The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2

by Greg Iles

  Even the elite officers of Germany's GSG-9

  spoke of the sayaret matkal with respect.

  "You!" he cried suddenly, recognizing the bandaged Yose Shamir from the

  stairwell of the Burgerspark Hotel. "You were following me last night!"

  Stern quickly interposed himself between Hauer and the young Israeli.

  "Yosef was there-at my request," he explained. "I had hoped to meet you

  at the Burgerspark myself, Captain, but unexpected trouble prevented me.

  I'm only thankful you decided to return here this evening. I assume you

  found another hotel last night after your brush with Yosef?"

  Hauer nodded reluctantly.

  "And you returned here because ...

  "Because our distraught young husband decided to lie to me. He made

  contact with the kidnappers on his own."

  Stern closed his eyes.

  "Oh,'no," Natten-nan groaned. "Why?"

  "Because he realized that any attempt to free Ilse by force might well

  bring about her death. I believe that was the same position you took

  back in Germany, wasn't it, Professor? Also because Ilse is regnant."

  Natterman's eyes widened.

  "Is the boy mad?" Stern asked. "Doesn't he know the kidnappers will

  kill both him and his wife no matter what he does?"

  "No. I don't believe he does. He thinks with his heart, not his head."

  "An often fatal mistake," Stern said dryly.

  "Ilse is pregnant?" Natterman murmured.

  Hauer walked to the window and opened the drapes. Van Der Walt Street

  looked as calm as the Kurfijrstendamm on an early Sunday morning.

  In the corner of the room, Aaron Haber picked up Hans's loaded crossbow

  and showed it to his fellow commandos, an amused smile on his face.

  Stern motioned for him to put it down.

  "What had you planned to do before we arrived, Captain?" Stern asked.

  "Play bait? Tell the kidnappers you had the missing pages of the

  Spandau diary and try to turn their trap inside out?"

  Hauer grunted. "That's about it."

  "A dangerous game."

  "The only one left."

  "Not quite," said Stern. "You're forgetting something."

  am?"

  "I really have the missing pages. I would think they rate -us an

  invitation to the Kidnapper's Ball, wouldn't you?"

  Hauer's lips slowly spread into a smile.

  Everyone froze as the telephone rang, faded.

  "You answer it," Stern advised.

  Hauer darted between the beds and picked up the receiver.

  Yes?"

  "Captain!"

  Hauer kept his eyes on Stern. "Where are you?" he asked through

  gritted teeth.

  "I can't say," Hans replied. "I'm not sure, anyway. Captain, I've got

  to have those missing diary pages. I made a mistake in leaving you, I'm

  sorry. But these men really will kill Ilse unless they get all the

  pages. They're insane!"

  Hauer thought silently. "But I don't have the pages," he said at

  length, still watching Stern.

  "I know," Hans said quickly. "But you can find them.

  You've got to! Go back to Germany! To the cabin! You can find them,

  Captain, you must. It's simple police work!"

  "Not so simple," Hauer stalled. "Not when I'm wanted for murder in

  Germany."

  "They can fix that!"

  Hauer sealed the mouthpiece with his palm and whispered to Stern.

  "Phoenix wants the rest of the diary. Do I tell them I have it?"

  Stern shook his head vehemently. "They won't believe that. If you'd

  really had the other pages, Hans would have found a way to steal them

  before he went to the rendezvous."

  "Hurry!" said Hauer, wondering why he was asking this strange old

  Israeli for answers anyway.

  Stern jabbed his finger at Professor Natterman. "He's got them.

  Tell them the professor followed you and Hans to' South Africa, and that

  he brought the missing pages with him."

  Hauer shook his head angrily, but he could think of nothing else to say.

  "Hans?"

  "I'm here!"

  "Can the kidnappers hear me?"

  "Yes!"

  "Don't hurt the girl," Hauer said slowly. "Do you hear me? Do not hurt

  the girl. Her grandfather is here with me, and he has what you want."

