The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2

by Greg Iles

  accelerated electrons focused into a beam that, even when guided by

  healing hands, poured deadly poison into living cells. The sound came

  again and again, until finally, in a silence made deeper by Ilse's utter

  despair, Smuts stepped around the shield, the cable trigger in his hand,

  and began to speak.

  . "Frau Apfel," he said. "I don't believe in messing aboutnOt where my

  job is concerned. You have certain information I need, and.you are

  going to provide it."

  Ilse tried to nod beneath the head strap.

  "During the past several minutes, I have exposed you to the maximum

  allowable three-year dosage of radiation for a nuclear plant worker. In

  an hour or so, you will probably experience some nausea and vomiting,

  but let us hope that is all you must endure. Far worse outcomes are

  still possible.

  Blindness, burns ... other things." Smuts held a finger in Ilse's face.

  "What happens next, Frau Apfel, is up to you."

  @le Ilse stared with wild eyes, the Afrikaner crouched and laid the

  cable trigger on the floor. Then he stood, loosened a bolt on the

  housing above Ilse, an . d lowered the hammerhead ban-el to a position

  six inches above her abdomen.

  He tightened the bolt again, locking it in place.

  "Frau Apfel, I ain going to remove the gag now, and you will cooperate

  fully. I have focused the X-ray beam on the approximate area of yottr

  ovaries. Radiation has an enhanced effect on such cells@ells that are

  still dividing, as it were.

  Exposure in this region could seriously jeopardize your chances of ever

  having children." Smuts grinned. "Are you ready to talk?"

  Ilse's eyes ' widened in horror. Her baby! She began to shiver

  uncontrollably. Her urinary sphincter let go, flooding both her dress

  and the table. Smuts drew back from the pungent smell. As he reached

  for the handkerchief gag, tears welled up in Ilse's eyes and streamed

  down onto the table.

  r.

  "Listen," said the Afrikaner, his voice slightly softer "As of this

  moment you are still all right. Only if you refuse to answer will you

  be injured. The dosage you have received so far would only be excessive

  for a woman alre#dy pregnant."

  Ilse's body convulsed against the straps. She fought like gn animal,

  expending every ounce of her remaining strength.

  Smuts-who had used this interrogation technique on many previous

  occasions-could not recall anyone resisting so fiercely once the

  prospect of escape had been offered. One never knew who the tough ones

  would be, he reflected.

  When Ilse finally went limp, he loosened the. strap at her head and

  carefully removed the gag.

  "Now," he said. "I need to know some things about your husband.

  Can you hear me?"

  Ilse's eyes opened. Slowly she focused on Smuts's face.

  "Good. Your husband did not take the plane he was instructed to take to

  Johannesburg. Nor has he checked into the hotel he was ordered to stay

  in. By the terms of the agreement, he has already forfeited your life.

  Why would he do that? Doesn't he want to save you?"

  Ilse closed her eyes. More tears dribbled out. When she opened her

  eyes again, Smuts was shaking the cable trigger in her face. "Does your

  husband have any Jewish blood in his family?"

  Ilse shook her head, her eyes blank in despair. Smuts stepped

  momentarily out of her field of vision, then reappeared with a damp rag.

  He squeezed a few drops of water into her mouth.

  "Now," he said. "No Jewish blood?"

  "No," Ilse coughed.

  "What about friends? Does he have any Jewish friends?

  Has Hans ever been to Israel?"

  Ilse shook her head.

  "You're sure? What about England? Or anywhere else in Britain?"

  "What is your husband's connection with Captain Dieter Hauer?"

  Ilse hesitated. "Fr-friend," she rasped. It was difficult to

  concentrate hard enough to lie, but she sensed that to reveal Hans's

  blood relationship to Hauer might somehow be dangerous.

  "Are you aware that Captain Hauer works with the German counterterror

  unit GSG-9?"

  Ilse silently mouthed the word no.

