The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2

by Greg Iles

  exactly. Hans darted between the beds and snatched up the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Sergeant Apfel?" said a male voice.

  "Yes!"

  "You know the Voortrekker Monument?"

  "What? Wait ... yes, the big brown thing. I saw it as I drove into

  town."

  "Be there tomorrow at ten A.M. Come alone. Ten A.M. Do you have that?

  The Voortrekker Monument. Ten in the morning. Alone."

  "What about my wife? Will Ilse be there?' "You be there. If you're not

  alone, she dies."

  The caller broke the connection.

  Hans dropped the receiver onto the floor, @ face slack.

  "Well?" said Hauer. 'What did they sayt' Hans stood silent for several

  seconds. "They want me to meet them tomorrow," he said finally. "At

  the Voortrekker -Monument."

  Hauer nodded excitedly. "That's a good place for us. Very public.

  That's where I'll lay out our terms for the exchange.

  What time is the rendezvous?"

  A strange calm seemed to settle over Hans. His eyes seemed unfocus@d.

  He sat down hard on the bed.

  "What time, Hans?" Hauer repeated softly, his eyes straying to the

  door. "What time is the rendezvous?"

  Hans looked up, straight into his father's eyes. "Six," he said in a

  robotic voice. "Six Pm. at the Voortrekker Monument."

  Down the hall and around the corner, Gadi Abrams shook his fist in

  triumph. "The rendezvous is at six," he murmured, "at the Voortrekker

  Monument. Apfel's off the line, but I didn't hear him hang up." Gadi

  pressed the headphones to his dark head. "No phone ringing. Come on,

  Professor -- ." Suddenly Gadi jumped up and pulled off the headphones.

  "the professor can't get through! Apfel didn't hang up the phone!"

  Stern forced himself to think clearly. His well-planned operation was

  unraveling around him. Snatching up the phone, he tried to call Yosef

  and the professor. "Busy," he said.

  "They're still trying to reach Hauer. That means the stairs won't be

  covered."

  "Aaron has to stay at the elevator box," Gadi said quickly.

  "You've got to keep trying to reach the professor. That leaves me to

  cover the stairs." The young commando picked up his Uzi and started for

  the door. He had not heard it open.

  With the mute surprise of a man watching the earth split open at his

  feet, Gadi watched a small round fragmentation grenade rolling toward

  him through the foyer. The door slammed shut.

  "Grenade!" he shouted.

  While Stern-a veteran of three desert wars and countless guerilla

  actions@over behind the far bed, Gadi Abrams proved the boast he had

  made minutes before about the sayaret matkal commandos. With the

  reflexes of a gifted soccer player, he stopped the grenade's forward

  motion with his right foot, then kicked it sideways into the bathroom.

  Then he hurled himself backward into the space between the two double

  beds.

  Hauer was leaning out of the door down the hall, straining his ears for

  the slightest sound, when Swallow's grenade exploded in the bathroom of

  room 820.

  "Donnerwetter!" he roared. "What the hell was that?"

  Reaching back blindly, Hauer wrenched Hans through the door.

  "Stay with me!" he commanded. "And don't use your gun unless you

  absolutely have to!"

  Hauer dragged Hans toward the fire stairs, away from the explosion. They

  crashed through the metal door at speed, careening headlong down

  concrete steps like teenaged hoodlums. As they passed a large,

  red-painted 5, Hauer caught hold of Hans's jacket.and pulled him against

  the wall. He clapped a hand over Hans's mouth and listened for any

  sound of pursuit. At first he heard only their own ragged gasps.

  Then a slow creak, as of someone attempting to silently open a disused

  fire door, echoed through the stairwell.

  When the crash came, Hauer knew that their pursuer had given up all hope

  of stealth. He shoved Hans downward and charged after him.