  AL@'

  Hans gasped..

  A new voice came on the line. "Listen well, Captain Hauer," said Smuts.

  "You will send the old man to the same place as before, the Voortrekker

  Monument. He must be there thirty minutes from now, alone, with the

  missing pages. After we are satisfied that no copies exist, we will

  release our prisoners. If you attempt to follow the vehicle that picks

  up the professor, the driver will shoot him on the spot."

  Smuts's voice went cold. "And you will never leave this country alive.

  Do you understand?"

  "Ja, " Hauer growled.

  The phone went dead.

  Hauer whirled on Stern. "Well, Herr Master-Spy, you've painted us into

  some damned corner. They want the professor to deliver our last

  bargaining chip to them, and'if we try to follow, they'll kill him.

  Now three hostages will die instead of two."

  Stern smiled enigmatically. "Captain, where is your imagination?"

  Hauer flushed with anger. "I try to be practical when lives are at

  stake."

  "As do I," Stern said calmly. "But pragmatism alone is never enough.

  You should know that, Captain. It is imagination that wins the day."

  "And what miracle does your imagination suggest for this problem?"

  "A simple one." Stern's eyes had settled on a bedfuddled Professor

  Natterman. "Does your granddaughter carry any pictures of you in her

  handbag, Professor?"

  Natterman looked mystified. "I ... I don't believe so."

  "Well," Stern said brightly, "there it is."

  Hauer's eyes widened in comprehension.

  Stern smiled. "It's the perfect solution, Captain. I become the

  professor."

  Hauer was shaking his head, but he knew that he had been trapped by a

  master. Stern was already disrobing. "It's too risky," he objected.

  "Let's have that jacket, Professor," said Stern. "I must wear something

  Ilse can recognize immediately."

  Hauer wanted to argue, but he could think of no better plan. He watched

  enviously as the Israeli prepared to slip into the very center of his

  metaphorical spider's web.

  As Stern stripped, Professor Natterman leaned over and whispered in his

  ear. "Remember what we talked about on the plane, Jonas? About the man

  with one eye? About Hess-" Stern gently but firmly shoved Natterman

  away. Naked to the waist, he handed his pistol to Gadi, then turned to

  Hauer and smiled.

  "Sorry, Captain," he said. "You're just too young for the job."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  337 Pm. Van der Wan Straat, Pretoria Yuri Borodin wiped his neck and

  forehead with a silk handkerchief.

  It was beastly hot in the van, with the oppressive closeness of

  impending rain, and it stank. The van's engine was not running, so

  there was no air conditioning. Borodin looked up. Five fleshy faces

  stared dumbly back at him. Gorilles. That's what Borodin called them.

  Embassy gorillas.

  They were the KGB muscle available at every Russian embassy in the<
br />
  world, and everywhere in the world they looked the same. Off-the-rack

  suits, pomaded hair, big faces, big fists, and most of them smelled.

  Of course there were no Russian embassies in South Africa, but there was

  an illegal residency in Johannesburg. And the gorillas from the

  residency had the same aroma, a cloying mix of body odor and aftershave.

  "Crack a window," said Borodin.

  The driver did.

  "Gentlemen, Captain Dieter Hauer is in the hotel on my right, the Protea

  Hof. With him are some scruffy fellows who look suspiciously like

  Jews." Borodin clucked his tongue. "Germans and Jews ... an often

  explosive combination."

  One of the gorillas chuckled appreciatively. Ah, Borodin thought, a

  rudimentary sense of humor "Across the street in the Stanley House," he

  went on, "we have our restless Germqn Kripo detective. He's big, but he

  shouldn't be much trouble. Two of you should be enough for him.

  When he's dead, leave his ID but take his money." Borodin took a

  Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun from a leather attache case. "The

  rest of us will take room 604." He singled out the leanest of the

  gorillas. "You know the window?"

  The lean man lifted a Dragunov sniper rifle from his lap and zipped it

  into a soft case. "Sixth floor," he said, "third window from the left."