  "Undoubtedly your husband is." Smuts clucked his tongue thoughtfully.

  "I want you to tell me -about the Spandau papers. Did your husband show

  them to anyone before you gave them to your grandfather?"

  Ilse shook her head again.

  "Do you understand these questions?"

  She nodded.

  "Think carefully, Frau Apfel. Think about the names you saw in the

  Spandau papers. Did you see the name Al@ Horn?"

  "You didn't recognize the name when Herr Horn introduced himself last

  night?"

  "You were staring at his eye-his artificial eye. Why were you so

  interested in that? Did you come here expecting to find a man with one

  eye?"

  "I couldn't help staring."

  "What names were in the Spandau papers?"

  Ilse's voice cracked as she spoke. "Hess, of course. Hitler.

  Hermann Goring. Reinhard Heydrich, I think."

  Smuts nodded. "Did you see the name Zinoviev?" he asked softly.

  "It's a Russian name."

  Ilse thought a momen@ shook her head.

  "Helmut? Did you see that name?" Smuts shook the trigger in her face.

  "Did you?"

  'No "Frau Apfel," he said coldly, "if you're thinking of informing Herr

  Horn of what happened here this morning, I tell you now to abandon the

  idea. Whatever his reaction might be, I assure you that it.is within my

  power to have you back on this table before anything could be done to

  me. Do you understand?"

  "Oh God!" Ilse wailed, her voice choking into a sob.

  "You bastard! You've hurt my baby! You've killed my baby!"

  Smuts's eyes widened. "You are pregnant now?"

  "You know that! I said so on the tape!" Ilse squeezed her swollen eyes

  shut in anguish. She did not feel Smuts unbuckling the leather straps;

  only when she felt herself lifted from the table did she look again. The

  Afrikaner carried her over to the lead shield, then behind it to where

  the tall, rectangular X-ray machine stood with its glowing dials and

  meters.

  "Look!" he said angrily. "Look here!" I4is tanned hand pointed to a

  scalloped black knob. "This displays MAmilliamperes. It's the measure

  of radiation." He moved his bind to another dial. '7Ws is KV-Elovolts.

  It's the measure of power driving the tube. Look, woman!"

  Ilse looked. Both dials were set at zero. She coughed and rubbed her

  eyes, fighting down waves of nausea.

  "Do you understand?" Smuts asked. "I never heard the tape you made,

  but it doesn't matter. You have received no radiation! You are all

  right. Your child is unhurt!"

  Ilse looked into the Afrikaner's eyes for deception, but saw none.

  "Why?" she stammered.

  "I protect Herr Horn, Frau Apfel. At any cost. I had to know that you

  would tell the truth. And you did, didn't you?"

  Ilse nodded, wiping her face on her blouse.

  "Good. Now get back to your room and clean yourself up.

  Herr Horn is not to see you like this." His eyes fixed Ilse with

 
frightening intensity. "But you remember what that table felt like.

  When Herr Horn asks you to do something, you do it, no matter how crazy

  it might sound. Especially at tonight's meeting. Remember your child,

  Frau Apfel. I can have you back on that table any time I decide. Any

  time!"

  Unable to restrain herself any longer, Ilse clenched her stomach with

  both hands, double@ over, and vomited on the Afrikaner's boots.

  Shaking with rage, Smuts stormed out and went in search of his Zulu

  driver, leaving Ilse coughing on the floor. He could not believe he had

  to put up with such outrages. Perhaps after tonight's business had been

  concluded, Horn would see that the best policy was to kill the girl and

  be done with it. The husband could be killed as soon as he turned over

  the Spandau papers, and the Berlin police could take care of the girl's

  grandfather at their leisure. Things were SO Simple, if people would

  only focus on the facts. As Smuts passed through the spectacular

  gallery rooms, he tried in vain to ignore the stench rising from his

  boots.