  They took each flight in two leaps, only lightly touching the rails as a

  guide. On the third-floor landing Hauer grabbed Hans and growled a

  dozen words into his ear, then slipped through the fire door while Hans

  continued downward. Hauer drew his stolen Walther-then he recalled his

  warning to Hans. The explosion upstairs would draw all attention to the

  eighth floor. If he fired the unsilenced Walther here, he would

  certainly draw some attention to himself.

  With a curse of frustration he slipped the Walther back into his pocket

  and waited.

  Four floors above him, Yosef Shamir flung himself down the stairs like a

  man possessed. From the moment he'd gotten off the telephone with

  Stern, the young commando had been hauling his instincts. Stern had

  ordered him to stay put, but from what Natterman had told him, Yosef

  feared that the woman with the machine pistol was now on her way up to

  find Stern. Leaving Natterman to complete the call to the Germans on

  his own, Yosef had raced upstairs to help Gadi and Stern. He had

  reached the seventh floor.when he heard the door just above him crash

  open. He slipped quietly through the seventh floor door just in time to

  see Hauer and Hans rush past him down the stairs. With a sudden sick

  feeling, Yosef realized he was probably -the sole remaining link to

  Stern's quarry. The young Israeli bounded down the fire stairs with no

  regard for safety, his mind only on regaining contact with the Germans.

  When the steel edge of the fire door materialized in front of him like a

  phantom, time slowed down. Yosef twisted his body to avoid the deadly

  obstacle, but he simply couldn't move fast enough.

  The door caught the side of his forehead, opening a three-inch gash and

  dropping him like a stone on the landing.

  Hauer threw his weight against the third-floor fire door and forced

  Yosef's unconscious body out of the way, then knelt to examine him. He

  didn't recognize the face, but he hadn't expected to. Yosef's pockets

  were empty. No wallet, no coins, no clue to his name or nationality.

  Even his clothes had no labels. On impulse Hauer took hold of Yosef's

  head and lifted it to search for the tattooed eye ...

  A scream of agony rebounded up through the stairwell. A man's scream.

  Then a pistol shot exploded.

  "Jesus!" Hauer cried. He dropped Yosef's head on the concrete and

  raced down the steps after Hans.

  As Gadi Abrams came to his knees and leveled his Uzi at the smoke-filled

  foyer, the first spray of bullets from Swallow's Ingrain tore into room

  820. Gadi hit the floor and cursed in fury. Either the gunman was

  using a silencer, or the grenade had blown out his eardrums.

  Beneath the far bed he saw Stern speaking into his walkie-talkie.

  "Aaron, this is Jonas. We are pinned down here. Please respond."

  Stern waited while Gadi rose up and peppered the door with a burst from

  his silenced Uzi. "Aaron!" Stern tried again. "Please respond!"

  "He can't hear you!" Gadi shouted. "Too much concrete between him and

  us! We've got to storm our way out, Uncle! We're going to lose the

  Germans otherwise. It's the only way!" The young comm
ando leapt to his

  feet.

  Feeling a surge of adrenaline unlike any since the '73 war in Sinai,

  Jonas Stern clutched his own Uzi, rose up, and followed his shouting,

  blasting nephew'into the smoke of battle.

  Hauer found Hans on the garage landing, standing silently over a corpse.

  The body was blond and fair-skinned and looked about thirty-five. Its

  right hand gripped a pistol.

  "I told you not to use your gun!"

  "I didn't!" Hans shot back.

  Then Hauer saw the knife. The German knife from sporting goods store.

  It was buried to the hilt in the d man's left side. "I'll be damned,"

  he said.

  He fell to his knees and searched the dead man's clothes.

  He immediately found a British passport-which he placed in his own

  pocket-and a wallet, from which he removed the money. Robbery was the

  most plausible option under the circumstances. He glanced quickly

  behind the dead man's ears for the Phoenix tattoo, but saw no mark. It

  took a considerable effort to dislodge Hans's knife. Hauer wiped it

  clean on the corpse's jacket, then slipped the knife into his belt.

  "Who is he?" Hans murmured.

  "Worry about it later. Let's go."

  As Hauer turned and grabbed the door handle, he felt motion behind him.

