by Greg Iles
Stasi has assets all over the city. But this crime scene was too clumsy
for tt Stasi.
They would never, never use weapons of Eastern manufacture in the West.
Also, burglars-turned-kidnappers would soon recognize their mistake in
snatching an American officer. Unless they were part-time terrorists,
it would scare them to death. That leaves one option-KGB.
It has to be."
"Alert the checkpoints," said Rose, his voice taking on the weight of
command. "See if any known agents have passed through tonight@' "I've
already checked," Schneider told him. "It's too late.
A bordet officer at Heinrich-Heine Strasse told me four KGB agents with
flawless cover passed through at elevenfifteen tonight.
Richardson was probably inside that car."
"Goddamn!"
"What was Richardson working on, Colonel?"
"Sorry, Schneider. I can't go that far."
"I see," the German said icily. "Well, then. I'll leave you to
discover the remaining facts for yourself."
Rose slammed on the brakes and glared at Schneider.
"Don't you hold out on me, Schneider! This is still a U.S.
military zone of occupation. I can have you r ass detained for a year
if I need to!"
"That is true," Schneider retorted. "But while you carry out that
useless exercise, your man could be dying in a KGB cell. Or worse yet,
he could be on the next flight to Moscow.
Even the KGB is smart enough to know that in East Berlin, a live
American major is more of a liability than an asset."
"You're pushing, Schneider."
The German's voice hardened. "I want this case, Colonel."
Rose pursed his lips and leaned back into his seat. "Okay, Detective,"
he said finally. "Quid pro quo. You give me everything you've got, and
I'll see you're included in any developments on this side of the Wall."
Schneider searched out Rose's eyes in the darkness. "You give me your
word as an American officer and a gentleman?"
Rose eyed the German strangely. "I didn't think that bought much
overseas anymore."
"It does from me," Schneider said solemnly.
Rose felt as if he had somehow stepped back in time. "As an officer and
a gentleman, then," he vowed.
"Gut, " grunted the German. Quickly he told Rose about Lieutenant
Luhr's unusual appearance at the murder scene, and his interest in
Richardson's card. When Schneider revealed that Prefect Funk was
personally directing the Spandau case from Abschnitt 53, Rose looked
very uncomfortable.
"Was Richardson working on something related to the Spandau incident?"
Schneider asked.
Rose nodded slowly.
The German shook his large head. "Something very big is happening,
Colonel. I can feel it. At 10:20 Pm. the prefect issued an
all-district alert for two police officers who allegedly murdered a
third in a dispute over drugs. And this murder supposedly took place in
that police station."
"What?"
Schneider nodded. "One of the 'fugitives' is a decorated officer, a
GSG-9 adviser, no less. And both"-the German smiled thinly-"were on the
team assigned to guard Spandau Prison last night."
Rose's eyes widened. "Holy shit!"
Schneider smiled with satisfaction. "Stasi agents call you 'God, the
All-Knowing,' Colonel. Did you know that?"
"I've heard," Rose answered, barely listening.
"I guess they exaggerate."
Rose grabbed the German's beefy shoulder. "Okay, Schneider, you listen.
Richardson wasn't due to report until 0800 this morning, so technically
he's still on schedule. But I've got a bad feeling about this. My
sphincter's twitching, and that ain't good." He paused.
"You got any whiskey on you?"
Schneider shook his head, nonplussed by the American's sudden change of
demeanor.
"Okay, here's the deal. Harry was looking into the Spandau thing for
me. He thought there was a lot more to it than your bosses were letting
on, and with the damned State Department and the Brits breathing down my
neck, I was all too willing to give him room to maneuver." Rose paused
angrily. "If you're right, and the Soviets have taken my boy over that
Wall .. ."
He smashed his fist against the Ford's dashboard. With an oath he
jerked the car into gear, made a screeching U-turn in the wooded lane,
jammed the accelerator to the floor and bored through the ranks of
frozen trees, making for the forest's edge.
"You gotta be anywhere, Schneider?" he growled.
"Nein. "
"You wanna be temporarily seconded to my command?"
"Jawohl, Herr Oberst!"
"Jesus Christ," Rose snorted. "Will you cut out that Kraut lingo?
Makes me nervous. You sound like you're in a goddamn John Wayne movie."
He glanced suspiciously at the German. "And on the wrong side."
Schneider choked off an acid reply.
To the German's astonishment, Rose snatched up a radiotelephone and
began transmitting en clair. Schneider couldn't believe it.
Hundreds of listening devices constantly sampled the ether over Berlin
and fed the intercepted transmissions into tape recorders in every
sector of the city.
Rose's call would be heard by at least a hundred people before morning,
yet he seemed unconcerned"Clary!" he shouted.
"Who's this?" came the sleepy reply.
"Wake up, son!"
"Colonel?"
"Clary, we've got a loose fish tonight, you copy that?"
Schneider heard deep breathing. He imagined the stunned sergeant,
wakened from a dead sleep to crazy code words coming from his telephone.
