The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2

by Greg Iles

  present, searching for causes and connections, cataloguing injustices to

  be avenged. Perhaps it was his advanced years, but to Horn the present

  seemed merely a small space between two doorsone leading back into a

  past he could not change-the other opening onto a future that, after

  five decades of planning and struggle and living with defeat, promised

  the fulfillment of ultimate destiny. Time was short, he knew, and

  growing shorter. Did he have a week or a month before his ability to

  leave his imprint upon the world was stolen from him? He needed a

  month. How ironic, he reflected, that his knowledge of the past posed

  the greatest threat to his plans for the future. But he was nearly

  ready. A soft knock sounded behind him. He answered without turning

  his gaze from the fire.

  "Yes?"

  The door opened soundlessly. Smuts stood silently at attention.

  "What news from Berlin, Pieter?"

  "There's a flurry of British and Russian intelligence activity, sir. I'm

  almost certain they have not located the papers.

  No sign so far of Israeli involvement."

  "But what of our two policemen, Pieter? They have the papers."

  "Sir, Berlin-One informs me that while he has not yet captured the young

  man whom he believes found the papers, he does have custody of the man's

  wife."

  Horn pondered this intelligence. At length he said, "We shall have them

  all here. Bring the woman, the man will follow. Send a jet tonight."

  "I've already ordered it done, sir."

  "Good. Can the husband be reached by phone?"

  Smuts cleared his throat. "We haven't located him yet, sir."

  While Horn's glass eye remained immobile, his good eye flickered with

  birdlike suspicion over his security chief's lanky frame, finally

  settling on his craggy face. Under its unrelenting gaze, Smuts shifted

  his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  "Pieter?" Horn asked finally.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Our two policemen have escaped from West Berlin, haven't they?"

  To Smuts's credit, he did not dissimulate. "That appears likely, sir.

  The older man-Hauer-apparently has a great deal of influence in Berlin.

  We have a man waiting at their last known destination-a cabin near

  Wolfsburg-but he hasn't reported in."

  Horn toyed with a poker in the stand. "These policemen are proving to

  be a credit to their race, Pieter. After you've drawn them here, we

  must see what our young friend has dug from the rubble of Spandau."

  "It will be done."

  "Tell me, how will you convince the young husband that you have his wife

  if you haven't reached him by the time she's airborne?"

  Smuts suppressed a smile. Horn's attention to the smallest details of

  an operation constantly surprised him. "A simple matter really, sir,"

  he explained. "Audio recordings on two separate tape machines.

  Prerecorded affirmatives and negatives to be used as needed, with a

  short statement to open the exchange. With adequate noise reduction the

  results are quite convincing."

  "Excellent, Pieter. I'm pleased."

  Smuts's boot heels cracked like a muffled pistol shot.

  Horn unconsciously picked at the stippled scar tissue around his glass

  eye. "I've been thinking, Pieter. I want you to shut down all our drug

  and weapons trading for the time being. I want no roads leading from

  the outside world to here."

  Smuts nodded. "Very good, sir. We do have that shipment of gold coming

  from Colombia, though, payment for our ether. Two million dollars in

  bullion. It's coming by ship, and the ship is almost here."

  Horn considered this. "We'll let her land, then. But everything else

  shuts down."

  "Yes, sir."

  "When the policeman's wife arrives, bring her directly to me.

  It's so seldom I get a chance to meet young Germans anymore. I should

  like very much to speak with her."

  "Meet her? But, sir, the risks-"

  "Nonsense, Pieter. If you are present, what are the risks?"

  Smuts nodded. "As you command."

  Horn eyed Smuts appraisingly. "Anything else?"

  "Beg your pardon, sir?"

  Horn frowned. "The radiation leak. You failed to update me on your

  progress."

  Smuts colored. "I'm sorry, sir. I've been meeting with the engineers

  about the runway extension." He raised his fore arm and read the time

  from the inside of his wrist. "The leak was contained as of two hours

  ago. Minimal exposure to personnel, the basement lab is clean."

