Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

"I'm afraid there's new infection festering beneath those old scars," he

saidd coldly.

"What the devil do you mean?"

"Professor, I don't care if you're after academic fame, or if you want

to ease Germany's national guilt." The Israeli waved away Natterman's

protests. "I care about the past only insofar as it impacts the present

NW the -future. The people who are after these papers are worried about

a lot more than history books. I tried to interrogate that Afrikaner.

protect som Professor. He had the crazy eyes, did you notice? With only

one arm he fought like a tiger, and before he died he screamed something

very startling at me. It was in Afrikaans-which I don't speak-but I

knew enough Dutch to translate it. Roughly, it was 'Death to. Israel!

Death to Zion!"' Stern paused. "He didn't even know I was Jewish."

Natterman looked thoughtful. "He said something similar to me in the

cabin. He called me a 'Jew maggot,' I believe."

Stern raised an eyebrow. "You don't find that curious?

Why should a South African have some fixation on Jews?

Or on Israel?"

"I never considered it until now."

Stern glanced back toward the main road as the drone of a heavy truck

filled the woods. "Tell me," he said, "are Hauer and Apfel flying

directly to South Africa?"

Natterman's eyes grew wide. "You know their destination?"

"Answer me!"

Natterman held out but a moment more. "Yes!" he blurted. "My

granddaughter is being held prisoner there. The kidnappers instructed

Hans by phone to leave today from Frankfurt."

"With the Spandau papers as ransom?"

"Yes, but Hauer has some kind of rescue plan up his sleeve."

Stern looked off into the dark forest. Frozen limbs cracked in the

slowly rising sun. Icicles stretched earthward, reaching it one drop at

a time. "The diary is incomplete now," he murmured. "Who is aware of

that' "No one," Nanerman confessed. "Only you and I."

Stern turned and eyed the professor appraisingly. "That is good for us,

but very dangerous for your granddaughter. Tell me, what kind of man is

this Captain Hauer?"

"Tough. Very tough."

"And the boy?"

"Angry ... frightened to death. Untested."

Stern nodded. "One thing has puzzled me from the beginning, Professor.

Why has Captain Hauer-a man nearing retirement, a man whose own

personnel file shows him to be a member of a neofascist police

organization-sacrificed his pension and possibly his life to help this

apparently innocent young sergeant?"

Natterman smiled at the irony. -Hauer is Hans's father.

It's a complicated family matter. Very few people know about it."

Stern took a deep, satisfying breath, as if this last bit of information

had completed some circle in his mind.

'You must tell me who you are," Natterman demanded.

"Are you a spy? Are you really an Israeli?" To the professor's

amazement, Stern turned suddenly on his heel and without a word marched

down the lane toward the main road.

"Where are you going?" Natterman cried.

"South Africa, Professor! Get that log out of the road if you want to

come!"

Natterman's jaw dropped in astonishment. "But I have no "in an hour you

shall!" Stern caUed, then he disappeared amnd the curve.

As the huffing professor wresded the rotted tree trunk over a snowdrift

at the lane's edge, he heard the sound of an approaching engine. Seconds

later, a big blue Mercedes rounded the curve from the direction of the

main road and stopped beside him. At the wheel sat Jonas Stern. In the

backseat, laid out and trussed like a Christmas turkey, Hermann the

forger jerked his head back and forth in impotent rage.

"Get in," said Stern. "I thought this fellow might come in handy, so I

invited him to stay for a while."

Too surprised to speak, Natterman climbed into the car and stared back

at Hermann as they drove back to the cabin.

"Is the cabin phone still working?" Stern asked.

Natterman nodded.

"I've quite a few calls to make, but soon we shall be on a plane bound

for Israel. And from there, South Africa."

"Why Israel? Why not fly straight to South Africa?"

Stern skidded to a stop before the battered cabin. "We have some

packages to pick up. Now, untie that fool while I get his equipment.

I have much to arrange before we can be on our way."

Like a dazed recruit of eighteen, the old historian followed the

Israeli's orders, a little afraid, but grateful to be part of the chase

at last.

555 Pm. Sonnonalloo Checkpoint.

American Sedor, West Berlin Harry Richardson walked slowly toward the

barrier post on the eastern side of the Berlin Wall. In spite of

Kosov's assurances to Colonel Rose, Harry still half-expected to be

arrested at the checkpoint. He walked quickly past the Fmt German

documents-control booth, then stopped as instructed at the

currency-check station. Glancing right, he saw two pale faces peering

out of the warmly lit observation window.

One hovered above the red shoulder boards of a KGB colonel: Ivan Kosov.

The other, angrier face belonged to Captain Dmitri Rykov. A bad week

altogether for the young chekist, Harry thought. He tipped his head at

Rykov, then walked on.

The gray sky had darkened. Harry could just make out the U.S, Army Ford

waiting on the American side of the Wall, parked beyond the harsh glow

of the checkpoint area, motor running. Beside the Ford, a restless line

of cars and lorries waited to pass through the blocked checkpoint. Fifty

yards closer, the door to the West Berlin customs booth opened suddenly

and a young border policeman stepped out. Behind him emerged Colonel

Rose, wearing a long olive-drab greatcoat. Then came two men wearing

civilian clothes and handcuffs, followed by Sergeant Clary, who carried

a Colt .45 in his right hand.

Harry heard footsteps behind him, then felt Kosov's hand grip his upper

arm. Twenty seconds later, seven men stood awkwardly around the

white-painted line that marked the absolute boundary between East and

West Berlin-five on the American side, two on the Soviet. Tonight

protocols were few. With a nod Kosov signaled the . two handcuffed

Soviet illegals to step over the line. As they did, he released his

grip on Harry's arm- Harry stepped across the line. He breathed a

heartfelt sigh of relief when Clary clapped him on the back in welcome.

Kosov looked at Rose. "I commend your nerve in negotiating this

exchange, Colonel. Your pragmatic style is somewhat surprising in an

American. Next time, however@' Rose turned and marched away without a

word. Sergeant Clary and the border policeman followed him. Before

Harry could turn, however, Kosov reached out and caught hold of his arm.

"Axel Goltz is dead," he growled.

"Does that bother you?"

"What bothers me is that I don't understand why he did what he did.

Since you killed him, I doubt very much that he worked for you.

And given that, I must begin to take seriously the nationalistic drivel

he spouted off before he shot Corporal Ivanov. He mentioned something

called Phoenix, I believe? Have you heard of this?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure. It's about a hundred miles south of Tucson,

isn't it?"

Kosov smiled coldly. "Have it your way, Major. I would prefer that our

two services collaborate on the Hess case. All my country wants is for

the truth to be exposed to the world.

When Germany begins to stir, even traditional enemies must join forces."

"Someone should have told Stalin that in 1939," Harry observed.