Spandau Phoenix

by Iles, Greg

  “Allah took a hand in things,” Stern said.

  For the first time, Karami noticed the masked corpses of the South African commandos. Not far away he saw the body of Pieter Smuts. Then his black eyes lifted, drawn by the gleaming cylinders behind which Stern waited.

  “So there are three,” he said, his voice shallow. “I knew there had to be more. I knew it.”

  Stern waited in silence. In spite of what the X-rays had done to him, he felt strangely awed by the knowledge that his life was now measured in seconds. His mouth felt dry as sawdust.

  “If Hess is dead,” Major Karami wondered aloud, “and Mr Smuts is dead … who are you?”

  Stern poked his head above the bomb casing. Then, slowly, he raised his hands. The exposed copper wires glinted in the dim light.

  With a weight like a cancer in his stomach, Ilyas Karami comprehended what the wires meant. “What do you want?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you want gold? Drugs? Diamonds? For these weapons, my master will grant you a kingdom!”

  Stern crouched lower. He prayed to God the Learjet was well away by now.

  “Why do you consider this mad thing?” Karami asked, genuinely puzzled. “You want to die? You want to be a martyr? Martyrdom is for the sons of Allah, my friend, not good Christians. For rescuing these weapons you will be a hero in my nation! Come out from there and let me make you the richest man in the world! Come out and tell me who you are.”

  Stern laughed. The sound was brittle as a voice from the grave. “We’re both martyrs, Major. Isn’t it funny how that works out?” His face hardened. “I’ll see you in the afterlife, my Arab friend. Shalom.”

  In one terrible instant Ilyas Karami realized that the man facing him across his coveted weapons was a Jew. From the hot core of his being he screamed a curse of pure hatred at his lifelong enemy, at the same time jerking out the pistol he had hidden in the belt behind his back.

  But at that moment Hess jerked up from the floor and clutched at the wires in Stern’s hands. “Deutschland!” he shrieked. “Deutschland Über Alles!”

  Stern swatted the skeletal arms aside, wrapped the two bare wires together, and clenched them in his fist. He smiled sadly, then closed his eyes.

  Karami emptied his pistol as fast as his finger could pull the trigger, but Hess’s still-struggling body shielded Stern from the first bullets. The old Nazi danced horribly in midair, and by the time a slug found Stern it was too late.

  In the blink of an eye, darkness turned to noon. Even with the nose cone of the Learjet pointed away from the blast, the flash blinded everyone inside. Diaz lost control of the aircraft. It pitched over into a screaming, spinning dive, hurtling earthward at over five hundred miles per hour.

  In the cabin, people slammed into each other in the terror of flash blindness. General Steyn screamed in pain. Hauer half-fell past Burton into the cockpit. “Straight up!” he screamed. “Level out!”

  The Lear’s engines whined insanely as the plane plummeted earthward.

  Hauer grabbed the Cuban’s wounded shoulder and squeezed maniacally. “Level out, damn you! The blast wave’s coming! The blast wave!”

  Somehow Diaz managed to pull out of the dive. He had almost succeeded in stabilizing the Lear when the blast wave hit. The solid wall of superheated air tossed the tiny jet like a wave throws a surfboard, pitching it up and forward, then dropping it into a trough of dead air.

  Hauer felt a sudden nausea, as if hydroplaning a car around a curve, then just as suddenly the feeling passed. He heard Diaz cursing furiously from the cockpit as he wrestled with the controls.

  “Is anyone hurt!” Hauer shouted. His vision was slowly returning.”

  “I can’t see!” someone moaned.

  “Holy Mother of God,” General Steyn mumbled. “He did it! Stern actually did it!”

  “I can’t see anything!” someone else cried. “Help me!”

  “The blindness will pass!” Dr Sabri shouted from the floor. “We were lucky! It could have been twice that bad!”

  “The papers!” Gadi muttered, his voice cracking. “The Spandau papers are gone! Jonas is dead! Where is that German bitch?”

