Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

strongest correction, the only real foundation for such a peace was the

widespread belief in England that Germany represented the last and

strongest possible barrier against an expansionist-minded Russia.

Against communism."

"That's freshman history," said Natteirinan. "What's your point?"

"My point is that things may not be so different now. The Soviet Union

is disintegrating, Professor. The heart of the military colossus is

economic chaos; the great warrior is starving inside his armor.

Russia's provinces and satellites seethe with resentment and sedition.

One day not so long from now, Professor, the Soviet Union could

explode."

"And?"

"And I'm not the only fool who knows that! I'm saying

It

that some people may still believe that Germany represents the best

natural barrier against Russia, the unstable colossus."

"Germany? As a barrier to Russia?"

Stern smiled coldly. "Not Germany as you know it. But a Germany

reunited. Reunited and armed with nuclear weapons. Its own nuclear

weapons."

"No," Natterman breathed. "That can't be true. If we Germans wanted

nuclear weapons, we could have developed them ourselves long ago. We

invented the ballistic missile, for God's sake!"

Stern snorted. "It's no more fantastic than your fairy tale about

Rudolf Hess."

"Hess is alive!" Natterman insisted. "I know it!"

Stern's face hardened. "Whether he is or he isn't, Professor, I don't

want you mentioning his name in front of anyone from this moment

forward. You understand? No one. Not friends, not family. Fantasies

like yours can produce hysterical responses in some people."

"But not in you," Natterman said, eyeing the Israeli closely.

"Since you think Hess is alive, Professor," Stern said gamely, "tell me

this. If Hess survived his mission to England, why didn't he return to

Germany? To his beloved Fuhrer?"

Natterman opened his mouth to speak, then realized that he did not have

an answer. "I won't know that until I know what Hess's real mission

was," he said. "Until we find Hess himself."

Stern swung onto the access road for Frankfurt-Main International

Airport. "Professor," he said, "we are after two different things.

You're obsessed with the past, I fight in the present. But the Hess

case links us. We're on a road we cannot see, and at the end of it, I

fear, lies something as evil as human beings can devise. I believe that

the danger that exists now came out of the past. But I can't rip away

the curtain of time and see what ill-begotten proposition Rudolf Hess

carried to England forty-seven years ago."

Stern flicked his lights and passed a slow-moving BMW. "So you know

what I think? I think maybe having a German history professor along

with me is the next best thing. Even if he is an ambitious,

close-mouthed goyim who thinks he's Simon Wiesenthal."

Stern swung the car into the TICKETING/CHF-CK-IN lane.

When he had parked, Natterman climbed out and looked at him across the

car's roof. "I just hope you're not condemning my granddaughter to

death by making this stupid side nip to Israel," he growled.

Stern bunched his coat collar higher around his neck.

"This mystery has waited half a century to be solved, Professor.

It can wait one more day."

He turned and hurried into the terminal.

I wonder, Natterman asked himself, walking toward the huge glass doors.

I wonder if it can.

THE PLAN NAZI He is insane. He is the Dove of Peice. He is Messiah. He

is Hitler's prince.

He is the one ckan honest man they've got He is the worst assassin of

the la He has a mission to preserve mankind Hes non@ohouc. He was a

"b@" He has been dotty since the age of ten.

But all the dine was top of Hitlers men ...

"Hess, the Deputy Fuhrer"

By A.P. HERBERT, 1.941

after Hess par"huted into England

CHAPTER TWENTY

January 7, 1941, The Berghot The Bavarian Alps Rudolf Hess stood alone

before the great picture window of Adolf Hitler's Alpine headquarters

and waited for his Fuhrer. Hess was a big man, with an addete's

body-broad across the shoulders and, even at forty-seven, narrow through

the waist-yet Hitler's window dwarfed him. Like all things designed by

or for the Fuhrer, it was the largest in the world.

Silhouetted against its Olympian panorama, Hess looked like a tiny extra

in the corner of a movie screen.

Deep in the valley below him, the village of Berchtesgaden slept

peacefully. Beyond it the magnificent Untersberg rose skyward, covered

with fresh January snow. Far to the north Hess could just see the

rooftops of Salzburg. He could understand why the Fuhrer retreated to

this mountain eyrie when the pressures of the war became too onerous.

This was one of those times. As Hess stared out at the mountain, a

stabbing pain pierced his stomach. He bent double, clenching his

abdomen with his heavy-muscled forearms until the agony abated. He had

endured these attacks for three weeks now, each in stoic silence. For

he knew it was no organic toxin that caused the pain, but anxiety-a

terrible, withering apprehension. The first,attack had struck him on

December 18, less than twelve hours after Hitler issued his secret

Directive Number 21. In that order the Fuhrer had commanded that all

preparations for plan Barbarossa-the full-scale invasion of Soviet

Russia-be completed by May 15 of this year.

Hess regarded Directive 21 as insanity, and he was not alone.

Some of the Wehrmacht's most gifted generals felt the same. Hess felt

no moral qualms about betraying Stalin or attacking Russia. If a few

million Russians had to die to create new living space for Germans, so

be it. But to attempt the invasion now, while England remained unbeaten

in the west? Madness!

Hess had a single hope. If peace with England could somehow be secured

before Barbarossa was launched, suicidal tragedy might yet be averted.

Just six months ago Hitler had offered peace to the British from the

floor of the Reichstag, and Winston Churchill had immediately answered

with a resounding "No!" Yet that had not discouraged Hess.

With the help of Professor Karl Haushofer, a family friend, he had sent

a sub-rosa letter to England proposing a secret meeting in Lisbon

between himself and Douglas Hamilton, the Premier Duke of Scotland.

The subject to be discussed: AngloGerman peace. The Duke of Hamilton

was renowned as the first man to fly over Mount Everest, and Hess liked

the idea of dealing with a fellow flyer. He himself had won the

dangerous air race around the Zugspitze, Germany's highest peak.

Hess had met Hamilton briefly at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, and the

dashing young duke had seemed just the type of fellow who could

short-circuit the tedious process of diplomacy and bring Churchill to

his senses.

Yet three months had passed since the peace letter began its circuitous

journey to England, and still Hess had received no answer.

For the first few weeks he hadn't worried too much; Hitler had given

tacit consent to the peace feeler, and gratefully he hadn't seemed too

disappointed when the effort did not immediately pan out.

Even as weeks turned to months-while Hess grew more agitated with each

passing day-Hitler seemed unconcerned. Then on December 18, Hess, to

his horror, discovered the reason for the Fuhrer's uncharacteristic

patience. Hitler meant to invade Russia whether peace with England had

been secured or not! From that day forward Hess had prayed despqrately