  "Any word on our cobalt case?"

  "No, sir. I'm sorry."

  "All right, Pieter. Dismissed."

  "Sir!" Again the boots fired, and Smuts disappeared.

  In spite of his frustration, Horn smiled wistfully. A jungfrau, he

  thought, a true daughter of the Fatherland My God, how long has it been

  since I spoke with a German woman who wasn't raised in this savage

  country?

  "Pieter!" he called suddenly.

  Smuts raced back into the room, a Beretta pistol in his hand.

  "I'm sorry," Horn apologized, "I spoke too loudly. More wood for the

  fire, that's all. My joints are driving me mad."

  Smuts holstered his weapon. "Yes, sir."

  Without hesitation, a man who had commanded troops with distinction

  across half the African continent marched to a woodpile less than a yard

  from his employer's chair, added a fresh log to the fire, and stoked the

  flames beneath it.

  "How's that, sir?"

  "Fine, Pieter. Fine." Horn slumped back into his padded wheelchair and

  there, motionless until dawn, slept the sleep of the saved.

  1.50 AW. Togel Airfield, West Berlin

  "Wing tanks full," the pump jockey said, screwing down the tank cap. He

  scurried down the hydraulic ladder and onto the tarmac of the fueling

  area. "On account?" he asked.

  Handsomely dressed in a tailored gray suit, Lieutenant Jijrgen Luhr

  nodded curtly, then marched up the ramp that fed into the belly of the

  sleek Lear turbojet. On the plush carpeted floor of the passenger

  cabin, trussed from head to toe with industrial tape, Ilse Apfel

  struggled desperately to breathe.

  "Try to relax, Frau Apfel," Luhr said. "The trip will be much more

  comfortable for us both."

  With great difficulty Ilse inclined her head toward the blond policeman

  and glared. She hoped defiance would mask the abject terror squirming

  in her stomach. One hour ago she had been forced to watch this insane

  lieutenant drag a knife across the throat of Sergeant Josef Steuben.

  Ilse had never met Steuben, but she had vomited from sheer horror.

  And beneath the horror, she cursed herself for her stupidity.

  How could she have walked right into the arms of these ruthless animals?

  "It's useless to struggle," Luhr advised. "I would have preferred more

  subtle measures myself, but I'm told that our host is opposed to the use

  of drugs. Quite ironic, considering the source of some of his income."

  Luhr tapped a small syringe against his armrest. "I'm sure this has all

  been a shock to you," he said, "but it's only the result of your

  husband's stupidity. However, in spite of that-and for reasons qu
ite

  beyond my understanding-you, as well as 1, are to be granted a great

  opportunity. Tomorrow we're going to meet the man who owns this jet. It

  is a great honor." Luhr chuckled to himself. "Or so I've been led to

  believe."

  The walls of the Lear thrummed as the engines spooled up for the taxi

  run.

  "Still," he said, "I don't think we need all that constricting tape."

  Ilse struggled harder. Luhr grinned.."You're sure you wouldn't like a

  little sedative? We have a long flight ahead." He stood carefully,

  holding his head sideways beneath the low cabin ceiling. He towered

  over Ilse on the floor. "Although," he said heavily, "I think we might

  arrange some interesting inflight diversions."

  As if about to relieve himself, Luhr unzipped his trousers and withdrew

  a large, uncircumcised penis. While Ilse stared in disgust, he tugged

  himself eagerly, watching her reaction.

  She wasn't frightened by the sight of his organ-most Berlin girls have

  seen their share of male anatomy-it was his eyes.

  In a single instant all humanity had gone out of them. As the grunting

  lieutenant r)ulled at himself, his blue eyes burned not with lust, but

  @with blind, furious hatred. Jiirgen Luhr wanted to do more than rape

  Ilse-he @anted to kill her-to rape her to death if he could.