"Roger that, sir," Clary mumbled. "Loose fish. Is the fish still in
the boat?"
"Probable negative on that, Clary. The fish is out, repeat, out of the
boat. Copy?"
"That's a roge, sir."
Schneider looked bewildered.
"ETA camp ten minutes," Rose snapped.
"Copy that, sir, I'm outta here."
"Out."
Rose pushed the speed limit all the way through the Grunewald.
The American certainly knew his way around, Schneider reflected.
Despite the labyrinth of icy lanes winding through the forest, he burst
out of the trees less than a mile from U.S. Army headquarters.
"Russians," he muttered.
"Idiots."
"I beg your pardon, Colonel?"
"The Russians, Schneider. The goddamn Russkies, Reds, Commies,
whatever."
"What about them?" Schneider bit his lip. He had almost called the
American colonel "sir."
"I'll tell you what about them," Rose grumbled. "If those sons of
bitches have kidnapped my man and taken him over the Wall, that's a
goddamn act of war, that's what. And they're gonna find out who really
runs this burg, that's what!"
Schneider shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And that is?"
"The U.S. Army, by God."
The German gave a hollow laugh, "Cut out that American imperialist
lingo, would you, Colonel? It makes me nervous."
Rose wasn't laughing.
2.05 A.m. The Natterman Cabin: Wolfshurg, FRG "Professor, wake up!"
Hauer prodd
ed the old man. "Professor!"
Natterman moaned, then his eyes twitched open and his right arm shot
outward. "Karl!" he shouted.
Hans grabbed his outstretched hand. "Professor, it's Hans!
We're at your father's house."
The old man's eyes focused at last. He pulled his hand free.
"Yes ... Karl is dead?"
"I'm afraid so," said Hauer. He leaned over-the sofa where Natterman
lay and held up something shiny in his left hand. "What do you make of
this, Professor?"
Natterman took the object a'nd examined it briefly. "It's a gold
Krugerrand. Standard unit of currency in South Africa.
"Is it common?"
The professor shrugged. "Thousands of Germans own millions of them, I
should think. On paper, of course.
"Is the coin common?"
"I wouldn't think so. Where did you get it?"
"Hans picked it up outside, standing watch."
Natterman sat up. "My God!"
"What is it?"
"The man who attacked me ... I remember now! I recognized his accent.
It was Afrikaans!"
"Afrikaans? What do you make of that?"
Natterman pursed his lips. "I don't know. That man-the Afrikaner@arne
here to steal something, but I don't believe he knew exactly what he was
after until he actually saw the papers. He didn't seem to believe it,
even then."
"An errand boy?"
"That was my impression. What time is it, Hans?"
"A little after tWO A.M."
"Two! Don't let me fall asleep again. Is the telephone working?"
"Yes," Hauer replied, "but we haven't learned anything."
He had tried in vain to reach Josef Steuben at Abschnitt 53.
And at Steuben's home he'd got only the men he'd sent to protect
Steuben's family. No sign of his friend.
"The apartment's empty," Hans said anxiously.
"Ilse is all right," Natterman assured him. "You must believe that.
Even if someone has taken her, it's you they want.
They need her alive to draw you. They believe you will bring them what
they seek."
Hans nodded. "They're right."
Natterman's eyes grew wide. "Have you lost your senses?
The Spandau papers are much too important to be surrendered to anyone
like that."
Hans glared balefully at the old man. "I don't give a damn about those
papers, Professor. You'd better understand that now. I'd give them to
the devil himself to have Ilse here with us now." His eyes narrowed
suspiciously. "Where are the papers?"
Natterman looked hunted. "They're ... in the bathroom," he said.
"I'll get them."
Hauer kept silent. His brain was spinning. Bruderschaft der Phoenix
... The gold Krugerrand and the Afrikaner accent-like the calls from
Prefect Funk to Pretoria-had dropped into place like two more tumblers
in the lock that protected Phoenix from the outside world.
But what did South Africa have to do with Germany? What did Pretoria
share with Berlin? Hauer was still puzz!ing over this when the klaxon
ring of the old telephone in the bedroom shattered his concentration.
Both he and Hans raced to the phone.
"It's Ilse!" Hans cried, grabbing for the receiver.
Hauer caught his wrist in a grip of steel. "If it is, I'll give the
phone straight to you." He lifted the receiver as the raucous bell
clanged for the third time.
Two hundred and forty kilometers away, locked in an interrogation room
of Abschnitt 53, Prefect Wilhelm Funk nervously eyed a technician who
sat before three Marantz PMD-430 tape recorders.
Each tape deck was wired directly into the transmitter of Funk's
telephone. Two contained recordings of Ilse Apfel's voice, recorded at
gunpoint reading a script authorrd by Pieter Smuts, the Afrikaner known
to Funk by the code name Guardian. The third deck maintained a constant
level of background noise to mask the ONI oFF switching of the primary
machines. Praying that the elaborate deception would work, Funk began
his performance.
