The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2

by Greg Iles

  "You speak excellent Russian, Major. And I am but a lowly captain, to

  answer your question. Captain Dmitri Rykov."

  "What are you doing so far from home, Captain?"

  "Am I so far from home?" Rykov asked gamely. "A debatable point.

  But I'm protecting the interests of my country, of course."

  The young man's candor was an unveiled threat. "I see," Harry said

  warily. "I also note that we have a mutual friend," he observed, trying

  to shift the focus away from himself. I In the foyer Klaus turned

  deathly pale.

  "Yes," Rykov agreed, giving Klaus a predatory I glance.

  "This is proving to be an enlightening evening. Take his gun, Andrei.

  No foolish heroics please, Klaus. It's not your style."

  The East German slumped against the foyer wall, his pistol hanging

  slack. He looked broken, already resigned to the grisly fate that

  undoubtedly awaited him in Moscow. Corporal Andrei Ivanov moved to

  disarm him.

  "As you can see, Major," Rykov continued, "you've stumbled upon us at a

  most inopportune time. I'll certainly speak to my superiors about it,

  but I suspect that your unfortunate timing may cost you your life-"

  Before Andrei could reach the unfortunate Klaus, the East German raised

  the Makarov to his own temple and fired.

  The sheer madness of the act stunned everyone, causing a moment of

  confusion. In desperation Harry bolted for the door. He had his

  fingers on the brass door handle when someone peppered the wall beside

  him with a burst from a silenced machine pistol.

  "Don't move, Major!" Captain Rykov ordered, his voice strained but

  even.

  Harry let his fingers fall from the handle. He turned around slowly. In

  the time it had taken him to reach the door, the Russians behind him had

  been transformed from a quiet group of social acquaintances into a squad

  of paramilitary soldiers moving in concert to control the unexpected

  emergency. Two men knelt over Klaus's body, checking for signs of life;

  two others covered the front and rear windows of the house.

  Rykov issued orders.

  "Yuri, get the car. Major, move back into the room. Now!"

  Rykov tapped the shoulder of a young man leaning over Klaus's corpse.

  "Leave him, Andrei. Touch nothing. Klaus was a traitor; he deserved a

  coward's death. Leave the gun in his hand. We couldn't have set this

  up better ourselves."

  "Shouldn't we take him along?" Andrei asked. "The Kriminalpolizei

  aren't stupid."

  Rykov's eyes gleamed. "Ideally, I suppose. But we won't have room for

  him."

  "What about the weapons compartment?"

  "The major will be in there." Rykov turned to Harry.

  You don't want to spend the next hour hugging a corpse, do you, Major?"

  Harry's mind raced. If this Russian intended to kidnap an American army

  officer from the heart of tightly controlled West Berlin, something very

  big indeed was going on. And to Harry's mind, that something could only

  be the events at Spandau Prison.

  "Kosov won't like this," he said, remembering seeing the Russian colonel

  at Abschnitt 53 this morning. "You better take some time to think,

  Captain."

  Rykov smiled. "You're very clever, Major."

  The sound of an engine rumbled through the front door.

  "That's Yuri," said Rykov. "All right, Major, let's go."

  Harry didn't move.

  "Conscious or unconscious, I don't care. But I must tell you, it's

  never quite as clean as the movies when you bash someone in the back of

  the head with a pistol."

  Harry moved. He couldn't warn Colonel Rose if he was dead.

  It was only a few steps from the front door to the car, a black Mercedes

  190. The Russians crowded close around him all the way.

  There's got to be a way out, thought Harry.

  Got to be. I've got to warnDmitri Rykov slammed the butt of his

  Skorpion machine pistol into the base of Harry's skull. He heard a dull

  thud but no crunch. "Americans are so gullible," he said, laughing.

  "Lucky for this one he has a wooden head."

  Corporal Ivanov looked distressed. "Are you sure we shouldn't just kill

  him here?" he said anxiously. "Make it look like some illegal

  business, perhaps a homosexual tryst?"

  "I'm in command here," Rykov snapped, losing a bit of his earlier

  control. "I'll do the thinking."

  "Yes, sir. I was only thinking of Colonel Kosov. If he doesn't

  approve-"

  "I know what Kosov wants, Corporal. Did he not choose me for command?

  We may need this American later as a bargaining chip."

  Rykov's voice softened. "Andrei, the other team is running down

  Sergeant Apfel's wife as we speak.

  Kosov is with them. Do you want us to return to East Berlin

  empty-handed?"

  Ivanov did not look entirely convinced, but he said no more.

  Lying half-conscious at their feet, Harry slipped a hand into his inside

  coat pocket, fished out a white business card, and let it fall.

  There was no name on it-only a telephone number. As the Russians lifted

  him into the Mercedes, he glanced down. He saw his own blood, but the

  white card had already vanished against the snow.

  10.31 Pm. LieLzensee Park, British Sector

  "Once again," Ivan Kosov said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

  "Where did the girl get out?"

  Pressed into the corner of the taxi's rear seat, Eva Beers scowled and

  said nothing. Her hands were tied behind her head with her own

  stockings. The young Russian called Misha had twice smashed her right

  cheek with his gloved fist, but so far Eva had refused to speak.