  She shut her eyes tight and forced her mind away from this place, back

  to a time just after she and Hans were married. They had gone to Munich

  to visit Hans's mother, at a small Pfahlbauten on the long silver lake

  outside the city.

  Frau Jaspers, n6e Apfel, had @een bitchy, but Hans and Ilse had spent

  hours together on the water, paddling a small boat and "You think you

  can handle this?" Luhr rasped, brandishing his organ. "You're going to

  get it ways you never even dreamed about-" Suddenly the plane lurched,

  forward. Luhr lost his balance and fell back into his seat, laughing

  wildly. Ilse struggled in vain against the tape, trapped like a living

  mummy. Putting himself back into his trousers, Luhr leaned back in his

  seat and sighed deeply. "Plenty of time for that," he muttered.

  The madness had faded from his eyes. He leisurely raised a gleaming

  boot and prodded Ilse's bottom, then laughed again.

  The Learjet reached its assigned runway and paused, engines shuddering,

  pointed east like a porcelain arrow. The legend on its tail read

  LASERTEK, but this company was merely a tiny division in the

  labyrinthine network of subsidiaries owned by Horn Intercomm, a holding

  company on the outer edges of a vast but nebulous corporate entity known

  as Phoenix AG. This familial relationship was symbolized by a small

  design painted on the nosecone of the Lear. The single, gracefully

  curved, blood red eye stared down the runway from the port side of the

  Lear with a strange awareness, as if it, and not the pilot, would guide

  the plane on its long journey south.

  Inside the pressurized cabin, Luhr held Ilse in place with his boot as

  the jet screamed into the night sky. The flight plan filed in the Tegel

  tower designated the Lear as Flight 116, destination London.

  But as soon as the sleek jet faded from Tegel's main radar screen, it

  would dive and race southward to a remote airfield in Turkey.

  Another subsidiary of Phoenix AG maintained extensive holdings in the

  Antalya province, among them a surprisingly well-equipped airstrip on a

  farm near Dashar. This company fostered extremely cordial relations

  with the provincial government officials, who often made use of Phoenix

  jets to take "fact-finding" excursions to the pleasure capitals of

  Europe.

  After the Lear left Dashar, it would no longer have a Right number or

  plan, and its destination would be a matter into which only the most

  uninformed would inquire. The grasp of the reclusive president and CEO

  of Phoenix AG Corporation was known to be very long indeed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  1.35 A.m. Near Woltsbarg, FRG "That's it!" Hans cried, whipping his

  head around for a better look. "You passed it!"

  Hauer hit the brakes. "That's what you said two minutes ago.

  "I'm sure this time."

  Reluctantly, Hauer shifted the Jaguar into reverse. "Why here?

  It's just another break in the trees. Another dead-end road in the

  dark."

  "No. This is the place. We're between two hills. And that low bridge

  back there ... This is it."

  Hauer released the clutch pedal and backed the car into position to

  turn. The Jaguar shot forward. He accelerated down the winding drive

  at twice the speed Natterman had, squinting ahead through the darkness

  for any sign of an occupied dwelling. "I don't see any lights," he said

  skeptically.

  "Maybe they're sleeping.

  jus Hauer looked across at Hans. "Your wife has ' t escaped from the

  KGB, she has no idea where you are, and you think she's sleeping-"

  "Watch out!"

  Hauer slammed his boot down on the brake just as the Jaguar broke into

  the small clearing around the cabin. The car hit a sheet of ice, spun

  360 degrees and skated toward the building. It crashed into the trunk

  of a plane tree just meters from the porch, crumpling the Jaguar's

  offside wing. The motor died, but the headlights still shone off into

  the darkness to the right of the cabin.

  "This better be the place," Hauer mumbled, shaking his head to clear the

  fog of impact.

  Hans stuck his head through the shattered passenger widow and compared

  what he saw to his mental image of his wife's family retreat.

