

Rose wasn't laughing.

2.05 A.m. The Natterman Cabin: Wolfshurg, FRG "Professor, wake up!"

Hauer prodded the old man. "Professor!"

Natterman moaned, then his eyes twitched open and his right arm shot

outward. "Karl!" he shouted.

Hans grabbed his outstretched hand. "Professor, it's Hans!

We're at your father's house."

The old man's eyes focused at last. He pulled his hand free.

"Yes ... Karl is dead?"

"I'm afraid so," said Hauer. He leaned over-the sofa where Natterman

lay and held up something shiny in his left hand. "What do you make of

this, Professor?"

Natterman took the object a'nd examined it briefly. "It's a gold

Krugerrand. Standard unit of currency in South Africa.

"Is it common?"

The professor shrugged. "Thousands of Germans own millions of them, I

should think. On paper, of course.

"Is the coin common?"

"I wouldn't think so. Where did you get it?"

"Hans picked it up outside, standing watch."

Natterman sat up. "My God!"

"What is it?"

"The man who attacked me ... I remember now! I recognized his accent.

It was Afrikaans!"

"Afrikaans? What do you make of that?"

Natterman pursed his lips. "I don't know. That man-the Afrikaner@arne

here to steal something, but I don't believe he knew exactly what he was

after until he actually saw the papers. He didn't seem to believe it,

even then."

"An errand boy?"

"That was my impression. What time is it, Hans?"

"A little after tWO A.M."

"Two! Don't let me fall asleep again. Is the telephone working?"

"Yes," Hauer replied, "but we haven't learned anything."

He had tried in vain to reach Josef Steuben at Abschnitt 53.

And at Steuben's home he'd got only the men he'd sent to protect

Steuben's family. No sign of his friend.

"The apartment's empty," Hans said anxiously.

"Ilse is all right," Natterman assured him. "You must believe that.

Even if someone has taken her, it's you they want.

They need her alive to draw you. They believe you will bring them what

they seek."

Hans nodded. "They're right."

Natterman's eyes grew wide. "Have you lost your senses?

The Spandau papers are much too important to be surrendered to anyone

like that."

Hans glared balefully at the old man. "I don't give a damn about those

papers, Professor. You'd better understand that now. I'd give them to

the devil himself to have Ilse here with us now." His eyes narrowed

suspiciously. "Where are the papers?"

Natterman looked hunted. "They're ... in the bathroom," he said.

"I'll get them."

Hauer kept silent. His brain was spinning. Bruderschaft der Phoenix

... The gold Krugerrand and the Afrikaner accent-like the calls from

Prefect Funk to Pretoria-had dropped into place like two more tumblers

in the lock that protected Phoenix from the outside world.

But what did South Africa have to do with Germany? What did Pretoria

share with Berlin? Hauer was still puzz!ing over this when the klaxon

ring of the old telephone in the bedroom shattered his concentration.

Both he and Hans raced to the phone.

"It's Ilse!" Hans cried, grabbing for the receiver.

Hauer caught his wrist in a grip of steel. "If it is, I'll give the

phone straight to you." He lifted the receiver as the raucous bell

clanged for the third time.

Two hundred and forty kilometers away, locked in an interrogation room

of Abschnitt 53, Prefect Wilhelm Funk nervously eyed a technician who

sat before three Marantz PMD-430 tape recorders.

Each tape deck was wired directly into the transmitter of Funk's

telephone. Two contained recordings of Ilse Apfel's voice, recorded at

gunpoint reading a script authorrd by Pieter Smuts, the Afrikaner known

to Funk by the code name Guardian. The third deck maintained a constant

level of background noise to mask the ONI oFF switching of the primary

machines. Praying that the elaborate deception would work, Funk began

his performance.

"I wish to speak to Sergeant Hans Apfel," he hissed, trying to mask his

distinctive growl.

"I know you, you bastard," said Hauer.

Funk abandoned all pretense. "I know you too, Hauer.

Fucking traitor. It's Sippenhaft for you, just like your friend

Steuben."

Hauer closed his eyes, trying in vain to steel himself against the

anguish. He had sent a man to his death. He had made a widow and

orphans.

"If Apfel isn't on the phone in ten seconds," Funk warned, "I

disconnect. Beginning now. Ten, nine, eight ..."

Hans snatched the proffered phone. "This is Sergeant Apfel.

Where is my wife?"

"Do not speak, Sergeant. In a moment your wife will read a prepared

statement. After-"

"Ilse!" Hans shouted. "Ilse?"

"One more outburst like that, and this conversation will be terminated.

After your wife finishes reading, you may ask questions, but keep them

simple. She's a bit under the weather."

Hans swallowed hard.

"Hans, listen to me-" He clenched the phone with all his strength.

Ilse's usually musical voice quavered with fear and'confusion, but he

knew the sound like his own breathing. He clapped his hand to his

forehead in relief, then balled it into a fist as the torment went on:

"... the men who are holding me require only one thing in exchange for

my freedom-the papers you discovered at Spandau. The papers belong to

them. You have illegally stolen their property. Restitution is all

that they seek. I do not know where I am. If you follow the

instructions you are given exactly, we will be reunited. If you deviate

from these instructions in any way, they will kill me. These men

possess a machine which can detect whether photocopies of a document

have been made. If copies have already been made, important them now and

bring all copies to the rendezvous. If you deny that copies have been

made, but their machine proves otherwise, I will be shot. Follow every

order exactly.

They . . . " At this point Ilse's voice broke. She sobbed and spoke at

the same time. "I saw them kill a man, Hans ... a policeman.

They killed him right in front of me. They cut his throat! " In

Berlin, the technician stopped the first tape machine.

Ilse's sobs seemed to fade into the familiar hiss of a poor

long-distance connection.

Hans could restrain himself no longer. "Ilse, they can have whatever

they want! Tell them! The papers! Anything!