  "Misha," Kosov growled.

  The interior of the taxi echoed with the force of the third blow.

  A large purplish bruise was already visible beneath the thick patina of

  makeup Eva wore. In 'the front seat beside Kosov, Ernst the cabbie

  slumped unconscious over the wheel of his old Mercedes.

  "I have no time for your stupid loyalty, woman," Kosov said. "If you

  don't answer this time, this zealous young man will have to slit the

  throat of your sleepy old hero. You don't want that, do you?"

  Misha drew a long-bladed stiletto from an ankle sheath and brandished it

  under Eva's chin.

  "I think he's quite eager to use that," observed Kosov.

  "Aren't you, Misha?"

  Eva saw feral eyes glinting in the dark.

  "Now, where did Frau Apfel get out?"

  Eva struggled to think through the pain of the blows and her growing

  apprehension that she would not survive the night. How long had Ernst

  evaded the black sedan? Two minutes? Three? With his taxi finally

  trapped in the deadend lane beside the Lietzensee lake, the old cabbie

  had done his best to fend the Russians off, but the young KGB agents had

  simply been too agile for him. How far could Ilse have gotten in that

  time?

  Without warning Misha savagely thrust his knee into Eva's left breast,

  crushing it"All right!" she gasped.

  The pressure eased a little. "You have regained your memory?"

  Kosov asked.

  Perhaps they'll spare Ernst, Eva thought. Swine. "We stopped two or

  three blocks back," she whispered. "
When we rounded a corner. Ilse

  jumped out there."

  "Sko'lka?" asked Kosov. "Two blocks or three? Which is it?"

  Again Misha jabbed his knee forward. "Stop!" Eva begged.

  "Please!" She could fight no more, but she could fire a last covering

  shot. "Three blocks," she lied, laboring for breath. "The Seehof Hotel

  ... by the lake. She ran inside."

  Kosov nodded. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

  Eva gulped air like a landed fish.

  Kosov sighed angrily, debating with himself. How in hell was he

  supposed to find the Spandau papers? Three times Moscow had signaled

  him, each time telling him just a little more about the Hess case,

  doling out information like scraps of meat to a dog. Names without

  physical descriptions, dates of events Kosov had never heard of. And 4t

  the center of it all, apparently, a one-eyed man who had no name.

  Kosov could make no sense of it. And of course that was how Moscow

  wanted it.

  "Now that you're talking," he said amiably, "I have one more question.

  Did Frau Apfel mention any names in connection with what her husband

  found?"

  "No," Eva groaned. "She told me someone was after her, that's all. I

  didn't ask-" Unbelievably, Misha's knee buried itself still deeper into

  Eva's chest. The pain was excruciating. She felt as if she were going

  to vomit. "Please!" she choked.

  The pressure relented just enough for her to take a shallow breath.

  Kosov heaved a bearlike shoulder over the front seat and bellowed,

  "Names, woman! Names are what I want!

  Did Frau Apfel mention the name Zinoviev to you? Do you hear me?

  Z-1-N-0-V-1-E-V. It's a Russian name. Did ghe mention it?"

  Eva shook her head violently. She had passed the point of being able to

  lie, and something in her eyes must have shown it. After several

  moments Kosov nodded, and Misha removed his knee from her chest. The

  old colonel's face softened.

  "Unlike my young friend," he murmured, "I do not believe in needless

  killing. However, if you are lying-that is, if we do not find Frau

  Apfel, or if you feel the sudden urge to speak to the authorities-well,

  quite obviously we know where to find you. And we will find you. I

  would send Misha personally. Do you understand?"

  Eva lay as still as she could. The animals were going to let her live.

  "Ja, " she breathed.

  "Good." Kosov climbed out of the old taxi. "Misha, a reminder."

  With an expert flick of his stiletto, the young KGB agent opened a

  two-inch gash along Eva's left cheek. Eva shrieked in pain. Misha

  grinned, watching her struggle in vain to reach the wound and stop the

  bleeding. As the young Russian backed out of the taxi, Kosov's hard

  face appeared in the front window.

  "Free her hands," he ordered.

  Cursing quietly, Misha slashed the stockings over Eva's head. But

  instead of getting out of the car, he thrust his hand viciously beneath

  Eva's skirt and clenched her pubic mound in a clawlike fist. With

  flashing eyes he leaned close so that Kosov couldn't hear. "When I find

  your little friend," he snarled, "the pretty one-she's going to bleed,

  old woman.

  Everywhere." He wrenched his hand away, tearing hair and skin as he

  backed out of the taxi.

  Shaking like an epileptic, Eva turned away and tried to stanch the flow

  of blood from her lacerated face. She heard Kosov's BMW skid around and

  speed down the Lietzenseelifer in the direction of the Seehof Hotel.

  "Screw you," she spat. "Swine. You'll never find her." Slowly she

  leaned forward and put her bloody hand to the old cabbie's forehead.

  "Ernst, are you all right? Poor darling, you fought well for an old

  soldier. Wake up for Eva."

  The old man didn't move.

  If only some of my old friends were here, Eva lamented.