  "This is it," he said quietly. He turned to Hauer. "Why were you

  driving so goddamn fast!"

  Hauer bit back a sharp retort. He half-expected them to find the bloody

  remains of Ilse and her grandfather inside the cabin. "Just knock on

  the door," he said evenly.

  Hans muttered angrily as he struggled with the unfamiliar door handle,

  not even trying to conceal his exasperation.

  Ilse!" he shouted. "It's me, Hans!"

  Just as Hans popped the door open, it hammered him back into the car. He

  did not even hear the booming explosion that resounded through the

  forest.

  "Get down!" Hauer bellowed. His warning was lost as the front

  windshield shattered in a storm of flying glass.

  "Shotgun, Hans! Down!"

  Hans had hunkered down on the floor when a third blast shredded the

  leather upholstery above his head. The fourth missed the Jaguar

  altogether. Hauer grabbed his Walther from beneath the seat and jerked

  back the slide.

  "Wait!" Hans pleaded, grabbing his arm. "Ilse wouldn't know this car!"

  He kicked open the shot-riddled door. "Ilse!

  Professor! It's Hans!" This time he saw the fire leap from the

  muzzles. The twin barrels exploded simultaneously, shearing off the

  frozen branches hanging low over the car.

  Hans ducked behind the Jag's door. "Professor! Your father Alfred was

  a blacksmith! He built this house in 1925! You helped him make the

  nails!"

  Silence.

  Now you're thinking," Hauer said.

  The splintered cabin door creaked open slight
ly. "Hans?"

  rasped a voice almost too weak to hear. "Hans, is that you?"

  "Don't shoot, Professor! I'm coming out!"

  Gingerly he raised his hands above the car door and waved. Then he put

  a foot onto the packed.snow and slowly raised himself into Natterman's

  line of sight.

  "I can't see you!" Natterman called. "Step into the light!"

  Painfully aware of the loaded weapon pointed at his chest, Hans eased

  forward into the twin beams.

  "Hans." The voice was louder now, the relief in it obvious. "Are you

  alone?"

  "No! I have .. ." He looked back at Hauer in the Jag. "I have my

  captain with me!"

  There was a long pause. "Do you trust him?"

  For the hundredth time that night, Hans examined his feelings about his

  father. Did he trust him? Hauer could just as easily be a member of

  the fanatical societies whose meetings he described as- No!

  Hans slammed that door shut in his mind. If Dieter Hauer could

  contemplate killing a brother officer and kidnapping his own son's wife,

  the whole world had turned upside down.

  "I trust him!" he called.

  Hinges screeched as Natterman pushed open the cabin door. He slumped to

  his knees. "All right," he croaked, "that's . . ." The old man fell

  flat on his face, his empty shotgun beside him.

  Hans sprinted up onto the porch and bent over him. Hauer stayed in the

  Jaguar, his Walther extended, covering the porch and the clearing as

  best he could.

  "Professor!" Hans cried, shaking him roughly. "Where is Ilse?"

  "I got him," the old man mumbled. "I think Hans slapped him.

  Then again, harder. He saw crusted blood around Natterman's disfigured

  nose, but he had too much at stake to wait. "Where is Ilse, Professor?

  Where is Ilse? Did the people who attacked you take her?" Hans turned

  to the open door. "Ilse!"

  "Not ... not here," Natterman mumbled. "Home, I think.

  Yes." His voice gained strength. "She's at the apartment, Hans.

  Coming here later. Tried to call, but .

  "Oh God." Hans shivered as the implication of Natterman's ramblings

  struck him. "Oh no. Captain! Help me get him into the house!"

  Hauer scrambled out of the car. He backed up onto the porch, keeping

  the pistol pointed at the woods as he moved.

  "She's not here," Hans told him. "She's not here . . ."

  "Take his legs!" Hauer ordered, grabbing the old man under the arms. He

  had to keep Hans moving, keep his mind on something besides his wife