  He turned again, then froze. Hans had snatched up the corpse by the

  collar and he was screaming, screaming in German at the top of his

  lungs: "Where is she, gotidamn you? Where is my wife?"

  Gadi and Stern burst out of room 8@O to find an empty hallway. A

  strange, cloying scent lingered in the air. Perfume.

  "Who the hell was that?" Gadi shouted. 'The Germans?

  They must be in one of these rooms."

  "They're gone!" Stern called from the door of suite 811.

  "Come on!"

  Together they raced to the elevator. As the doors slid shut, Stern

  tried again to reach Aaron at the elevator-control box.

  "Aaron!" he cried. "Forget the elevator! Try to stop the Germans!

  Aaron!"

  In the concrete basement of the hotel, Aaron Haber heard Stern's

  crackling commands as: "Aaron! ... elevator! ...

  -stop the Germans!" Dutifully, the young Israeli threw the switch that

  stopped the elevator between the fourth and third floors.

  When the car jolted to a stop, Stern and Gadi stared at each other with

  ashen faces. Gadi punched the button to @:open the door, but got no

  response. He tried to pry the doors "Open with his Uzi, but they

  wowdn't budge. Whirling around in fury, he saw no one. Stern had sat

  down on the :floor of the elevator and leaned against the veneer wall,

  his eyes closed.

  "Chfld's play," he said softly. "Isn't that what you said?"

  Hauer wrenched the rented Toyota over to the curb in front of a

  government sandstone office building. He leavt out of the car, ran to

  the left front wheel well, and crouched down. Eight seconds later he

  was back beside Hans, holding a heavy paper packet covered with duct

  tape. The packet held the Spandau papers and the photos Hauer had shot

  during the afternoon.

  "So much for the Burgerspark," Hauer said. "We're not going back to the

  Protea Hof, either. Our passports are obviously blown."

  Hans rocked back and forth in the passenger seat.

  "That explosion sounded like a grenade," said Hauer.

  "Who in hell could have thrown it? The kidnappers?"

  "We got out," Hans muttered. "That's all that matters. We just have to

  stay alive until the rendezvous tomorrow."

  "We need cover," said Hauer. "This time we ignore our friendly cabbie's

  advice, though. This time we're going to a real fleabag.

  Somewhere we won't need any identification at all."

  Hans nodded. "How do we find that?"

  "Just like we would in Berlin."

  Hauer let in the clutch and pulled onto Prince's Park Straat, then

  turned southwest onto R-27. He slowed at each intersection and peered

  down the side streets. He knew what he wanted: garish neon, street

  people, liquor advertisements, the howl of bar music. The universal

  siren song that draws the lonely and the bored and the hunted to the

  dark marrow of every city in the world. From what Hauer had learned

  already, he suspected it would be easier to find such a place in

  Johannesburg than in Pretoria. But he knew that anonymity could he had

  anywhere for a price.

  With Hans watching the streets fanning north, he drove on.

  826 Pm. Horn House: The Northern Transvaal

  Alfred . Horn sat beneath the greenish glow of a banker's lamp in his

  dark study. Opposite him, immersed in shadow, Pieter Smuts awaited his

  questions.

  "They're gone?" Horn said quietly.

  "They're gone."

  "Comments?"

  Smuts glowered from the shadows. "I don't like Major Karami. I don't

  trust him. I think it was a mistake to show him the plutonium.

  It was a mistake to show him the Phoenix mark."

  Horn laughed softly. "Is there anyone you do trust, Pieter?"

  "Myself. You. No one else."

  "You must have a little faith in human greed, Pieter. The Arabs want

  the weapon too desperately to risk losing it through treachery.

  Now, what of the cobalt case?"

  "Can't be done, sir. Not in ten days."

  Horn let out a sigh of exasperation. "What about using a standard

  cobalt jacket?"

  Smuts shrugged. "It would work, but the Libyans would reallize what

  they were dealing with. They'd probably reive the jacket before the

  strike. The only way we can fool them is by having the bomb case itself

  seeded with cobalt.

