Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

his hands and mouth were still bound. Unsure of the position of his

captors, he kept his eyes closed. He soon realized that the voices were

coming from an adjacent room. There seemed to be three men arguing,

possibly four. He opened his eyes.

Nothing. Then he discerned a thin horizontal line of dim light-beneath

a door, he supposed. He recognized none of the voices, but they all

spoke Russian. One man seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty

speaking it.

"He can't stay here any longer," said the man with a heavy German

accent. "Not an American. And certainly not this one. I know him.

He's one of Rose's agents."

"Relax, Goltz," said a Russian voice. "This is the East, isn't it?

Ost-the heart of friendly territory. What can happen?"

Goltz. Hariy recognized the name. Axel Goltz, East German Stasi ...

"If you consider East Berlin friendly territory," Goltz said, you should

spend a day on the street here. The people hate us even more than they

hate you."

"You and your Stasi sisters have been letting things slide for too long

over here," Rykov said with contempt. "You don't have the balls for

anything rougher than blackmail."

"You are a fool," Goltz -said with surprising venom. "I command here-in

this house at least-and I say the American goes. Take him to Moscow. if

you wish, just get him out of Berlin. There are too many sharp eyes

here for him to stay invisible."

Rykov, thought Harry, finally making the connection.

Rykov was the Russian captain from Klaus's house. Suddenly the night's

events came rushing back to him. Klaus's suicide, the silenced bullets

thwacking into the wall beside the door, the argument between the young

KGB officers about what to do with himA door hzid slammed in the next

room. The squabble ended instantly. "Where is the American?"

asked a gruff voice.

"In the next room, Comrade Colonel. He's unconscious."

"Bring him in."

Behind the wall, Harry tensed. Colonel, he thought. Which colonel? But

as soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer.

Who but Ivan Kosov-the colonel he'd seen early this morning at Abschnitt

53? A bright vertical bar of light stabbed his eyes.

"Wake up, Major!"

Harry got to his knees, then made an effort to stand.

Rykov helped him.

"You hit me anyway, you bastard," Harry muttered.

"Nothing personal. Just easier."

Rykov seemed to be having difficulty walking. When Harry's eyes sought

the floor for balance, he spied a bloody tear below the knee of Rykov's

trousers, his souvenir from the checkpoint crossing.

Harry looked up as he passed into the next room, and he immediately

recognized four of the five men who awaited him. The gruff-voiced

colonel was Kosov. He lounged in a comfortable chair opposite a

portable television. Between Kosov and a door that Harry hoped led to

the street stood a hard-looking young man dressed from head to toe in

black.

Axel Goltz, the Stasi agent, sat behind a deal table next to Andrei

Ivanov, the corporal from Klaus's house. Goltz had restless eyes and

dark hair cropped close against his skull.

"The major needs a chair," said Kosov. "Misha?"

The black-clad Russian moved lithely to the table, lifted one of the

armless wooden chairs and placed it opposite Kosov. Rykov shoved Harry

into the chair, then ripped the tape from his mouth. The sudden pain

brought tears to his eyes, but passed quickly. He held out his hands to

Misha, who looked questioningly at Kosov.

"No!" Rykov objected. "He doesn't need his hands."

"One gentleman to another," said Harry, his eyes on Kosov.

Kosov chuckled, then nodded to Misha, who broug it out his stiletto and

cut through the sticky mess like tissue paper.

Rykov laid a hand on the Skorpion machine pistol in his belt.

"Now that you're comfortable," said Kosov in heavily accented English,

"what have you to tell me?"

"What do you want to know?"

"What you were doing at Klaus Seeckt's house."

"Routine debriefing," Harry said offhandedly. "Twice monthly."

"He's lying!" Rykov snapped in Russian. "He almost broke down the door

trying to get in!"

Kosov looked to Corporal Ivanov for corroboration.

"He's right," Andrei admitted grudgingly. "Nothing routine about it.

The major also speaks excellent Russian."

"You see, Major?" Kosov said. "There's no point in trying to deceive

me. I regret that my men brought you here at all, of course.

I asked for a German policeman, I got back an American major. An

unfortunate accident. But now that the mistake has been made, I intend

to use the opportunity to ask you a few questions. You would do the

same, I think."

Harry shrugged.

"I simply wish to know the details of your relationship with Klaus

Seeckt. Then I can make arrangements for your safe return to West

Berlin."

Harry almost laughed. Mistake or not, the Russians had kidnapped him.

To return him now would be admitting it, and they wouldn't do that. Even

if Colonel Rose had known he was going to Klaus's house-which Rose

hadn'the would have no way of knowing Harry had been taken into the DDR.

He might eventually suspect it, but by then the chances of getting Harry

back would be.slim. And if the Russians moved him any father east, the

odds fell to zero.

This situation required desperate measures. Shock tactics.

Looking straight at Kosov, Harry crossed his legs and began to speak

flawless, aristocratic Russian.

"You'd better write this down, Kosov. If you bungle this, Chairman

Zemenek will have you back in the Fifth Chief Directorate so fast you

won't have time to pack your shorts.

You'll be chasing filthy Tatars for the rest of your life."

Kosov started, both at the perfection of Richardson's Russian and the

reference to his old job. "What do you know about me, Major?" he asked

warily.

"Only what's necessary. Which isn't much, I'm afraid.

Ivan Leonidovich Kosov: Born Moscow 1943, entered service 1962, excelled

at repression in the provinces-notably Azerbaijan-for the Second Chief

Directorate. That and your father-in-law's influence got you

transferred to Directorate 'K' in 1971, stationed Yugoslavia. A little

more competent than the average K-man, you obtained a posting to the

East Berlin Rezidentura in 1978, where you've performed @uately for the

past ten years."

"Leave us," Kosov told his men.

Axel Goltz spoke up angrily. "But Colonel@' "Now!" bellowed Kosov.

"Only Misha remains."

When the others had left the room, Kosov said, "Your Russian is

excellent, Major. You have a good memory. So what? You think I don't

know as much about you?"

Harry looked over at the predatory Misha standing motionless in the

shadows. "No, Colonel, I don't. There is a gap in your ...

'consciousness,' shall we say?"

Kosov grunted. "What kind of gap?"

"The fact that we occasionally work for the same team.

Broadly speaking. I went to Klaus Seeckt's house tonight to deliver a

message."

"Come now, Major, I would know if you had any connection with KGB."

Harry snorted. "You think you're made aware of everything that happens

in Berlin? Perhaps you are a fool, Kosov."

The Russian paled as he held up a hand to restrain Misha.

'You speak confidently for a man facing death," he said softly.

"I thought you were sending me bapk to West Berlin."

Kosov grimaced. "Tell me, do you have any proof of this fantastic

story? The rich American who secretly serves the worker's paradise?"