Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

trees behind him. ke? he wondered. No. He stumbled back, thinking he

would get the Mannlicher from the car. Then he remembered dropping it

at Karl's grave.

With panic knotting inside his chest, he scrambled toward the Jag,

planning to drive around or even over the log to get to the main road.

He had one leg inside the car when a voice froze him motionless.

"Herr Professor?"

Natterman whirled, but saw nothing.

"Herr Professor! May I speak with you for a moment?"

Again! Where had the voice come from? The brush on the opposite side

of the road? The trees further on? Natterman tried to calm himself.

Might a neighbor have come out to investigate last night's shots in the

light of morning? These days even country people left such things to

the police.

Backing against the Jaguar, he called, "Who's out there?

What do you want?"

"Only to speak with you!" the voice replied. "I mean you no harm."

"Come out, then! Why do you hide yourselp."

A tall dark-skinned man stepped noiselessly from the trees twenty meters

up the road. "One has to be careful," he said, and then he smiled. "I

wouldn't want to wind up like your Afrikaner friend."

Natterman stared fearftilly at the stranger. He felt he knew the man

from somewhere. Suddenly he had it. "You're the man from the train!"

he cried. "Stern!"

The Israeli smiled. "You have an excellent memory, Professor."

"My God! Did you follow me here?" Natterman took a step back toward

the Jaguar. "Are you in league with the Afrikaner?"

I

7-284 "Yes, I followed you here. No, I'm not in league with the

Afiikaner. I'm here to help you, Professor."

Natterman pointed a finger at the Israeli. "What happened to your

British accent?"

Stern chuckled. "It comes, it goes."

"You must have been here last nigh.. Why didn't you help me?"

"I did help you. I stopped that Al-tikaner from going back inside the

cabin and killing you. By the time I'd finished dealing with him, your

Polizei friends had arrived."

"Why didn't you come forward then?"

"For all I knew, Professor, you had come here specifically to meet that

Afrikaner. The same holds true for your friends.

I needed certain assurances about your motives."

"You're mad," Natterman declared. "Who the devil are you?"

Stern seemed to search for words. "Call me a concerned citizen," he

said finally. "I'm retired, but I keep myself wellinformed in the area

that you've stumbled into with such dire consequences for yourself and

your family."

"And what area is that?"

"The security of the State of Israel."

"What?" Natterman gaped. "Are you a Nazi-hunter?"

"You're not a historian!"

Stern laughed again. "Professional jealousy, Professor?

Don't worry. I'm a historian of sorts, but not like you.

You've studied history all your life-I have lived it."

Natterman scowled. "And what have you accomplished, my arrogant

friend?"

"Not enough, I'm afraid."

"What do you want from me?"

'Everything you know about the document that Sergeant Apfel discovered

in the ruins of SpandEiu Prison."

Natterman paled. "But-how do you know?"

Stern glanced at his watch. "Professor, I haven't been more than five

hundred meters from those papers since they were discovered. I know the

British-and the Russians are searching like mad for them. I know about

Hauer, Apfel, and your granddaughter. I know you made a copy of the

papers in your office at the Free University, which you mailed to a

friend for safekeeping. I know that Hauer and Apfel have taken away the

six pages which were not stolen by the rikaner. I know-"

"Stop!" cried Natterman. "Where are the other three pages9' "In'my

pocket.. Our Afrikaner friend was kind enough to give them to me, after

a little friendly persuasion."

Natterman shivered, realizing that Stern meant torture.

But ambition overpowered his fear. "Give them back to me," he demanded.

"They're mine."

Stern smiled. "I hope you haven't deluded yourself into believing that.

These papers belong to no single man. Now, Professor, I'd like to ask

you some questions."

Natterman recoiled. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because you have no choice."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Natterman grumbled.

"I assure you, Professor, if I'd wanted the papers, I could have taken

them any time in the last sixteen hours."

Natterman felt a flash of anger, but something told him Stern was

telling the truth. The same instinct told him that to resist the

Israeli would be pointless, that this man who had materialized out of

the snow like a ghost would get the information he wanted, one way or

another. "All right," he said grudgingly, "Prisoner Number Seven,"

Stern said brusquely. "The papers prove he was not Hess?"

"I believe they do," the old historian said warily.

"Where was the double substituted?"

"Hess picked up the double in Denmark. They flew to Britain together.

The double was part of the plan all along' Hess bailed out the moment

they reached the Scottish coast, over a place called Holy Island."

Stern digested this quickly. "And his mission?"

"The double didn't know Hess's mission, only his own.

After Hess bailed out, the double was to fly on toward Dungavel Castle

and await some sort of radio signal from Hess. If he received it, he

was to parachute down and impersonate Hess for as long as he could."

Stern's eyes narrowed. "And if he didn't receive the signal?"

Natterman smiled wryly. "He was to fly out to sea, take cyanide, and

ditch the plane. Standard SS procedure."

Stern smiled cynically. "Nazi melodrama. Few Occidentals have the

nerve or the fanatical loyalty required to sacrifice themselves in cold

blood." The Israeli's eyes moved restlessly as he pieced the rest of

the story together. "So when the double turned back and jumped, he was

disobeying orders. He went ahead and impersonated Hess as if he had

received the signal ... and the British believed him."

Natterman listened to these deductions in silence. "Or perhaps they

didn't believe him," Stern mused. "It doesn't really matter. What

matters is this: Who did the real Hess fly there to see? And why in

God's name should anyone in South Africa give a damn about it?"

"Now that you know what the papers say," said Natterman, "what do you

intend to do?"

"I told you, Professor, my interest is not in the Hess case."

Stern's hand slipped into his trouser pocket, fingered something there.

"Long before the death of Prisoner Number Seven, I had reason to

investigate Spandau. My mmon had nothing to do with Hess@everything to

do with the safety of Israel. But until Number Seven's death, gaining

access to Spandau was virtually impossible." Stern paused, apparently

conducting some debate with himself "Tell me, Professor," he said

suddenly, "does the Spandau diary mention weapons or scientific

materials of any type?"

Natterman blinked in confusion. "Weapons? Herr Stern, the Spandau

diary has nothing whatsoever to do with any kind of weapons."

"Are you positive?"

"Absolutely. What is it, suddenly? First Hauer badgers me about

reunification, now you ask me about weapon@' "Reunification?" Stern

asked sharply.

"Oh, it's nonsense," Natterman said. "These papers deal only with the

Hess case. They are going to expose those who share responsibility for

the scars on Germany's national pride.Stern's suspicious face hardened.