"I wish to speak to Sergeant Hans Apfel," he hissed, trying to mask his
distinctive growl.
"I know you, you bastard," said Hauer.
Funk abandoned all pretense. "I know you too, Hauer.
Fucking traitor. It's Sippenhaft for you, just like your friend
Steuben."
Hauer closed his eyes, trying in vain to steel himself against the
anguish. He had sent a man to his death. He had made a widow and
orphans.
"If Apfel isn't on the phone in ten seconds," Funk warned, "I
disconnect. Beginning now. Ten, nine, eight ..."
Hans snatched the proffered phone. "This is Sergeant Apfel.
Where is my wife?"
"Do not speak, Sergeant. In a moment your wife will read a prepared
statement. After-"
"Ilse!" Hans shouted. "Ilse?"
"One more outburst like that, and this conversation will be terminated.
After your wife finishes reading, you may ask questions, but keep them
simple. She's a bit under the weather."
Hans swallowed hard.
"Hans, listen to me-" He clenched the phone with all his strength.
Ilse's usually musical voice quavered with fear and'confusion, but he
knew the sound like his own breathing. He clapped his hand to his
forehead in relief, then balled it into a fist as the torment went on:
"... the men who are holding me require only one thing in exchange for
my freedom-the papers you discovered at Spandau. The papers belong to
them. You have illegally stolen their property. Restitution is all
that they seek. I do not know where I am. If you follow the
instructions you are given exactly, we will be reunited. If you deviate
from these instructions in any way, they will kill me. These men
possess a machine which can detect whether photocopies of a document
have been made. If copies have already been made, important them now and
bring all copies to the rendezvous. If you deny that copies have been
made, but their machine proves otherwise, I will be shot. Follow every
order exactly.
They . . . " At this point Ilse's voice broke. She sobbed and spoke at
the same time. "I saw them kill a man, Hans ... a policeman.
They killed him right in front of me. They cut his throat! " In
Berlin, the technician stopped the first tape machine.
Ilse's sobs seemed to fade into the familiar hiss of a poor
long-distance connection.
Hans could restrain himself no longer. "Ilse, they can have whatever
they want! Tell them! The papers! Anything!
Just tell me where to bring them!"
"Have any copies of the papers been made?" Funk asked.
Hans turned to Professor Natterman, who had appeared in the bedroom
door. "Did you make any copies of the papers?"
Natterman saw a mental image of his Xerox machine flashing in his
darkened office, but he banished it from his mind. "No," he said,
looking straight into Hans's eyes, "I didn't have enough time."
"There are no copies," said Hans, his eyes still on the old man.
"Noted," said Funk. "Now, listen carefully to your instructions.
Write them down. Error or delay will not be tolerated."
Hans snatche
d a pen and notepad from Hauer, who had anticipated the need
and procured the items from Professor Natterman's book satchel. Across
the top of the pad Hauer had scrawled: Stay calm.
Agree to everything they ask.
"Drive to Franlkfurt tomorrow morning," Funk began.
"There you will board the first available'flight to Johannesburg, South
Africa. Your final destination is Pretoria. It's forty miles north of
Johannesburg, but shuttle buses run constantly." Hans scribbled as fast
as he could. "Your wife informs us that you have no passport, but this
will not be a problem if you use the South African Airways counter. Do
you have that?"
"South African Airways," Hans said breathlessly.
"Your flight leaves at two Pm. Once in Pretoria, check into the
Burgerspark Hotel. Any taxi driver can take you to it. A suite will be
reserved for you. At eight Pm. you will be contacted and issued
instructions as to how to exchange the papers for your wife." Funk's
voice went cold. "If you are not in your room at the Burgerspark Hotel
by eight Pm. on the day after tomorrow-with the Spandau papers-your
wife will die. That is all, Sergeant."
"Wait! My questions!"
There was a long silence. "Two questions," Funk said finally.
Hans swallowed. "Liebchen, are you all right?" he stammered, not
knowing what else to say.
In Berlin Funk held up his index finger. The technician pressed the
PLAY button on machine 1. "Yes," came Ilse's quavering reply.
"Have they hurt you in any way?"
This time Funk raised two fingers. "No, " Ilse seemed to answer.
"Don't be afraid," Hans implored, trying to keep his voice steady.
"No matter what. I'm going to get you back-"
"That is all, Sergeant," Funk said sharply.
"Don't hang up! Please-please let me speak to her again.
I'm going to do everything you ask!"
While Hans pleaded, Funk held up two fingers. His assistant
fast-forwarded to a preset location on tape 2 and depressed PLAY one
last time. Ilse's voice burned down the wires, cracking with emotion.
Her words were an anguished cry of hope and despair captured during the
session at the point of Luhr's Walther. She had screamed them after
seeing Josef Steuben murdered, believing that she would be killed
herself when her taped statement was completed. Luhr had added it to
the programme himself-the perfect diabolical touch.
"Oh God, Hans!" she wailed. "We did it! I'm going to have a baby! "
She broke into sobs again.
