Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

Hitler reached for the door handle, then paused. "By the way, about

those files you have compiled on potential traitors. is Hess among

them?"

Heydrich nodded solemnly.

"Burn his file."

"The moment I return to Berlin, my Fuhrer-" Hitler saluted smartly.

"Guten Abend, Herr Obergruppenfiihrer." the closing door.

In Heydrich's "Heil Hitler!" died against spite of his pounding heart,

he resumed his cross-legged position on the edge of the bed. He sat

absolfately still, and before five minutes passed, his throbbing pulse

had returned to a point of equilibrium that most men of eighteen would

be hard put to equal at rest. He stood deliberately, passed a slim hand

over his blond hair, and walked into the hallHalfway down the stairs, he

heard a ftirtive noise behind him. Eva Braun again? Bener to let it

pass, he thought. But he could not. His predatory instincts were too

strong. With the stealth of a leopard, Heydrich turned and crept back

up the stairs.

He arrived on the second floor just in time to see the round-shouldered

back of Martin Bormann disappear into the bedroom opposite the one Eva

Braun had leaned out of.

Heydrich heard the shallow tinkle of girlish laughter, and as the door

closed he glimpsed a swatch of unclad flesh. For a moment he stood

still. Then, @most as if pulled against his will, he moved up close

against the door.

He heard the laughter again, like cheap crystal. First teasing, then

hysterical, it had a lilt of drunkenness in it. Then a sharp cry of

pain pierced the door. Dry-throated, Heydrich tried to swallow. He

heard another cry. Then a deeper, animal sound began to punctuate the

brittle protests of the woman. Heydrich felt his organ move, then

stiffen. A nerve tic intermittently closed his left eye. Grinding his

teeth, he blocked out the primitive sounds until the spasm ceased.

The grunts grew regular. Heydrich no longer heard the woman.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He opened and closed his right fist

in synchrony with the groans coming from behind the door. The next

sound he heard started the tic again. Only slaps at first-almost

playful, echoing lightlybut the deadened thump of solid blows soon

followed.

Heydrich knew that sound as well as any man on earth. Like an

arrhythmic heartbeat it drove him through each hour, each new day of

conquest.

The woman was protesting again, but her cries were muffled. A pillow,

Heydrich thought distantly. Conflicting emotions struggled for control

of his taut body. Anger, revulsion arousal. He longed to smash open

the door, but whether t@ flay Bormann in disgust or to plunder his share

of the woman, he did not know.

He did neither. He simply stood facing the door, his body rigid as a

steel beam, his brow pouring sweat, and listened.

Coupled with his earlier proximity to the Fuhrer, the stress of this

violently erotic encounter pushed him into a kind of trance. The sound

of the blows deepened, the cries grew closer together, and Heydrich,

with Adolf Hitler's voice still echoing in his ears, waited for the

orgasmic groan that would resolve it all.

It never came.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Two Months Later Reinhard Heydrich felt like a god. Seventy days ago,

when he first heard Hitler impose his operational restrictions on Plan

mordred, Heydrich thought his meteoric rise through the Nazi rarc assas

mate hie by had been stopped dead- To find a way to s not only Winston

Churchill but also King George VI, to do it on a specific day, and

without leaving a smoking gun in German hands? Ridiculous! Yet e@en

before he landed his Fieseler-Storch back at Berlin-Staaken Airport on

that frozen January night, the essential elements Of the plan had

flashed into his mind as if by divine inspiration. The concept was so

ingeniously simple that, if brought off successfully, not only would

Britain be neu with little more than sporadic small-arms rue, but she

would become Germany's strongest ally!

It had taken the Obergruppenfiihrer SD a further sixty-eight days to

determine whether his unprecedented plan could actually be put into

operation. Sixty-eight nerveracking days of frantic intelligence work

carried out under the lidless gaze of Heinrich Himmler: a dozen trips

taken under false pretenses; a hundred agents lied to about the reason

for the questions he had asked them; a thousand scraps of information

gathered from around the globe and funneled through the sieve of the

SS/SD intelligence complex, each tiny piece sucked out of the system

without the knowledge of the ruthless little tyrant who controlled it.

Now, driving back to Obersalzburg beneath a cold, starlit sky, Heydrich

knew that he was ready. The leather briefcase on the seat beside him

contained his ticket to the most exclusive club in the world. Two

months ago he had been a mere subaltern-a loyal centurion charged by his

Caesar with nailing millions of Jews to the Iron Cross of the Reich.

But now-now the centurion had glimpsed the keys to the palace!

Behind Heydrich's glacier-blue eyes, a seething blast furnace of

all-consuming desire firrd his brain. Only one man alive possessed the

kind of power he craved, and Heydrich was on his way to see that man

now. With him he carried the plan that would prove his worthiness to

Hitler beyond doubt, and one day@ne day very soon-the mantle of

dictatorship would pass to him!

Passing through the Obersalzburg gates, he noted the almost casual

attitude of the SS guards. Desultory fighting on all fronts was taking

its toll in efficiency throughout the Reich. What everyone needs is

another good blitzkrieg to wake them up, he thought. And they'll get

one soon enough.

He reminded himself to give the laggards a good dressing down on his way

out.

He parked in the garage beneath the Berghof's enormous picture window

and walked around to the front of the house.

A sergeant of the SS Liebstandarte Adolf Hitler barred the door.

Before Heydrich's boot even touched the first step, the guard instructed

him to turn around. When he did, he saw the last thing he expected:

Adolf Hitler, outfitted in a dark suit, homburg hat, and carrying a

walking stick, stood silent in the snow, watching him. Arc lights

silhouetted, Hitler's harlequin figure. For a moment Heydrich felt as

if he were watching a newsreel in a darkened theater. Then the

FUhrer-for all the world like Charlie Chaplin's caricature of him-turned

and bobbed off across the snow.

"The teahouse," whispered the SS sergeant.

Heydrich caught up with Hitler forty meters from the Berghof, walking

briskly along a deep path cleared through the snow. There was just room

for two to walk abreast.

Heydrich fell in beside Hitler and waited for a cue to begin his report,

but Hitler walked in silence.'Heydrich heard dogs barking in the

distance-the Fuhrer's German shepherds, he guessed-but when Hitler

stopped and called them, they did not come. Unable to restrain himself

any longer, Heydrich took a deep breath and announced: "I have finished

my report, my Fuhrer."

"In the teahouse," Hitler said tersely, and set off again.

Mystified, Heydrich hurried after him. Another twenty minutes' silent

marching brought them to their destination

the round, rustic building where Hitler liked to hold court after

dinner. In contrast to the opulent Berghof, the teahouse had been

furnished for comfort. The circular main room was about twenty-five