  With Ilse now the object of all his rage and frustration, the Israeli scrabbled blindly across the cabin floor in search of his rifle. Hauer had finally had enough. When Gadi’s hand closed around Ilse’s ankle, Hauer lifted the rifle from beneath the Israeli’s sightless eyes and struck him on the side of the head with its stock. Gadi collapsed in a heap. Quickly Hauer collected every weapon he could find—beginning with Burton’s MP-5—and piled them all behind some pillows at the back of the cabin. Then he took Hans’s hand and led him over to Ilse.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Just keep your eyes closed for a minute.”

  Ilse’s arms went around Hauer’s neck as well as Hans’s. “We’re alive,” she said softly. “My God, we’re alive.” She opened her eyes. Tears of relief welled up in them and ran down her cheeks. A smile started across her face; then she pulled up her hand and covered her mouth. “Stern,” she said haltingly. “Herr Stern… he’s dead.”

  As Hauer held Hans and Ilse in his arms, he thought about that. He suspected that the old Israeli would have called the trade more than fair. The mystery of Rudolf Hess would probably remain “unsolved” forever—or at least until the British government opened its secret vaults—but Stern had never cared much about that. What had mattered to him was that the State of Israel had received a new lease on life. A gift from one of its youngest fathers, and eldest sons.

  EPILOGUE

  WASHINGTON

  At 8:47 Pm. Eastern Standard Time last night, a National Weather Office meteorological satellite—RORSAT—recorded an intense flash and heat bloom over the northeastern corner of the Republic of South Africa.

  Weather Office analysts report that the event was consistent with data resulting from a large underground nuclear blast. The Weather Office recorded many such events over the Soviet Union during the 1960s, and believes its opinion to be accurate.

  Both the National Reconnaissance Office and the Pentagon have refused to comment, but it is believed that this incident confirms the existence of a secret nuclear weapons arsenal in South Africa. A similar event was photographed over the Indian Ocean off the South African coast in 1984.

  Weather Office analysts do not have the equipment required to measure the release of radiation into the atmosphere, but they suggest that, with the prevailing winds over the northern Transvaal yesterday, any such radiation would likely have been blown out over the Indian Ocean.

  Several international environmental groups have expressed outrage over the test. National Weather Office analysts place the probable nuclear test site less than 20 miles from the Kruger National Park, one of the richest preserves for wildlife on the African continent. The environmental organization Greenpeace intends to file complaints with both the international Atomic Energy Agency and the United Nations, but the activist group expects that “little will be done.”

  The White House has issued no statement on the event, and government officials in Pretoria and Capetown have bluntly refused to grant interviews, calling the charges alarmist and unfounded. A National Weather Office analyst who refuses to be named gave this comment: Tell the South Africans, “Welcome to the Club.”

  WEST BERLIN-API

  At 4:00 a.m. Central European Time yesterday, an elite counter-terror unit consisting of GSG-9 commandos working in concert with the US Army stormed a Friedrichstrasse police station and cleared it of hostile elements. US Army Colonel Godfrey Rose, the American commander on the scene, stated that a hostage situation had been going on for some time without the knowledge of the press. The terrorists inside the station had not demanded media coverage, Rose said, and it was felt that premature press involvement “could have impeded the rapid resolution of what was not a critical, but rather an unpleasant situation”.

  API has no further information on the terrorists who took over Abschnitt 53, but the West Berli
n mayor’s office has indicated that several West Berlin police hostages died in the assault. Among them was Wilhelm Funk, the prefect of West Berlin police. Funk, along with his fellow officers, will be buried on Friday with full police honours.

  Colonel Rose, who had worked extensively with Funk in the past, called his death “a loss that will be deeply felt, but is best put behind us”.

  The funeral service at the Wilmersdorf cemetery is expected to draw thousands of loyal West Germans.

  Minutes of the Special Inter-Allied Intelligence Conference on Disposition of the Phoenix Case.

