by Greg Iles
For a short time, anyway. Look while you can. Those drums contain
enough plutonium to turn the State of Israel into a smoking cinder."
While the Arabs made approving noises, Smuts took a small metal box from
a nearby shelf. The box had a long cable dangling from it with some
type of sensor on the end.
When Horn explained that the machine was a portable radiation detector,
Dr. Sabri came out of the chamber and followed Smuts to the edge of the
vault. He watched the Afrikaner lower the sensor until it hung just
above the row of drums. Most modern radiation detectors emit no sound,
but Smuts's "Geiger counter" began to crackle like an untuned radio
dial. All of the Libyans but Sabri drew back in terror. While the
interpreter held both hands protectively over his genitals, the
physicist leaned over to read the instrument.
Major Karami asked, "How can we be sure the drums contain plutonium?"
Horn shrugged. "I have no motive to deceive you. Have I asked you for
any money?"
"You are a rich man," Kararni pointed out. "Perhaps your only goal is
to make our country look foolish in the eyes of the world. In the eyes
of the Zionists."
"Silence, Ilyas!" Prime Minister Jalloud commanded.
Horn smiled knowingly. "My intentions regarding the jews are identical
to your own, Major. You can be sure of that."
Karami looked skeptical. He turned to Dr. Sabri and spoke rapidly in
Arabic. "Could not spent reactor fuel produce this reaction?
Couldn't the instrument be tampered with to produce any desired
reading?"
Already protective of his new toy, Sabri spoke defensively.
"Spent fuel alone would not produce the reaction you see, Major.
The drums contain plutonium."
"You sound very sure of yourself for an inexperienced young man."
"I am the most experienced man you will find in our country!"
"Yes, yes, we know that," Prime Minister Jalloud said, switching back to
English. "Why don't we close the vault now?"
Horn nodded. Smuts pressed the button that hydraulically moved the
lead-lined cover back into place. Angered by Major Karami's skepticism,
Dr. Sabri returned to the bomb chamber. In a few seconds he had the
weapon open for inspection. His eyes glinted like those of a boy over
his first electric train. Major Karami, however, looked far from
satisfied.
"I understand your skepticism, Major," Alfred Horn said.
"And under the circumstances, perhaps you deserve more assurance of my
motives than my word alone." Pieter Smuts shifted uneasily. "If you
gentlemen will join Dr. Sabri,' Horn went on, "I believe I can satisfy
all doubts as to my motives regarding the Jews."
Major Karami stepped quickly into the yellow-lit chamber. Jalloud and
his interpreter reluctantly followed him inside, where they formed a
respectful half-circle around the bomb.
Smuts leaned down and whispered into Horn's ear, "I don't think this is
a good idea."
"Nonsense," Horn said. He buzzed his wheelchair up to the door of the
chamber. "The time for secrecy is past. Remove the decal, Pieter."
With a sigh of frustration the Afrikaner flipped a wall switch, flooding
the storage chamber with fluorescent white light. Then he shouldered
past the Libyans and knelt beside the upended weapon.
Taking a penknife from his pocket, he unfolded a short blade and began
to scrape lightly beneath the flames of the painted Phoenix.
Soon he had pried up a triangle of black polyurethane. He put the knife
back into his pocket, then took the curled edge between his thumb and
forefinger and pulled with a gentle, steady pressure. There was a soft,
adhesive ripping sound as the black decal tore away from the metal fin.
Prime Minister Jalloud gasped.
"Allah protect us," whispered the interpreter.
Dr. Sabri stared in mute wonder.
But Major Karami smiled with wolfish glee. For hidden beneath the black
polyurethane decal was Alfred Horn's true Phoenix design-a blood red
planet Earth clutched in the flaming talons of the Phoenix. And
spanning the red globe-a curved black swastika. Karami's sigh of
satisfaction told Horn that his revelation had produced its desired
effect.
Horn smiled. "It will take the doctor a half hour at least to complete
his inspection. Why don't we,go upstairs and wait in more comfortable
surroundings? Smuts will stay until he has finished."
"An ... an excellent idea," Jalloud stammered Jumah the interpreter
stumbled out of the chamber, his face ashen. He and Prime Minister
Jalloud followed Horn's wheelchair to the elevator at the far end of the
basement lab.
But Major Karami lingered behind. At the elevator Jalloud turned and
watched him. Still only halfway to the elevator, the stubborn major
stood staring back down the length of the lab to the vault where
Sabri-under the watchful gaze of Pieter Smuts-tolled over his deadly
prize.
Horn called, "More questions, Major?"
Karami turned and walked toward the elevator. "What is behind the other
two doors? More bombs?"
Horn's smile faded. "No. I keep only one weapon here.
They're too dangerous."
"More dangerous than raw plutonium?" Karami stepped into the elevator.
Horn smiled thinly. "Far more dangerous. There is always the chance
that some unscrupulous individual or nation might attempt to steal
them."
The elevator closed with a hydraulic hiss.
"I'M sure this house is well protected," Karami baited.
"Did you see any security on your way in?" Horn asked gamely.
