by Iles, Greg
He glanced at his watch. The next flight to South Africa took off in just under four hours. Borodin chuckled. The big German Kripo detective had not arrived from Berlin yet, but he would, with predictable German punctuality. And then he would lead Yuri Borodin to the Spandau papers like an elephant leading a lion to water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
11.35 a.m. El Al Flight 331
The deadliest woman in the world stepped out of the forward lavatory of the 747 looking like a grandmother on holiday, a role she assumed with ease. Swallow’s stylish outfit reflected modest wealth; her hair shone with the almost-blue tint unique to elderly ladies still courting their vanity; and she smelled of body powder and a very expensive vintage perfume—an alluring concoction called Claire de Lune. She carefully made her way up the first-class aisle, then, just as she passed Jonas Stern, she stumbled. She cried out in Yiddish—a nice touch—and landed directly beside Stern’s seat.
Gadi Abrams, who’d been sitting in the seat across the aisle, leaped up and helped her to her feet. “Thank you, young man,” she said weakly, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m afraid I’m not used to aeroplanes.”
Stern glanced up. Had he met the woman’s eyes, he might have seen the danger; he might even have recognized her by the dark fire that burned there. But he might not have. The road that had led Swallow to this aeroplane was a long and tortuous one. In any case, he did not meet her eyes. He glanced over at Professor Natterman, who slept noisily beside him, then went back to reading his El Al magazine.
“This flight seems as though it will never end,” Swallow complained.
“It is a long one,” Gadi agreed.
“How much longer, do you think?”
“About five hours.”
Swallow sighed. “It’s worth it in spite of everything. My granddaughter just turned eighteen months old, and I’ve yet to see her.”
“She lives in Johannesburg?” Gadi inquired politely.
“No, Pietersburg. It’s farther to the north, I think.”
Gadi nodded. “Are you all right now?”
“Yes, but I’d better sit down. Thank you again.”
Swallow slowly made her way to her seat, one of three near the spiral staircase leading up to the 747’s cocktail lounge. After situating a small pillow behind her head, she pulled a romance novel from her handbag. Glancing up for a moment, she caught Gadi staring.
The Israelis were professionals—she had to admit that. Though Jonas Stern sat only four rows behind her, his three young escorts had surrounded him in a protective triangle. And with Stern in an aisle seat, no one meaning harm to his slumbering companion could get to him without going through all four Israelis first—an impossible task. Stern himself, however, was a different matter. Swallow could have taken him as she passed only moments ago.
In a way she had. While Gadi helped her up, she had pressed an adhesive-barked micro-transmitter against the underside of Stern’s seat. Everything the Israelis said during the remainder of the flight would be picked up by a tiny receiver in the flesh-toned hearing aid she wore in her right ear. The unit whistled for a few seconds as she dialled in the frequency, but she could clearly hear Professor Natterman snoring in his seat by the window.
“This is Captain Lev Ronen,” announced a disembodied voice with the accent of a Sabra, or native-born Israeli. “As a point of interest, we are now crossing the equator. And about four hundred miles to our left is Lake Victoria, Africa’s largest lake and the source of the Nile. I’m sure our first-time travellers will be glad to know that as we cross into the southern hemisphere, the seasons are reversed. That means we’re flying into summer. We should arrive in Johannesburg on schedule at 5:40 p.m. South African time, and we hope everyone is having a pleasant flight.”
Gadi Abrams leaned across the aisle toward Stern. “Also about four hundred miles to our left,” he said, mocking the flight captain’s officious tone, is Entebbe, site of the July 4th, 1976, rescue of over a hundred Israelis from the hands of international terrorists.” His tone changed to indignation. “You’d think they’d mention it, at least. We are on El Al, for God’s sake.”
Stern gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Old news, Gadi. Besides, you never know who’s flying El Al. We don’t want to offend the paying customers.”
Four rows ahead, Swallow smiled with satisfaction. The conversation had come in loud and clear over her receiver.
“I’m surprised at the number of passengers,” Gadi remarked. “Since you arranged the flight privately, I didn’t expect any.”
