Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Harry played out a little more bait. "I assume you, fare miliar with

the Twelfth Department of your Directorate?"

Kosov nodded almost imperceptibly.

"My contact is Yuri Borodin. Klaus Seeckt was one of our conduits."

Kosov blinked. "What can this fiction profit you, Major?

An extra hour of confusion? You are going to Moscow regardless of what

you say here, and it's there your fate will be decided."

Kosov sounded confident, but Harry had seen the doubt flicker into his

eyes at the mention of the Twelfth Department. The Twelfth Department

was an elite branch of the KGB-an all-star team recruited from veterans

of other KGB departments who had proved themselves expert at moving in

international society. Developed under Yuri Andropov, the Twelfth

Department had more autonomy than any other branch of the service; its

agents were allowed to pursue their chosen quarry anywhere in the world.

Harry's personal history of wealth and privilege made him an excellent

target for a man like Yuri Borodin; plus he had seen Borodin in the

company of Klaus Seeckt. He thought his desperate story might stand up

to perhaps an hour's scrutiny.

"Tell me about this mysterious message, Major," said Kosov.

My God, thought Harry. He's buying it. "Sorry, Colonel," he said

gravely. "The message is for Borodin alone."

"You had better tell me something," Kosov warned. "Or I may see fit to

let Misha persuade you. He's most eager to do so."

Harry gave a sardonic smile. "That's about what I'd expect from an old

Second Directorate thug."

Kosov came up out of his chair. He moved very fast for a big man.

For a moment Harry thought he had carried things too far, but the

Russian sat down again, albeit slowly.

Harry didn't want to push Kosov over the edge@nly up to it.

"I'm waiting," Kosov rasped.

Here goes, Harry thought. In the past two minutes he had pieced

together the most plausible story he could from the meager facts he

possessed about the Spandau case. Play out the bait, wait for the

strike . . . "I can tell you this much, Colonel," he said, "U.S.

Military Intelligence is fully aware of the content of the papers found

at Spandau Prison. While your moronic thugs were kidnapping me, our

State Department was considering a request from the British government

to turn over an abstract of those papers to mI-5. My message for

Borodin concerns those papers, and if you don't appreciate the

sensitivity of that issue, it's your misfortune. So, why don't you get

off your fat ass and verify my story before you sabotage what remains of

your less-than-illustrious career."

It was a shot in the dark, but it struck home.

Kosov stood up and studied Harry. "An interesting story, Major.

Tell me, how is our one-eyed friend these. days?"

Harry felt a jolt of confusion. Kosov had blind sighted him.

One-eyed friend? Did Kosov mean Yuri Borodin? As far as Harry knew,

Borodin had two perfectly good eyes. Harry racked his memory for a

one-eyed man, but all he could come up with was a black kid from

Baltimore who'd lost both his eyes to shrapnel in the DMZ. Jesus- "I

don't quite get you, Colonel," he said lamely.

Kosov smiled. "Well, then, Major, how about the Spandau papers?

Did they mention any names?"

"Several. Hess, for one."

"Naturally. Any others?"

"None I'd care to mention," Harry said tersely, feeling the noose

closing around him.

"I'll mention a few, then." The Russian grinned. "Tell me if you

recognize any. Chernov? Frolov?" Kosov waited.

"No? How about Zinoviev?"

Just the house wine, thanks, Harry thought crazily. He felt cold sweat

heading on the back of his neck. Russian names?

What the hell could they have to do with Spandau?

"Well, Major?"

"Zinoviev," Harry whispered.

Kosov blanched. "Rykov!"

The three agents rushed back into the room like hungry Dobermans.

Kosov seized his overcoat from a rack by the door and issued orders

while he pulled it on.

"Hold the major here until I,return from headquarters. I need to call

Moscow and I want a line the Stasi can't tap."

"But Herr Oberst!" Axel Goltz objected, venting his anxiety at last.

"We can't keep an American here! If Rose finds out, the reaction could

be very severe. Why@' "Stop whining!" Kosov snapped.

"Act like a German, for God's sake! You can manage without me for an

hour.

Misha?"

The black-clad killer whipped open the door. Kosov hurried through and

crunched down the snowy drive, his silent footpad on his heels. The

door banged shut.

Harry sat completely still. He couldn't quite believe that his

desperate ploy had worked. One brief glance through the open door had

told him what he wanted to know-that the room they now occupied stood at

ground level, not on the tenth floor of some human warehouse in Pankow-

Quickly he mapped the room in his mind: Andrei and Goltz by the deal

table; a sofa with a broken spine against the far wall; a large

curtained window at right angles to the sofa; Kosov's empty chair,

facing him; one door leading to the room where he had been held earlier,

and another-guarded by Rykovleading outside.

The three agents glowered at each other as if they had been arguing in

the other room.

"You fellows find a lot to talk about back there?" Harry asked in

Russian, his tone insulting.

Andrei scowled, but Rykov only smiled and leaned against the outside

door, resting his injured leg.

Suddenly Axel Goltz spoke up. "What is Kosov doing, Comrades?"

When the Russians didn't respond, Goltz scratched thoughtfully behind

his right ear. "What did the major tell him that weakened his resolve?"

"Relax," said Rykov. "We have everything under control."

Goltz's nostrils flared. "Under control? You don't even know what's

going on! I know this man Richardson, he's a skilled agent. I can't

believe Kosov fell for his tricks."

"The colonel knows what he's doing," Rykov said evenly.

He curled his lip in distaste. "Stop scratching your head, Goltz.

You look like a mangy old hound."

The East German flushed. "It's a wound," he said. He cocked his head

to the side, exposing a small white bandage behind his ear. "A skinhead

threw a brick in a riot. Four stitches to close it."

Rykov snorted with contempt. "Probably a Jew! They'll revenge

themselves on you Germans yet!"

Goltz ground his teeth furiously.

"What tricks of mine were you referring,to?" Harry cut in.

"Perhaps you, like Kosov, are unaware of certain important facts."

"Find another fool, Major," Goltz snapped. "Be glad I'm not in charge

of you."

Harry kept smiling, but inside he shivered. He had always believed the

Stasi far superior to the KGB in all areas of intelligence work, and he

was glad to see Goltz in the minority tonight. Rykov tacitly admined

this with his next question.

"What would you do with him, Goltz, if you were in command?"

"Kill him. Simplest for all parties concerned."

Harry felt a tremor of fear.

"You're a cold one," Rykov observed.

Goltz shrugged.

"What about his intelligence value?"

The Stasi man pulled a wry face. "I don't think he knows a damned thing

about Spandau."

"He might."

"Drug him senseless, then. But he's got to disappear."

"Goltz is right," Harry agreed. "]Leave it to the Germans to come up

with the most efficient solution."

"What the hell does that mean?" Andrei asked from the table.

Now we're getting somewhere, Harry thought. "Just what it seems to