  Borodin screwed a long silencer onto the muzzle of his MP-5.

  "Let's go."

  3.-42 Pm. Room 604: The Protea Hof Hotel, Pretoria

  Jonas Stern would have verbally crucified Gadi and his men for their

  laxness, but had they not been so attuned to Stern's absence, they might

  have defended themselves better. When the telephone rang, everyone

  turned toward it thinking it was Stern. Hauer turned from the window,

  Natterman from one of the beds, Yosef from the space between the other

  bed and the bathroom wall, and most importantly, Aaron from the foyer.

  No one heard the key gurning soffly in the door.

  Closest to the phone, Gadi Ah@ams snatched it up and said, "Hello?

  Hello? Uncle Jonas?"

  In that instant of shared bewilderment, a rifle slug shattered the hotel

  room window, missing Hauer by a centimeter.

  Everyone whirled toward the crashing sound. A half second later one of

  Borodin's gorillas charged through the foyer and bowled Aaron Haber over

  like a child. Hauer looked wildly. His Walther lay on the bed six feet

  away. He started to dive for it; then thii second gorilla came through

  the door with his pistol aimed at Hauer's chest. Standing open mouthed

  with the telephone to his ear, Gadi Abrar also was trapped in the

  newcomer's line of fire.

  Only Yosef Shamir moved to counterattack, Yosef who died. He had been

  toying with Hans's crossbow in the narrow slot between the bed and the

  bath when the Russians burst in. With lightning speed he dropped the

  bow, drew his silenced .22 and fired three shots in rapid succession as

  the second gorilla emerged from the foyer and barreled past him.

  All three bullets embedded themselves high in the Russian's broad back.

  He went down on top of his compadre who was wrestling with Aaron on the

  floor. The .22 caliber slugs only slowed the Russian giant, but that

  slowness saved his life. As Yosef stepped forward to finish him off,

  Yuri Borodin somersaulted through the foyer and shot the young Israeli

  through the throat.

  By the time Gadi got his hand on Hauer's Walther, Borodin was covering

  the entire room. Faced with the deadly MP-5 submachine gun, Hauer,

  Gadi, and Aaron realized the futility of further resistance.

  They slowly raised their hands, their eyes locked on Yosef's convulsing

  body.

  It took the young commando forty seconds to die, and no one spoke while

  he did it. They had all seen death be@ -ore, and knowing that no help

  would be called sed a solemn silence on both attackers and hostages.

  Professor Natterman was the first to make a sound, chattering "Why?

  Why?" to everyone and no one at the same time.

  @"You," said Borodin, pointing his weapon at Hauer. Close the- drapes."

  Hauer didn't move.

  Borodin checked his watch. "Close the drapes within five seconds or you

  will be shot by my sniper. Everyone against the window."

  Hauer obeyed. Gadi and Aaron backed against the closed drapes and stood

  beside Hauer. The gorilla that Yosef had shot was straining without

  success to reach the wounds on his back, and moaning like a dying ox.

  Borodin ordered the .. gorilla to take him into the bathroom and see to

  the wounds; then he casually seated himself on the bed nearest Hauer.

  Natterman sat gibbering on the bed opposite , but the immaculately

  dressed Russian took no notice-took out a cigarette and lit it with

  great deliberation.

  "Gentlemen,"'he said in English, "I have come for the papers found at

  Spandau Prison. Which one of you has them?" "None of us," Hauer

  replied in the same language.

  in took a drag from his cigarette. He had noticed the accent.

  "You are Captain Hauer, I take it?"

  Hauer nodded- "Who are you?"

  Borodin smiled, revealing a dazzling set o . f Swiss dental :"Once

  again, Captain, which of you has the papers?" "How did you find us?"

  Gadi asked, stalling.

  Borodin laughed softly. "A fat Kripo detective named Schneider lead me

  right to you. I assume he's a friend of yours."