Stern chuckled softly. “I arranged this flight thirty hours ago. General Avigur said he would get me to South Africa. He didn’t say he wouldn’t try to defray the cost any way he could.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Two passengers are always air marshals,” Stern reminded him. “Leave the security to them for once and go to sleep. It might be your only chance for a while.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
Stern reclined his plush seat and closed his eyes. “Good night.”
Gadi pulled a wry face and glanced around the First Class cabin. The blue-haired grandmother was the only other passenger up here. That meant the air marshals had to be in Tourist. He considered walking the length of the plane once more to try to pick them out, but decided against it. Stern was right: he needed rest. The old woman was certainly no threat. Reclining his seat, Gadi closed his eyes and, like professional soldiers everywhere, dropped off to sleep only moments after making the decision to do so. His last mental picture was of himself helping the old grandmother to her feet, his good deed for the day.
As the “grandmother” pretended to concentrate on the novel in her lap, a new voice mumbled in her receiver. Professor Natterman had awakened. “What time is it?” he asked groggily.
“Almost lunchtime,” Stern answered, half-asleep already. “How do you feel?”
“I feel like getting some answers is how I feel,” Natterman grumbled. “I think it’s time you told me your half of the story.”
Stern opened his eyes and turned irritably toward the professor, but the large white bandage over Natterman’s lacerated nose kept him civil. He jerked his head toward Gadi, reminding the professor of their agreement not to discuss anything about Rudolf Hess. “What do you want to know, Professor?”
“Everything. What about this Phoenix AG? Why did you come to Berlin in the first place? I want to know why Ilse was taken to South Africa. What’s the significance of that?”
Stern looked over at Gadi. “I’ve thought a lot about that,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but your Nazi angle doesn’t fit here. At least not in the way you think. The Afrikaners are white supremacists, of course, but that’s no secret. They fought against Hitler during the war, and damned valiantly. And in spite of their prejudice against blacks, they’ve got a pretty good record on Jews. They allowed a great deal of Jewish immigration during the war, which is more than a lot of countries did.”
“What about the present day? What are their ties with Germany?”
Stern shook his head. “Limited. During the past several years, South Africa has quietly developed extremely close relations with another country in a very similar geopolitical situation. That country is not West Germany, however, but Israel. It doesn’t sound like we’re flying into a nest of neo-Nazis, does it?”
“No,” Natterman agreed. “But you obviously have some suspicions about South Africa and Germany. Where is the fox in the henhouse?”
“South Africa’s nuclear program. The darkest corner of this dark country.”
“Does South Africa actually possess nuclear weapons? I’ve heard it speculated in the news, but never confirmed.”
Stern smiled wryly. “Oh, I can confirm it for you. In 1979, an American VELA satellite detected a distinctive double flash off the South African coast, in the South Atlantic. That flash was the result of a joint nuclear test carried out by South Africa and Israel.”<
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“How do you know that?”
“Because for all practical purposes, Professor, Israel gave South Africa the bomb. Nuclear weapons are one of the main pillars of the Israeli/South Africa relationship.”
“What? “
“It was an inevitable partnership. Israel developed its first bomb in 1968, but we had several limitations. We couldn’t test our weapons without being detected; South Africa had vast deserts and two oceans. We needed raw uranium and other strategic minerals; South Africa had extensive reserves. South Africa also had a great deal of ready cash. But the main tie was psychological, emotional. As the world closed ranks against apartheid, South Africa grew ever more isolated. Before long it was an international pariah surrounded by hostile enemies. The siege mentality was a natural reaction, and we in Israel are the masters of that particular neurosis.”
“But how do you know all this, Stern?”
The Israeli looked at Natterman for a long time. “You asked me before if I worked for the Mossad, Professor. Right now I am exactly what I told you in the beginning, a retiree. But I have done a bit of work for several government agencies. Shin Beth and the Mossad, yes, but my longest service was with an agency called LAKAM. Have you heard of it?”
Natterman shook his head.
