Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Just tell me where to bring them!"

"Have any copies of the papers been made?" Funk asked.

Hans turned to Professor Natterman, who had appeared in the bedroom

door. "Did you make any copies of the papers?"

Natterman saw a mental image of his Xerox machine flashing in his

darkened office, but he banished it from his mind. "No," he said,

looking straight into Hans's eyes, "I didn't have enough time."

"There are no copies," said Hans, his eyes still on the old man.

"Noted," said Funk. "Now, listen carefully to your instructions.

Write them down. Error or delay will not be tolerated."

Hans snatched a pen and notepad from Hauer, who had anticipated the need

and procured the items from Professor Natterman's book satchel. Across

the top of the pad Hauer had scrawled: Stay calm.

Agree to everything they ask.

"Drive to Franlkfurt tomorrow morning," Funk began.

"There you will board the first available'flight to Johannesburg, South

Africa. Your final destination is Pretoria. It's forty miles north of

Johannesburg, but shuttle buses run constantly." Hans scribbled as fast

as he could. "Your wife informs us that you have no passport, but this

will not be a problem if you use the South African Airways counter. Do

you have that?"

"South African Airways," Hans said breathlessly.

"Your flight leaves at two Pm. Once in Pretoria, check into the

Burgerspark Hotel. Any taxi driver can take you to it. A suite will be

reserved for you. At eight Pm. you will be contacted and issued

instructions as to how to exchange the papers for your wife." Funk's

voice went cold. "If you are not in your room at the Burgerspark Hotel

by eight Pm. on the day after tomorrow-with the Spandau papers-your

wife will die. That is all, Sergeant."

"Wait! My questions!"

There was a long silence. "Two questions," Funk said finally.

Hans swallowed. "Liebchen, are you all right?" he stammered, not

knowing what else to say.

In Berlin Funk held up his index finger. The technician pressed the

PLAY button on machine 1. "Yes," came Ilse's quavering reply.

"Have they hurt you in any way?"

This time Funk raised two fingers. "No, " Ilse seemed to answer.

"Don't be afraid," Hans implored, trying to keep his voice steady.

"No matter what. I'm going to get you back-"

"That is all, Sergeant," Funk said sharply.

"Don't hang up! Please-please let me speak to her again.

I'm going to do everything you ask!"

While Hans pleaded, Funk held up two fingers. His assistant

fast-forwarded to a preset location on tape 2 and depressed PLAY one

last time. Ilse's voice burned down the wires, cracking with emotion.

Her words were an anguished cry of hope and despair captured during the

session at the point of Luhr's Walther. She had screamed them after

seeing Josef Steuben murdered, believing that she would be killed

herself when her taped statement was completed. Luhr had added it to

the programme himself-the perfect diabolical touch.

"Oh God, Hans!" she wailed. "We did it! I'm going to have a baby! "

She broke into sobs again.

Hans's mouth went dry. For a moment he stood speechless, his face a

graven image of horror. Then he howled from the depths of his soul.

"You fucking swine! I'm coming for her! If she's harmed you'll die

like pigs under the knife so help me God!"

Funk grinned, pleased by the suffering of the young man who had caused

him so much trouble. "Tell Hauer," he growled, "tell him to remember

Sippenhaft."

The line went dead.

With shaking hands Hans set the receiver back in its cradle and turned

to Natterman. "They have her," he said hoarsely. "And they want the

Spandau papers. Where are they, Professor?"

"Hans," Natterman said uncomfortably, "you can't make such a decision in

a fit of anger. You must take time to think."

. Hans's eyes had glazed. His mouth worked silently. "Just give me the

papers," he said finally.

With a desolate sigh the old historian dug the foil packet from his

trouser pocket and turned it slowly in his hand.

"They killed another policeman," Hans said in a robotic voice.

"Ilse said they cut his throat right in front of her."

Hauer's big hands were balled into fists.

Hans reached out to Natterman for the papers, but as he did a simple,

terrible realization struck him. The men who had kidnapped Ilse were

the same men who had gouged the Star of David into Erhard Weiss's chest

with a screwdriver.

His stomach clenched in agony. Never until this moment had he known

true fear.

Hauer's lips had begun to tremble. His jaw muscles flexed furiously.

"Wilhelm Funk is a dead man," he vowed. "I swear that by Steuben's

children. "

"I'm afraid that won't solve your problem," Natterman observed, backing

up a little. "Hans, please, you've got to try to think this thing

through rationally. What do these men want you to do?"

Hans stared unseeing at the old man. A single vision floated behind his

eyes, a searing memory of a Berlin dawn, two years before.

A kidnapped girl ... lithe and blond like Ilse ... the daughter of a

Bremerhaven shipping magnate. They'd fished her out of the Havel in the

gray morning light, her naked body bloated and lifeless, her sightless

eyes wide, her pubic hair matted with river slime. The kidnappers had

thrown her alive into the river with her hands tied behind her. The

thought that Ilse could end up like the wretched girl ...

Hans hadn't eaten a full meal for almost twenty hours, but his stomach

came up anyway. He bolted for the door, tripped over the dead

Afrikaner, and fell retching on the floor. Hauer tensed himself against

the smell, hoping Hans would feel better after relieving his nausea. He

didn't. He rose slowly, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and

stepped toward Natterman, his hand outstretched.

Natterman looked down at the foil packet, backed away a little.

Hauer edged closer. He had seen the flash of hysteria behind Hans's

eyes, and he knew that at this moment Hans was capable of anything.

He had moved just in time.

"Give me those papers!" Hans screamed. He lunged at the professor with

both hands extended, his eyes white with fury. Hauer hesitated, timing

his blow. As Hans's head surged past, he fired off a right jab that

caught him on the point of the chin, spinning him round.

Hauer grabbed him as he fell, easing him stomach-down onto the floor.

Before Natterman could speak, Hauer had handcuffed Hans and sat him up

against the bedroom wall.

"He went mad!" cried Natterman, his eyes wide. "He'd have killed me

for those papers!"

"Do you blame him?" Hauer asked, breathing heavily. He touched Hans's

bruised chin softly. Hauer felt a strange tightening in his throat.

"He'll come to in a minute, " he said, and he coughed to cover the catch

in his voice. "Just lay the papers on his lap. You won't have to worry

after that."

Natterman obeyed, but he looked unconvinced. "Where did you get those

handcuffs?"

"I always keep them with me. They're the most underrated tool in the

police arsenal." Hauer looked Natterman dead in the eye. "Now, I'd

like you to leave me alone with my son, please."

The professor retreated into the bedroom without a word.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

2.-07 A.M. Soviet Sector East Berlin, DDR Harry Richardson woke to the

sound of men shouting. His head still throbbed from the Russian's

pistol blow. Most of the duct tape had been removed from his body, but