Karami's eardrums registered a painful relief of pressure as the
elevator rocketed toward the surface. He had already noted the lack of
security with great satisfaction. "No, I didn't."
"It's there, Major. Smuts is the best in his field."
"And what is his field, Herr Horn? Personal security?"
The old man smiled. "I believe the English term is 'asset protection.'
"Translate," Karami commanded. When the prime minister's interpreter
obliged, Karami said, "Ah. Was he a soldier, then, this Smuts? Where
did he train?"
Horn folded his spotted hands in his lap. "He served in the South
African army as a young man. But he has a varied background. By the
time I found him, he'd fought all over Africa."
The elevator opened on the ground floor.
"And who trained him in this 'as-set protection,' as you call it?"
Karami asked. "The South African Army?"
"I did," Horn said tersely, rolling into the spacious reception hall. "I
"With all due respect," Karanii called, who trained you?"
Horn sopped his wheelchair and whirled to face the Libyan. "The German
Army," he said quietly.
The Arab's eyelids fell, hooding the yellow sclera of his eyes.
"More questions?" Horn challenged.
Fearin a deal-breaking dispute, Prime Minister Jalloud stepped between
the two men. "The major has a great curiosity, Herr Horn.
He's known as a zealous military historian in our country."
Karami ignored him. "You must have fought in the Second W
orld War, Herr
Horn. Were you SS?"
Horn spat contemptuously on the marble floor. "I said the army, Major,
not Himmler's lapdogs. The Wehrmacht was my home!" Horn had taken all
he intended to from this arrogant Bedouin. "Listen to me, Arab. In
1941 the mufti of krusalem went to Berlin to beg the Fuhrer's help in
destroying the Jews of Palestine. The Fuhrer generously armed the
Arabs"-Horn stabbed a finger #t Karami-"yet still your fathers could not
push the Jews into the sea! I hope you do better this time!"
Major Karami shook with rage, but Horn simply turned his wheelchair away
and whirred off down a long corridor.
Jalloud shot Karami an angry glance. "Fool! What are you trying to
do?"
"Just testing the old lion's claws, Jalloud. Calm yourself."
"Calm myself?" The prime minister caught hold of Karami's robe.
"If you wreck this negotiation, Qaddafi will have your head on a spike!
And mine with it!"
Karami easily pulled his arm free. "If you had half the cunning of a
rug peddler, Jalloud, you'd see that this old Nazi needs us as much as
we need him. Probably more."
Karami reached out and laid his forefinger lightly on Jailoud's cheek.
"When our business is done," he vowed, "I will gut that old man for-his
insult."
Jalloud stared at Karami with horror, but the major only smiled.
"Hurry!" the interpreter whispered. "He's already around the corner!"
"Let us go, my friend," Karami said pleasantly. "We'll see what else
our host has to offer us." He started down the hall.
Jalloud followed slowly. He didn't know exactly what the
second-in-command of the Libyan People's Army had in mind, but he knew
already that he didn't like it. He also knew that the fanatical,
impulsive dictator who still held the reins of power in Tripoli would
probably love it. "Allah protect us," he murmured, hurrying after the
receding figure of Karami. "From ourselves, if no one else."
Ilse Apfel opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom
prison cell. How did I get here? she wondered. As she lay there,
trying to gather her thoughts, a key scratched in the door.
Ilse sat up slowly, her eyes on the knob. It turned slowly; then the
door burst open. Robert Stanton stood there wobbling, with two crystal
goblets in one hand and a bottle of cognac in the other. The Englishman
smiled crookedly.
"Guten Abend, Frdulein!" he bellowed.
While Ilse stared, he stepped in, closed the door, and propped himself
haughtily against it.
"Get out of my room," she said forcefully.
"Now, now, Fraulein, let's just relax and have a sip of something nice,
shall we?"
"I'll scream," Ilse threatened, though she knew it sounded ridiculous.
"Wonderfully solid house, this," Stanton said, grinning.
"Damned near soundproof, I should think."
Ilse summoned her coldest voice. "If you touch me, Herr Horn will make
you pay."
Stanton raised an eyebrow. "The old goat's taken quite a fancy to you,
it's true. But he's terribly busy just now, hobnobbing with the Great
Unwashed. He doesn't have time for domestic squabbles. So, it's up to
us to have a good time while the business gets done." Stanton poured
two brimming glasses of Remy Martin V.S.O.P spilling as much again on
the floor.
The mention of the Arabs brought the earlier meeting back in a rush.
"Business?" Ilse echoed. "You're aware of what he's doing, and you
call it business? Aren't you an Englishman, for God's sake?"
"The genuine article," Stanton said with a mock bow. "I told you, my
blood's nearly as blue as the queens."
"Then why don't you try to stop him?"
Stanton shrugged. "What's the point? Alfred stopped listening to me
long ago. Although what he thinks he can get from those flea-ridden
Arabs, I haven't the slightest idea.
Poppies, I suppose. Very old hat. He certainly can't sell them
anything-they've got their own sources of supply in the trade, haven't
they? Rather like trying to sell them oil, what? Now, come her-e and
give us a kiss."