“LAKAM is Israel’s nuclear security force. Not in the sense of operating the weapons, but in protecting them. LAKAM safeguarded Israel’s nuclear program from inception to completion. That’s why I know so much about the South African program.”
“And is this LAKAM work what led you to Berlin? To Spandau?”
“Not exactly. What led me to Spandau was a chain of facts. A very fragile chain with four links that spans three decades. The first link was a warning note—an anonymous, cryptic note written in Cyrillic handwriting and delivered to Israel in 1967. It warned of terrible danger to Israel and spoke of ‘the fire of Armageddon’. This note claimed that the secret of this danger could be found in Spandau. That, of course, was a very broad hint. Did the writer mean Spandau the city? Spandau the prison? What? Two days later, the Six-Day War broke out and the note was dismissed as a warning of the Egyptian attack, probably written by a Russian with a conscience.” Stern rubbed his temples. “Now, up ahead to the early 1970s. I was working for LAKAM by then, and we in the agency became aware that certain German scientists—former Third Reich physicists—were working in the rocketry section of South Africa’s nuclear program. This by itself was not unusual. After all, it was German scientists who built the bombs for America and Russia. But when you consider that the prime minister of South Africa in 1979—the year of the secret Israeli/South African nuclear test—was John Vorster, a man who had supported the Nazis during World War Two, it takes on a rather different significance.
“Now, let’s jump ahead again, to the 1980s. It was then, through contacts in the Mossad, that I became aware of a neo-fascist police organization called Bruderschaft der Phoenix, headquartered in West Berlin—”
“Phoenix!” Natterman exclaimed. “Hurry, Stern, tell me!”
“Again, this by itself was not of great import. It took the fourth and final link to join the others in my mind. Just three weeks ago, the Israeli Foreign Ministry received a typed warning from an anonymous source. The writer obviously knew of the secret Israeli/South African nuclear partnership, and stated that he had personal knowledge that there were some in the South African defence establishment who had anything but Israel’s best interests at heart. The writer claimed he believed that Israel might actually be in danger of a nuclear attack, and that the best line of inquiry for us to pursue was with a South African defence contractor called Phoenix AG.”
Natterman caught his breath. After several moments, he said, “Forgive me, Stern, but there’s something I don’t understand here. You told me you were retired. This situation seems serious enough that Israel would be making a significant effort to investigate it.”
Stern’s smile carried the bitterness of a lifetime’s disillusionment. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? But some people don’t see it that way, Professor. South Africa is Israel’s nuclear partner, remember? No one in Jerusalem wants to upset that status quo. The Israeli/South African ‘special relationship’ is so close that, as we speak, a secret contingency plan exists to remove South Africa’s entire stockpile of nuclear weapons to Israel in the event, that the blacks appear likely to overthrow the government.”
Natterman’s eyes grew wide. “My God. This is all so unbelievable. Why would Israel support a repressive, even genocidal state like South Africa?”
“The Israeli people probably wouldn’t, Professor. But decisions guiding Israel’s nuclear program were never voted on in the Knesset. Israel’s nuclear policy is formed by a very few men who happen to hold the key positions in the government.” Stern sighed. “And some men will do anything in the name of survival. For some Jews, the Holocaust justifies any act to prevent a repetition of history, even a preemptive Holocaust perpetrated by Jews.” Stern reached beneath his seat, withdrew an orange from his leather bag, and slowly began to peel it. “Professor, how much do you know about Israel’s resistance to the British during the Mandate and World War Two?”
Natterman shrugged. “I know about the Haganah.”
“What about the Zionist terrorist groups?”
“The Stern Gang and the Irgun?”
“Yes.”
“Some. Which did you fight with?”
“That is unimportant now. What matters is that prior to World War Two, both groups violently resisted the British occupation of Palestine. But when the war broke out, the two groups split. The Irgun supported the British, rightly believing that Israel could never be born in a world under Hitler. But the Stern Gang believed that driving out the British was more important than defeating the Nazis.”
Natterman’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“The Stern Gang actually sent delegations to meet with representatives of Hitler’s Reich and Mussolini’s Italy. They actually promised to fight for the influence of Germany and Italy in the Middle East, if Hitler and Mussolini would agree to allow Jews to leave their countries and also guarantee the safety of Israel after the war.”
