Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

open the bedroom door and waddled into the room. "All done," he

announced. "Excellent work, if I do say so myself" Natterman stared at

Hauer in silent fury, then he stormed into the bedroom and slammed the

door.

The forger held the fruits of his labor beneath the overhead light for

Hauer's inspection. The passport bore two excellent frontal shots of

Hans and Hauer, taken against the screen in the bedroom. Both wore

fashionable jackets provided by the forger and looked every inch wealthy

business M GREG ILE'S men. At Hermann's suggestion Hauer had shaved

his mustache; it was the first time he had seen himself without it in

twenty years. He looked ten years younger. With an artist's eye,

Hermann had quickly noted the resemblance between Hans and Hauer and had

suggested they travel as father and son. That way, he'd said, they

would only have to remember one surname-Weber.

"They are good," Hauer agreed.

"The best you'll find, east of Brussels," Hermann assured him.

"You're lucky Germans don't need visas for South Africa. I didn't have

one to work from."

"Start the car, Hans," Hauer commanded.

Hans was gone in an instant. Hauer picked up the passports and slipped

them into his coat pocket. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

he said to the forger.

Hermann made a painful grimace. It was bad enough being forced to work

for it-ee, but to be robbed. The mind simply boggled. The consequences

of refusal, however, were unthinkable. Eight years ago Hauer had sent

the forger to Berlin's Moabit Prison, where he had endured six years of

living hell. Upon release he had resettled in Hamburg to escape Hauer's

prying eyes, but it hadn't worked. Hauer had kept abreast of his

current activities, and he'd made it painfully clear tonight that one

phone call to Hamburg could put Hermann right back into prison for

another stretch. What the hell? Hermann rationalized. Ten thousand

marks isn't too high a price forfreedom.

He could make back the money on just four passports. He walked to the

sofa, reached into his leather camera bag, and brought out a stuffed

manila envelope.

After counting the banknotes, Hauer slipped them into his pocket.

"Nice doing business with you again, Hermann," he said. "Now I want you

to wait for me right here."

He slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. Professor Natterman

sat fuming on the strip@ mattress, holding his hand against his bandaged

nose. "Professor," said Hauer, "here is where we make our peace. I'm

going to South Africa to bring back your granddaughter. I could simply

walk out of here, but I realize that would be stupid. You know things

that could help me. The question is, will you?"

Natterman said nothing; Hauer went on anyway. He needed the professor's

information, but he also wanted to leave the old man some dignity. "I

don't trust that forger," he said. "I need an hour's head start on him.

I want yo, make sure he stays here at least that long. Once he's gone,

shut the cabin, take your things, and drive that Jaguar back to Berlin.

The car belongs to a man nwned Ochs. Here's his card.

"That car's shot to pieces!" Natterman protested.

-You shot it," Hauer reminded him. "Just get it back to him.

He's a Jew, he'll understand. After you've delivered the car, stock up

on enough food to last a week, then get hold of any research materials

you'll need to answer questions about Prisoner Number Seventhe Egyptian

god Bennu, South Africa, and anything else you think might be relevant.

Ten hours from now I want you by your office telephone continuously.

Sleep by it. I've got to know I can count on you. 19

Outside, the borrowed Audi rumbled to life. With a last look at

Natterman, Hauer left the old man sitting on the bed.

He glared at the forger as he passed through the front room.

"Don't get anxious and try to leave too soon, Hermann."

The forger's eyes bulged. Hauer turned. Behind him stood Professor

Natterman, the double-barreled Mannlicher in his hands.

Hauer offered his hand. "Auf Wiederse@n, Professor. Be careful, eh?"

After a moment's hesitation, the old historian took Hauer's hand and

squeezed hard. "You bring my granddaughter back, Captain."

"You have my word."

"And you bring back those papers!"

Hauer nodded once, then he ducked out of the cabin.

Natterman heard a car door slam, then the roar of the Audi as it raced

up the access road. Hermann Rascher stared at the old man, mystified by

the scene he had just witnessed.

"You know, Professor," he said, "there's really no reason for us to hang

around here while@' Natterman jabbed the shotgun into the fat man's

belly.

"Sit down, swine!"

Hermann sat.

5.00 A.Al. U.S. Army Headquarters. West Berlin Colonel Rose stared

into the expectant faces of Sergeant Clary and Detective Schneider.

Clary nodded once, indicating that the tape reels were turning. Rose

spoke into the telephone.

"This is Colonel Rose. Go ahead."

"Colonel, this is Blueblood calling. Repeat, Blueblood."

Rose gasped. "It's Harry! Where the hell are you?"

"Don't say anything, sir. Nothing. This call will terminate in fifty

seconds. In our office,computer you'll find a file coded 'East'-that's

Echo-Alpha-Sierra-Tango. In that file is a list of safe locations in

the DDR. I am now at location four, repeat, four. I don't think I can

get out on my own, Colonel, it's too tight. I suggest you threaten your

opposite number here, and if that doesn't work, roll up network seven,

repeat, seven, and make a trade. I was dead wrong about Hess. This

does have something to do with him. Also with someone or something

called Phoenix. But the key name is Zinoviev, repeat,

Zulu-India-November-OscarVictor-India-Echo-Victor.

Find him and we'll be on track."

Harry took a deep breath. "You've got to get me out, Colonel.

This is big. If I don't hear from you in twenty-four hours, I'm going

to try it on my own. That's all."

"Wait!" Rose shouted.

"He's disconnected, sir," Clary said in a monotone, his eyes on a

voltage-measuring device.

Rose stood and pounded his fist on the desk. "Clary!"

"Sir!"

"You get a squad of uniformed MPs down here now!

Make sure every one has a rifle!"

"What are you going to do?" Schneider asked, alarmed by the American's

hair-trigger temper.

"You heard the man, Detective! I'm rolling up network seven!"

"But he suggested that you threaten the KGB first@ Rose's face reddened.

"Schneider, I don't make threats unless I can back 'em up.

It's a ftiggin' waste of time. When I tell Ivan Kosov that I'll arrest

one of his precious networks if he doesn't let my boy out, those slimy

bastards will be in a holding cell in my stockade! Clary!"

"MPs on the way, sir!"

"Damn straight!" Rose bellowed, reaching into the bottom drawer for his

bottle of Wild Turkey. "Damn straight."

He filled his Lenox shot glass and poured the whiskey down his throat,

feeling his eyes water when it hit bottom.

"Friggin' Rudolf Hess," he muttered. "And Zinoviev. Who the hell is

Zinoviev?"

"I beg your pardon, Colonel?" Schneider asked. "Who are you talking

about?"

"Nobody," Rose mumbled. "Some commie sonofabitch."

He could not have been further from the truth.

5. 19 A. m. mI-5 Headquarters Charles Street, London, England The door

to Sir Neville Shaw's office shook with the force of Wilson's knock.

"One moment, your lordship," Shaw said into the telephone. "What is it,