  That young pig's balls would be meat for the dogs.

  Ernst groaned and jerked forward in his seat. "Wo sind she!" he cried,

  flailing his arms"They're gone," Eva said, soothing his forehead with a

  knowing hand. "All gone. You can take me home now, my brave knight.

  We'll mend our scratches together."

  10.33 Pm. South African Airspace: 100 kin Northeast of Pretoria The

  JetRanger helicopter stormed northward beneath a moonless African sky,

  startling flocks of black heron, spooking herds of impala and zebra

  gathered around the waterholes on the veld below. Inside the chopper's

  luxurious cabin, Alfred Horn sat gripping the arms of his wheelchair,

  which was bolted to the carpeted deck by specially designed fittings.

  Pieter Smuts, Horn's Afrikaner security chief, leaned closer to his

  master and spoke above the low beating drone of the rotor blades.

  "I wanted to wait until we were airborne to tell you, sir."

  The old man nodded slowly. "What is so important that you don't even

  trust your own security?"

  "We've received the new figures from Britain, sir. The American

  figures. They were delivered by courier just an hour ago."

  "The Bikini figures?"

  "More than that. Sixty-five percent of American test data from Eniwetok

  Atoll in 'fifty-two up to the test ban in 'sixty-three." The Afrikaner

  shook his head. "Sir, you can't imagine what a one megaton surface

  blast will actually do."

  "Yes, I can, Pieter."

  "It leaves a crater one mile across and sixteen stories deep.

  Christ, we've got the design, the plants ... If we had six months, we

  could probably divert-"

  "I'll be dead in six months!" Horn snapped.

  "What do these figures tell you about our current resources?"

  "The blast effects will be greater than we predicted. Using round

  figures, a forty-kiloton air burst should vaporize everything within

  three kilometers of ground zero. Intense heat will incinerate anything

  for a five-kilometer radius beyond that. And the resulting winds and

  fires will wreak havoc for a considerable distance beyond those already

  mentioned."

  "And the fallout?" Horn asked.

  "Twenty percent higher than we predicted."

  Horn digested this without emotion. "And these figures ... you believe

  they are more reliable than our own?"

  "Sir, except for the secret Indian Ocean test, all South African figures

  are purely theoretical. By definition they are predictions.

  The American figures represent verified data."

  Horn nodded thoughtfully. "Apply them to our scenario."

  "Everything depends on the target, sir. Obviously, groundzero at the

  center of Tel Aviv or Jerusalem would obliterate either city. But if

  the weapon were used at the right time, its effects could be greatly

  enhanced, possibly even doubled, by a collateral factor: the weather."

  "How?"

  "By the wind, sir. At this time of year the prevailing winds in Israel

  blow southeast. If the weapon were detonated in Jerusalem, the fallout

  would probably dissipate over Jordan. But if it were detonated inTel

  Aviv, not only would it obliterate the city, but it might well spread a

  lethal blanket of strontium-90 over Jerusalem within one or two hours."

  Horn closed his eyes and sighed with satisfaction. "And if we get
the

  cobalt-seeded bomb case in time?"

  The Afrikaner turned his palms upward. "We won't, sir.

  Not sooner than twenty days. The technical problems are formidable."

  "But if we did get it?"

  Smuts pursed his lips. "With a cobalt-seeded bomb case and the revised

  yield figures, I'd say ... sixty percent of the Israeli population would

  be dead within fourteen days, and Palestine would be rendered

  uninhabitable for at least a decade."

  Horn let out a long sigh. "Increase the bounty, Pieter. Five million

  rand in gold to the team that delivers a cobalt bomb case within seven

  days."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do we have any further information on the Israeli doctrinal response?"

  Smuts shook his head. "Our London source dried up after we requested

  the American satellite photos. Frankly, I don't even trust his initial

  reports on that subject."

  "Why?"

  "Do you really think Israel would target Russian cities?"

  Horn smiled. "Of course. It's the only way the Jews could win a war

  against a united Arab force. They must be able to prevent Soviet

  resupply of the Arabs, and the only way they can do that is to blackmail

  the Soviets. What do they have to lose by doing so?"

  "But the deployment plan for Israel's nuclear arsenal is the most

  closely guarded secret in the world. How could our London source,know

  what he claims to know?"

  Horn smiled. "Not the most closely guarded secret, Pieter.

  No one has yet proved that South Africa's nuclear arsenal even exists."

  "Thanks in no small part to us," Smuts observed. The Afrikaner began

  cracking his knuckles. "The Russian matter aside, I think we can safely

  assume that if Tel Aviv or Jerusalem were destroyed, Israel would go

  beyond a measured response. If they knew the source of the attack, they

  would respond with a significant portion of their 'black' bomber and

  missile forces."

  "They will know the source of the attack," Horn rasped.

  "There is one unpredictable factor," Smuts said carefully.

  "If our clients were to detonate the weapon at Dimona, Israel's

  weapons-production plant, there is a slight chance that the rest of the

  world might believe the explosion to be a genuine Israeli accident.

  The Americans might coerce the Jews into waiting until an outside

  investigation was completed.

  By that time cooler heads might prevail."