  Yes darkened in confusion.

  Borodin smiled. "Of course the detective is dead now, Captain.

  As you will be if you don't give up the papers."

  "I told you before, we don't have them."

  Borodin's smile stretched to a grimace. He called one of the gorillas

  back from the bathroom and barked several phrases at him in rapid

  Russian. Of the captives, only Aaron Haber-the son of a Lithuanian

  Jew-understood the exchange, but the color draining from his face told

  the others all they needed to know. The big Russian jerked Aaron away

  from the curtained window and kicked his legs out from under him. When

  the young Israeli tried to rise, the Russian locked a thick forearm

  around his neck and pressed the barrel of a silenced Browning 9mm pistol

  into his ear.

  "The foreplay is over, gentlemen," Borodin said. His voice had not

  risen a single decibel, yet it had lost all trace of humanity.

  Everyone in the room knew that the Russian would not hesitate to order

  Aaron's execution. Yet the young commando made no sound. He left his

  fate entirely in the hands of Gadi Abrams, who had been designated

  senior officer by Stern just before he left to rendezvous with the

  kidmappers.

  "At the risk of sounding melodramatic," Borodin went on, "I'm going to

  count to five. If I do not have the Spandau papers when I reach that

  number, my loyal assistant will transform this young man's brain into

  kosher caviar."

  "We don't have them," Hauer said again.

  Borodin counted quickly. "One, two, three, four-"

  "Stop !"

  Professor Natterman cried, surprising everyone.

  "In God's name stop! Listen to me, you barbarian! Hauer is telling the

  truth. Hans Apfel has the ori inal diary.
Most of it, anyway. The Jew

  who left here a few minutes ago has the rest. My granddaughter has been

  kidnapped. We've come to exchange the papers for her life. Surely even

  you can understand that?"

  Borodin stared at the historian. "How does that help me, old man? I

  need results, not excuses."

  "There is a copy," Natterman explained. "A copy of the@ papers.

  Photographs. You're Russian, correct? If you want to expose the truth

  about Rudolf Hess, that's all you need."

  Natterman pointed across the room at Hauer. "He has them.

  I'm sorry, Captain, those papers mean far more to me than to you, but

  they're simply not worth this boy's life."

  Hauer stared at the old man with incredulity. This did not sound at all

  like the fame-obsessed professor he had com( know.

  Borodin raised the MP-5 to Hauer's face. "The photographs, Captain."

  Hauer didn't move.

  "Kill the Jew," Borodin said calmly.

  "Bastard," Hauer muttered. He jerked the envelope from his hip pocket

  and tossed it onto the bed.

  Borodin held the negatives up to the overhead light, examined them

  briefly, then slipped them into his inside coat pocket. "I assume that

  none of you know the location of the people to whom your friend is

  trading the original papers?"

  "That's right," Natterman said.

  Borodin chuckled. "I thought not. If you did, this wonderful little

  commando unit wouldn't be sitting on its collective ass in a hotel

  room."

  In spite of the gun at his temple, Aaron cursed and tried to lash out at

  the Soviet agent. Borodin stepped aside and called to one of the

  residency men, "Dmitri! Leave their weapons, but take their

  ammunition!"

  Two minutes later Borodin stood smirking in the foyer, 'flanked by his

  gorillas. The Russian who had not been wounded held a pillowcase

  weighted with Uzi ammunition clips, boxes of shells, and loose .22

  rounds.

  "This soiree is over, gentlemen," Borodin said. "I'll take my leave

  now." He accented his farewells with a broad flourish of his hand. "Do

  svidamya! Shalom! Auf Wieders.ihen!" Borodin burst into laughter,

  then motioned for one of the gorillas to open the door.

  The moment the Russian holding the pillowcase turned the doorknob, the

  door burst open and knocked him back ward against his wounded comrade.

  From the window, Hauer gaped as the back of the wounded man's head

  exploded.

  The second Russian groped at his belt for his pistol, but two bullets