  Schloss Bellevue, West Berlin

  Present:

  (US) Colonel Godfrey Rose, Chief of Military Intelligence, West Berlin; US Undersecretary of State John Taylor

  (USSR) Colonel Ivan Kosov; Grigori Zemenek, Chairman of KGB

  (UK) Sir Neville Shaw, Director General MI-5; Peter Billingsley, Special Counsel to Her Majesty

  (FRG) Senator Karl Holer, Aide to the Chancellor; Hans-Dietrich Muller, Director of Operations for the BND (West German Intelligence)

  Meeting chaired by Undersecretary Taylor.

  Following passage of the reading of records excerpted from the questioning of Julius K. Schneider, Kripo Detective First Grade:

  [Taylor] Detective Schneider, is it your opinion, then, that the Russians will carry through with their purge of Stasi officers who are listed on Captain Hauer’s list?

  [Zemenek] I strenuously object, Mr Undersecretary! I have assured this council that all appropriate measures are being taken.

  [Taylor] Then you should have no objection to Herr Schneider answering the question.

  [Schneider] I believe the Russians will vigorously pursue such a purge. (pause) It’s the political members of Phoenix I worry about, sir, on both sides of the Wall. I doubt that Captain Hauer’s list contained a full

  [Müller] Objection. There is no evidence whatsoever that the Phoenix cult has influence in the political hierarchy of the Federal Republic. If there is such evidence, our Russian comrades should force the Stasi to open their infamous blackmail files, so that we may see who is vulnerable to coercion.

  [Hofer] I do not think that will be necessary, gentlemen. The Chancellor has full confidence that our colleagues in the BND can root out whatever remains of this atavistic, but entirely anomalous reversion to the Nazi period of Germany’s history.

  [unintelligible grumbling on all sides]

  [Taylor] Gentlemen, I understand the ramifications of the Phoenix matter. What I’m having difficulty accepting is that Rudolf Hess actually survived the war and lived until just a few days ago. The man would have been over ninety years old.

  [Rose] (laughter) Ever watch the Today show, Mr Undersecretary?

  [Taylor] I don’t follow you, Colonel.

  [Rose] Every morning Willard Scott flashes up pictures of people having their birthdays. Every picture he puts up is of someone over a hundred years old. Hell, Prisoner Number Seven only died six weeks ago!

  [Billingsley] (clears throat) Gentlemen, I am loath to waste Detective Schneider’s valuable time with trivialities. If I may, I would like to return to the question of the Hess material. The security of the Spandau papers, the Zinoviev papers, and other related artifacts. Her Majesty’s government is most concerned to know that all such material is now in the possession of the United States government, particularly, in Colonel Rose’s Military Intelligence office here in West Berlin. Detective Schneider?

  [Schneider] Sir?

  [Billingsley] Is it your opinion that all tangible evidence of Rudolf Hess’s actual mission in 1941 has now been suppressed? That no physical artifacts remain?

  [Schneider] Artifacts?

  [Billingsley] Photocopies, photographs, tapes, et cetera?

  [Schneider] (lengthy pause) To the best of my knowledge, that is true.

  [Shaw] Frankly, I’m much more concerned about the Russian promise. For the record, I want us all to be absolutely clear on that. In exchange for the list of Phoenix members compiled by Captain Hauer, the Soviet government will drop all public pursuit of the Rudolf Hess case.

  [Kosov] (burst of unintelligible Russian)

  [Zemenek] Colonel Kosov! I apologize, gentlemen. Yes, that is the agreement. My signature carries the weight of the Politburo.

  [Billingsley] Thank you, Mr Chairman. And are we unanimously agreed, then that the Israeli government will not be informed of the contents of any of these documents?

  [Rose] From what we’ve learned about the secret Israeli/South African nuclear agreements, and the involvement of Rudolf Hess, I doubt the Israelis would make the story public even if they knew.

  [sounds of agreement]

  [Taylor] Well, then, gentlemen. If we’ve finished with Detective Schneider, may I suggest that we adjourn for lunch? We can resume at two p.m.

  [Abstract concluded]

  1.45 Pm. Martin Luther Hospital. British Sector, West Berlin

  Professor Natterman looked up in surprise from his hospital bed. Framed in the doorway was the huge, hatted figure of the Kripo detective whom Natterman had last seen killing a Russian in a South African hotel room. Natterman shook his head to clear the fog of pain medication.