  958 A.m. Tempelhof Airpoil. American Sector, West Berlin, CRG Detective

  Julius Schneider climbed out of the Iroquois helicopter gunship and

  shook his head in wonder. Colonel Rose, bundled to the eyeballs in a

  goosedown parka, stood on the tarmac beside a drab Army Ford. Sergeant

  Clary waited faithfully at the wheel. Rose's face was clean shaven, but

  his eyes were red and swollen. He waved Schneider into the Ford.

  Pressing his hat to his head to keep the icy wind from blowing it off,

  the big German ran to the car and climbed in.

  Rose skipped the formalities. "The shit has hit the fan, Schneider.

  Remember my FBI guy? The one who was going to get that Zinoviev file

  for us?"

  Schneider nodded.

  "Well, he got it. He Fed-Exed a copy to me at nine-thirty this

  morning." Rose shook his head. "Ten minutes later he was arrested on

  charge& of espionage. His computer query on Zinoviev apparently rang

  some kind of warning bell at Langley, and that set the dogs on him. I

  guess the FBI computers aren't as secure as the Bureau likes to think

  they are."

  "What was in this Zinoviev file?" Schneider asked.

  "We won't know till tomorrow when I get the file. If I get the file. If

  the FBI knows he shipped it, they can probably stop it before it gets

  here. If it does get here, I've got Ivan Kosov waiting to double-check

  what he can in the KGB files." Schneider scowled. "Why do you need

  Kosov?"

  "When my buddy called, he told me a little about the Zinoviev file,

  Schneider. He said the file claims that the United States, Britain, and

  the Russians have all known for years that Prisoner Number Seven was not

  Rudolf Hess."

  Schneider's eyes narrowed.

  "I asked him why, ifthat was true, the Russians had kept quiet about it

  all these years You know what he told me? He said it didn't matter what

  the Russians knew about Hess, because in 1943 Winston Churchill

  blackmailed Stalin into silence."

  Schneider looked bewildered. "What do you mean?

  Blackmailed him with what?"

  Rose shrugged. "MY guy said it had to do with Zinoviev's part in Hess's

  mission, but that it was too complicated to explain on the phone. He

  said I wouldn't believe it when I saw it, but that the Russians were the

  good guys in this mess. I told him I would believe it, and that I

  thought the Brits were still neck-deep in some kind of stinking

  coverup." Rose's eyes flickered. "He told me I might be right,

  Schneider. But I guess we'll have to wait for our copy of the Zinoviev

  file to find out."

  "Where is your new partner now?" Schneider asked.

  Rose hooked his thumb toward Tempelhof's observation deck, eighty meters

  away. Above the rail Schneider saw a solitary figure wearing a hat and

  a raincoat, the only person braving the cold of the deck.

  "There he is," Rose said. "A week ago I'd have considered it sacrilege

  to bring that bastard to the home of the Berlin Airlift.

  Today I trust him more than some of my own people."

  Schneider looked skeptical. "Why are you here now?"

  "To give you a little tactical update, my friend. One hour ago Prefect

  Funk arrested one of your brother officers on espionage charges. Seems

  this guy was passing secret information to the British government."

  "Scheisse! " Rose nodded in disgust. "You should regard everything we

  knew as of this morning-including the names on Hauer and Apfel's false

  assports-as blown to the Brits. If you get anywhere near those cops,

  Schneider, you keep your eyes peeled for British spools."

  Rose looked out the window at an F-16 fighter parked in a concrete

  revetment twenty meters away. "One more thing," he said. "Kosov told

  me to tell you to watch your back. He wouldn't tell me why. I think

  he's in the same spot I am, Schneider. He doesn't know who to trust.

  He wants to help me, but he's being muzzled from above. I think he's

  waiting for some kind of clearance to come clean with me."

  Schneider grunted. It wasn't easy for a German to see any Russian in a

  positive light. "Don't trust him too much, Colonel," he said.

  "Kosov would sacrifice you without a thought."