“Madness,” Natterman breathed. “What fools could have believed that a guarantee from Adolf Hitler was worth anything?”
Stern shook his head in disgust. “One of those fools was Yitzhak Shamir, the prime minister of Israel.”
Natterman sat in stunned silence. “Shamir was a Zionist terrorist, wasn’t he? The Stern Gang … my God.”
“And that,” said Stern, “brings us the present, to the new LAKAM. I left the agency seven years ago. At that time it was a model intelligence organization. But under Shamir, LAKAM has grown completely out of control. Up until two years ago, they actually ran a spy against the United States. Jonathan Pollard gave LAKAM information on US weapons systems, satellite capabilities, even nuclear targeting data—the most sensitive intelligence in America. And do you know what Shamir did with this information?” Stern’s tanned face paled with fury. “He sent it to Moscow. That bastard risked the life-giving support of America to prove that Israel could not be told what to do by anyone, even the United States!”
“Does LAKAM know about the Phoenix AG warning?”
Stern answered with bitter sarcasm. “The current chief of LAKAM feels that the Phoenix warning was fabricated by someone who wants to start us on a destructive mole hunt. LAKAM is pursuing the warning, but very slowly, like a man walking on ice. There are ‘constructive discussions’ going on between Jerusalem and Pretoria. The only reason I found out about the Phoenix warning at all was that an old friend at LAKAM felt that the warning was not being taken seriously enough.” Stern smiled mischievously. “That is the main reason I went first to West Berlin rather than South Africa—to stay out of LAKAM’s way. But there were other reasons. The name of the company—Phoenix AG—reminded me of Bruderschaft der Phoenix in Berlin. And when an old friend happened to mention that Spa
ndau Prison was being torn down only two weeks after the warning arrived, the timing seemed impossibly coincidental. All I could think of was the ‘fire of Armageddon’ note that had mentioned Spandau. Spandau as a city had always been too large to investigate, of course. And while Hess—excuse me, Hess’s double—was being held in Spandau Prison, it was one of the most closely guarded buildings in the world. But when I heard it was to be knocked into pieces, well … it was enough to get me on a plane to Berlin.”
“But how are all these things connected?” Natterman asked.
“Where is the direct link between South Africa and Germany?” Stern pursed his lips. “I don’t think there is one, Professor. I think the link runs through England. The British governed South Africa until 1961, remember. They’re a minority now, but a powerful one. Take Phoenix AG—it’s a defence contractor based in South Africa, but the majority stockholder is a young Englishman named Robert Stanton, Lord Grenville. His father and grandfather owned the company before him.”
“Grenville!” Professor Natterman shook his forefinger excitedly. “That’s why you brought me with you. You think this nuclear danger to Israel could somehow be connected to the Hess case. To the English conspirators!”
“Keep your voice down!” Stern glanced across the aisle to make sure Gadi was still asleep. “LAKAM traced the paper used for the Phoenix AG warning to an English mill. Lord Grenville’s family has owned and operated the corporation since 1947. But it still doesn’t add up. Britain has always been anti-Semitic, but what motive could Englishmen have to support fascist groups now? Captain Hauer mentioned German reunification to you. Could these Englishmen stand to make great profits if Germany reunifies? Or could they have been blackmailed all these years by Germans who knew their dark secret? Germans who had secret ends of their own?”
Natterman was shaking his head. “I keep coming back to the past, Stern. Consider our highly-placed clique of Nazi sympathizers in the wartime Parliament. I would imagine they had quite a bit of ‘old boy’ control over British policy vis-a-vis Palestine, wouldn’t you? Think about it. In 1917 Britain promised the Jews a national home in Palestine. Yet while England drifted into war with Hitler—the man who had vowed to exterminate world Jewry—the British government used military force to prevent every European Jew it could from reaching safety in Palestine—the country Britain had already promised them. Was that rational policy? Who really made those decisions? Could those anti-Semitic feelings still be thriving in some families in Britain?”