  And our metallurgists are having serious problems. We had ays getting

  the cobalt itself, and the casting is far from pie. It's the rush, sir.

  If we could slow down a bit, go back to the original plan-" "Out of the

  question!" Horn snapped. "I may be dead in twenty days.

  The British are coming for me, I'm certain of that." What will the bomb

  do without the cobalt?"

  "To be honest, sir, the short-term damage will be just as severe without

  it. And with the prevailing winds in Israel at is time of year, a

  direct forty-kiloton strike on Tel Aviv ay well take out most of the

  population of Jerusalem with radiation alone."

  Horn nodded slowly.

  muts reached out of the shadows and laid four videocases in the pool of

  light on Horn's desk. "There," he said ;efully, "is the proof of Libyan

  involvement with the ib. I must ask again, sir. Why trust the Arabs at

  all? My and I can place the weapon inTel Aviv ourselves, and can use a

  standard cobalt jacket. Your original goal will be accomplished with

  half the risk and twice the likelihood of success."

  Horn shook his head. "Not half the risk, Pieter. You would be at risk.

  I cannot allow that. Besides, Israeli Intelligence is very good.

  This must be a genuine Arab attack. Only that'll bring about the

  outcome I want. If the Libyans fail, you will get your chance. But

  we'll speak of that no more for now.

  Tell me, what of our German policeman?"

  "I made the call myself. Sergeant Apfel took it. I think Hauer might

  be with him, but it doesn't matter. One of m
y men is meeting Apfel

  tomorrow morning at the Voortrekker Monument. We'll kill Hauer there if

  he shows up, and we'll have both Apfel and the papers here by tomorrow

  after-, noon."

  Horn toyed with his eyepatch. "And what has dear Lord.

  Granville been up to?"

  Smuts wrinkled his nose in disgust. "He's spoken to no@ one outside the

  house. I'm monitoring all the phones -to @ .

  make sure. He's got his eye on Sergeant Apfel's wife, though, I can

  tell you that."

  Horn's face hardened. "See that he makes no trouble for her."

  "I'll see he makes no trouble for anyone ever again."

  "Not yet, Pieter," Horn said gently. "We're not sure of anything yet."

  "He asked me again if he could go up in the tower."

  Horn smiled wryly. "Robert is a good boy, Pieter, but he's mixed up.

  We don't want him to know all ou we?"

  Smuts snorted. "Have you seen that runny nose? I think he's using what

  he's selling." The Afrikaner drew a short, double-edged dagger from his

  belt and light. "I tell you, one false step and I'll cut his balls off

  and feed them to him with parsley."

  Horn cackled softly. "Gute Nacht, Pieter."

  Smuts stood and sheathed his knife. "Good night, sir." As the

  Afrikaner passed Ilse's bedroom, he listened at the door. He heard

  nothing. Had the hall light been on, he might, have noticed the dark

  bloodstains on the carpet. But it wasn't, and he didn't. He moved on.

  He had a treat waiting in his room. A village girl from Giyani-a

  virgin, if the headman could be believed-no more than thirteen, and

  black as coal dust. Alfred Horn's Aryan princess could sleep the night

  in peace; Smuts knew what he liked: kajftr girl with the smell of coal

  smoke still on her. When he first came into the bedroom, he liked to

  ask if they'd brought their passes with them. Sometime ones were so

  scared they broke down and cried good way to set the tone for the

  evening.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  5.'56 A. M. Jan Smuts Airport.' Johanne$bUrg The South'African Airways

  747 landed with the dawn.

  Asthejettaxieduptothetenninal,KripodetectiveJulius Schneider collected

  his flight bag from the overhead compartment and prepared to deplane as

  quickly as possible.

  TWelve hours was too long to sit in a seat booked for a dead man.

  Schneider edged his bulk into the crush of honeymooners, big-game

  hunters, and businessmen jamming the aisle, -all the while wishing that