  “Guten Abend, Professor,” Schneider said.

  Natterman nodded.

  “You look worse than you did in South Africa.”

  “Infection,” Natterman explained. “By the time I reached a hospital here in Germany, sepsis had set in. They say I’ll be cured in two weeks or so.” Schneider smiled. “Good for you.” He removed his hat and overcoat and stepped closer to the hospital bed. “You know, Professor, I just came from a meeting where a lot of Allied officials asked me a lot of questions about the Hess case.”

  Natterman looked suddenly wary. “They wanted to know if any evidence of the truth remained. If there were any photocopies, tapes, anything like that. You know? When I thought about it, I did seem to remember some photographs Captain Hauer had in the hotel room. Or negatives.”

  Natterman lay still as a stone.

  Schneider sniffed the hospital air with distaste. “I hate these places,” he said. “Whenever I come, people I know seem to die.” He laid an arm on Natterman’s shoulder. “I told those bureaucrats nothing survived. To hell with them, you know?”

  Natterman said nothing.

  “But I’ve been thinking,” Schneider went on, “about what should happen to evidence like that. If it really existed, of course. Should it be trumpeted in the press, or in a book? Rehashed for the millionth time like all the other Nazi history? Or should it be buried, like the Allies want it to be?”

  After a long silence, Natterman said, “I’ve been doing some thinking too, Detective. I’ve decided that the decision should not be up to us. To Germans.”

  Schneider nodded slowly.

  “Help me out of bed,” Natterman said suddenly.

  “What? The doctors said I couldn’t visit you more than ten minutes. You can’t get up.”

  Natterman’s face contorted in pain as he pulled something from beneath his bedclothes. An envelope. “I’ve got something I need to deliver,” he said. “And I want to make sure you take it where I want it to go. So, help me up.”

  “How do we get past the doctors?”

  “You’re a policeman, aren’t you?”

  Schneider put on his hat and overcoat, then lifted the old man out of bed as if he were a child.

  As he walked into the Wilmersdorf Post Office building, Schneider turned and took a glance at the old historian’s face framed in the open window of the taxi. It was flushed by the freezing wind but he kept the window down as he watched the policeman taking his letter into the post office.

  Inside, Schneider withdrew Natterman’s envelope from his coat pocket. When he saw the address scrawled on the paper, he smiled. Schneider suspected it had taken a great act of sacrifice on the professor’s part to give up what this envelope contained. If it contained what Schneider thought it did. Unable to resist the tempta
tion, Schneider took a small knife from his pocket, slit open the envelope, and looked inside.

  He saw several strips of black-and-white photographic negatives. He held one up to the light. He saw what could only be Latin. The Spandau papers. The envelope also contained a note, written on a piece of hospital notepaper. It said:

  To whom it may concern:

  I imagine your superiors will know what to do with these. The German who wrote these words wanted his story told, but it is for your people to decide what is best.

  Signed, A good German

  Schneider folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope. Then, ignoring a long line, he stepped up to the postal counter. The clerk made an extremely rude face and motioned for him to move to the back of the line.

  Schneider pulled out his wallet, threw a banknote on the counter, and showed the clerk his Kripo ID. “Polizei,” he grunted. “Give me some tape.”

  The clerk handed Schneider a tape dispenser.

  Schneider carefully resealed the envelope; then he shoved it across to the clerk. “You make sure this gets where it’s going,” he said. “And no slip-ups. It’s Polizei business.”

  The clerk snatched the envelope and stuffed it behind his counter. He acted annoyed, but Schneider could tell he’d gotten the message.

  Schneider pulled his coat collar around his big neck and ambled out into the freezing Berlin wind.

  He nodded to Professor Natterman; then he grinned. He’ll get better now, he thought.

  Inside the post office, the clerk jerked the envelope out of its slot and read the address.

  Israeli Ambassador

  c/o Israeli Embassy

  5300 Bonn 2

  Simrock Allee #2

  Bonn, Germany

  The return address was the same.

  “Jews in the damned police department,” the clerk muttered. “What the hell is happening to this country?”