  "You worry about your own ass," Rose advised. "Kosov's got enough to do

  without yanking my chain. Moscow went nuts when they found out about

  Axel Goltz's mutiny. The KGB is interrogating every Stasi agent in

  Berlin, trying to figure out what's going on. If they crack this

  Phoenix thing, they'll be lining those tattooed bastards up against the

  Wall by the dozen and passing out blindfolds and cigarettes."

  Rose punched a stiff forefinger into Schneider's barrel chest.

  "If you find Hauer and Apfel, you bring 'em back here with the papers.

  Hauer's probably the 'only guy who can straighten this mess out now. And

  those Spandau papers are the only thing that could buy my ass out of the

  sling. Oh yeah, one more thing. If you happen to find the guy who

  killed Harry Richardson"-Rose smacked the car window with the meaty end

  of his fist-"you have my permission to gut and skin the son of a bitch.

  Briefing concluded, Detective."

  Schneider smiled coldly. "Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Oberst."

  He climbed out of the Ford and clambered into the waiting gunship.

  He was still 150 miles from Frankfurt Airport, and thirteen air-hours

  away from South Africa. Plenty of time left to figure out how he was

  going to find Hauer, and plenty of time to figure out what he was going

  to say when he did. The questions he could not get out of his mind were

  the ones Rose had barely touched on. What was Phoenix, reany?

  Was it a secret subsect of Der Bruderschaft? If so, if it was a

  neo-fascist group that had penetrated both the police and political

  hierarchies, Schneider feared not only for his police department, but

  for Germany itself The primary goal of all neo-Nazis was German

  reunification. It was easy there enough to see that a premature grab

  for that goal could suit in catastrophe fOr the country. Russia might

  be flirting with glasnost and
perestroika, but faced with the specter of

  two fascist-led Germanys pressing for reunification, the nation that had

  lost twenty million citizens to Hitler's armies might respond with

  unimaginable force and fury.

  Kosov's warning to COIOnel Rose about "watching his back" brought

  Schneider back to more immediate concernsWho besides Kosov even knew

  that he was involved in the Phoenix case? Schneider remembered Harry

  Richardson's mutilated corpse baking in the overheated, apartment. Did

  Kosov know the animal who had killed him? Schneider thought of the

  mysterious B written in Richardson's bloodHad Kosov been able to read

  its significance? If so, why couldn't he give Rose a name to go with

  his warning? Could Harry Richardson have been killed by a Russian only

  an hour after Kosov released him at the Wall? Schneider knew Colonel

  Rose saw the British as the villains in this case, but he suspected it

  was somehow more complicated than that.

  As a homicide detective, he had found that 99 percent of all

  the simplest mysteries" could be solved by reasoning out explanation for

  any event. But this mystery-he had felt from the beginning-fell into

  the 1 percent category.

  ain international Airport 10.29 A.M. Frankfort Twelfth Department agent

  Yuri Borodin sat eating a Wienerschnitzel in the large restaurant

  overlooking the main runway of Flughafen Frankfurt. Every two minutes a

  huge jet would swoop down from left to right across the giant picture

  window and settle silently onto the tarmac. Borodin had seen everything

  from Japan Airlines 747s to Aeroflot airliners to U.S. Air Force C-130s.

  To the right of Borodin's Wienerschnitzel lay a red file a half inch

  thick. It contained a concise summation of the KGB file on Rudolf Hess,

  a multivolume collection of data amassed over fifty years.

  A courier from Moscow had delivered the file to Borodin at the Frankfurt

  Airport - Sheraton thirty minutes ago.

  Borodin had scanned its contents with only desultory interest.

  The file described a convoluted plot to kill the British heads of state

  during World War Two, a plot involving highranking British Nazi

  sympathizers, the British royal family, and a British communist cadre

  manipulated by a tsarist Russian named Zinoviev and a young German agent

  named Helmut Steuer. It told of the KGB's certainty that Spandau's

  Prisoner Number Seven was not Rudolf Hess but his wartime double, and of