"My God," Ilse whispered. "You don't even know what he's doing!
What he's selling!"
Stanton lurched forward, sloshing cognac onto her blot "I don't care if
he's selling the- bloody crown jewels, love.
I'm well out of it now and ... darling, you make quite a dish in those
natty secretary's clothes. Makes one quite anxious to see what you look
like out of them."
Leering through a haze of alcohol, Stanton set the bottle on the bedside
table, drained his glass and smashed it against the door with a
flourish.
Ilse struggled to stay calm. "Lord Granville," she said evenly, "you're
drunk. You don't know what you're don Herr Horn will have you killed if you do this. Don't you know that?"
Stanton laughed raucously, then,his face grew deadly serious. "I advise
you to choose your allies with care," he said, wagging a finger in her
face. "Very soon dear Alfred may no longer be in a position to have
anyone killed."
Ilse thought swiftly. She was afraid, but not in the way she had been
on the X-ray table. This babbling Englishman was no Pieter Smuts.
"All right, then," she said. "I suppose there's nothing I can do." As
Stanton watched fascinated, Ilse lifted the bottle of Rdmy Martin and
swigged from the mouth of the bottle.
She let some of the brandy dribble down her chin, her eyes fixed on
Stanton's. "Lock the door," she said. "I don't want to be
interrupted."
With an astonished gape Stanton turned around and lurched toward the
door. The half-full bottle of Remy Martin crashed against the base of
his skull like a glass avalanche.
He staggered and fell to the floor. Ilse rifled his pockets and found
the key he'd used to enter her room. Praying he didn't have access to
any others, she flung the bedroom door wide, dragged his unconscious
body into the hall, then jumped back into her room and slammed the door.
She tried to lock it with the key, but it didn't seem to fit. She
cursed as the useless metal bent in the lock. Either she'd taken the
wrong key from Stanton, or the proper key only worked from the outside.
She thought of opening the door and searching him again, but she had
lost her nerve. Her entire body was shaking. Ilse lurched into the
bathroom and locked it with the flimsy door latch.
"Please hurry, Hans," she murmured. "God, please hurry."
7.55p.m. BurgersparkHatel, Pretoria When Hans Apfel walked into the
lobby of the Burgerspark, Yosef Shamir felt his heart thump with
excitement. Hans looked neither left nor right as he walked, but
marched straight across to the elevators set in the far wall. Yosef
lifted the walkie-talkie that connected him to Stern's room on the
eighth floor.
"Apfel has arrived," he said. "He's going for the elevators."
"Any sign of HauerT' asked Gadi Abrams.
"No. Should I wait?"
A pause. "No. Get up to Natterman's room."
Yosef scurried to a second elevator. Just as he stepped i
nside, he
glimpsed the broad back of a man wearing a dark business suit disappear
through the fire stairs door. "I think Hauer's here," he said as the
elevator doors closed. "He's coming up the stairs."
"Acknowledged," Gadi replied. "Get the professor ready to move."
Dieter Hauer crashed through the third floor fire door and hit the up
elevator button. The stairs were taking too long, and if anything rough
was going to happen in suite 811, he didn't want to be too late or too
exhausted to participate. After a brief wait, he darted into an empty
elevator and punched 8. The car whooshed up the remaining floors in
seconds. It took Hauer a moment to get his bearings, but within fifteen
seconds he was knocking on the door of suite 811.
Hans opened the door after scrutinizing him through the fisheye
peephole. "See anyone?"
Hauer stepped into the suite. "No, but I went through the lobby pretty
fast."
"The room's empty," Hans informdd him. "Do you think they'll call, or
send somebody up?"
"I think they'll call." Hauer glanced at his watch. "In one minute
we'll know for sure."
Gadi Abrams adjusted the headphones he was wearing and looked up at
Jonas Stern. "Hauer's inside," he said.
Stern nodded. "Let's see if anyone shows up."
The unexpected ring of the telephone in the Israelis' room startled both
Gadi and Stern. Gadi asked sharply, "Who t sides our own men knows
we're here?"
Stern tightened his lips. "No one. Except maybe the kidnappers."
He lifted the receiver. "Yes?"
"Someone's trying to hit us!" shouted a voice in Hebrew.
"The professor's stark naked!"
"Yosef.?" Stern said. "Yosef, what's happened? Where are you?"
"In the professor's room! Just after we left Natterman, someone came in
here looking for the papers. A woman. I used the phone because she
blew the professor's radio to pieces. He's hysterical!"
Stern touched the bulge in his pocket where the three Spandau pages lay.
"Yosef, stay whore you are. Stay on the line@' , "Telephone ringing in
Apfel's room," Gadi said, pressing the headphones to his ears.
"Yosef," Stern instructed, "wait five seconds, then start calling suite
811. Make certain the professor is ready, and keep trying until you get
through."
Yosef rang off.
Hans jumped a foot off the bed when the ringing telephone fulfilled
Hauer's prediction. Hauer glanced at his watch: eight Pm.
