by Greg Iles
The barrel of Major Karami's howitzer now protruded through the
shattered front door of Horn House. Karami watched the leader of his
search detail race into the reception hall.
"We find only corpses and servants in the house, Major!"
Karami smiled. "Clear the house."
Taking a last look at the black shield blocking the elevator, the Libyan
major squeezed between the door frame and the gun carriage and took up a
position behind the howitzer.
He remembered the elevator from his first visit, and he knew that at the
bottom of its deep shaft lay Horn's basement storage facility.
And inside that basement-a sword worthy of Mohammed himself!
"Fire!" he shouted.
Alan Burton had been waiting in the darkness beside the bunker for a
full minute when Dr. Sabri poked his head through the jagged hatch.
"Come on, then!" he snapped as he pulled the Libyan out.
"I heard you speaking Arabic back there, sport. You with these
blighters out here?"
"No, sir! Those men are assassins! They murdered my prime minister!"
Before Burton could reply, Ilse squirmed out of the black hole.
She explained that Hauer and Hans were still struggling through the
tunnel with General Steyn. Burton looked anxiously at his watch.
"We can't wait any longer," he said.
"You'd better follow me.@ He turned and trotted toward the airstrip. Dr.
Sabri followed , but Ilse hung back, clinging tightly to Hess's
briefcase.
After thirty agonizing seconds, General Steyn's head appeared, his face
a bloodless mask of shock and confusion.
While Hauer and Hans pushed from behind, Ilse pulled.
Hans followed the general through the hatch, and finally Hauer wriggled
through. Ilse hugged Hans fiercely, sandwiching Hess's briefcase
between them. Only Gadi had not yet appeared.
"Come on," Hauer said harshly. "Either he makes it or he doesn't."
Jonas Stern squatted silently on his cylinder of Armageddon and waited
for the Libyans to come. Holding the stripped wires like talismans, he
surveyed the shadows around him. He was king in a world of corpses. At
his feet lay the South African counterterror troops, their futuristic.
gas masks lethally punctured by Gadi's bullets. Behind them, splayed
out on his back like a broken doll, Pieter Smuts lay in a spreading pool
of blood. Only Rudolf Hess remained alive. Too crippled by arthrifis
to drag his frail body to safety, the old Nazi had managed to struggle
into a sitting position against the wall to Stern's left. His eyepatch
had slipped off. Now a scarred, empty socket stared at Stern.
Stern listened for the slightest sound from the far end of the lab.
He heard nothing. He looked curiously at Hess.
Here was the man who had brought them all to this place.
Hess ... The name carried Stern back to a youth so torn by fear, loss,
and pain that he remembered only the ceaseless throb of grief.
He had survived the cruelest war that ever scourged the earth, and near
him now lay one of the men who had unleashed it upon the world.
Strangely, he felt no personal hatred for the bag of brittle bones-only
a detached curiosity, a desire to know if there had ever been some
reason for what was done.
"Hess," he said softly.
The old Nazi's good eye fluttered open. "What do you want, Jew?"
"Tell me something. Have you ever come to understand what Hitler did?
The obscenity of it? The inhumanity?"
Hess looked away.
"Tell me," Stern insisted. "I want to know why. Why the Holocaust? Why
murder thousands of children? What was it
the Jews ever do to him? Or to you?"
Hess looked back at Stern. Another explosion rocked the ceiling above
them, but Stern saw only Hess. A dark fire had come into the withered
Nazi's solitary eye, a blind, animal hatred so removed from the
community of man that Stern felt driven to cross the room and crush the
skull that conrained it. It was a blindness that could not see murder,
a deafness that could not hear the screams of children, a muteness that
could speak only through violence. Why did I even ask?
he thought hopelessly. It's like asking a bully why he drowns a cat ...
or a father why he molests his infant child or some reason one could
understand. There
... and hoping f
is no reason! Stern lifted an R-5 assault rifle from the floor and
brought its barrel to bear on Hess's crippled body. The old Nazi's
watery eye showed no fear.
"You want to kill me, Jew?" he said softly. "You can kill me.
But you cannot kill what I lived for. Captain Hauer said Phoenix will
be wiped out. But he is wrong. What united the men of Phoenix exists
everywhere. In Germany. South America. In the Soviet Union.
The United States and Britain. Everywhere. All governments know about
our groups, but they do nothing. The press calls them ultra-right
organizations. A few members go to jail now and then, so what?
Why are they tolerated? Because deep down, people understand these
movements. They express something every civilized man feels-the '
justified fear of anarchy, of racial destruction. They know that one
day the great struggle will come ... the struggle against the Schwarze
and Asian and the Jew-"
"Didn't you hear what I said this afternoon!"
Stern cried.
"The Jews don't want to destroy anyone! That's the difference between
us and you. We have the power to vaporize our enemies, yet we choose
not to."
Hess smirked. "I'll tell you what that tells me, Jew. It tells me that
your race is weak. The Jew is clever enough to build atomic weapons,
but he lacks the moral courage to use what he has created."
"You're mad," Stern said quietly.
Hess chuckled. "Don't deceive yourself. There are individuals in
Israel who want to use their nuclear weapons.
That is why your nation must be obliterated."
With a profound emptiness, Stern dropped his rifle to the floor and
turned away. Seeing this, Hess heaved himself away from the wall and
began dragging himself slowly toward Stern.
"You'll have to kill me, Jew."
Sweating and grunting in the darkness of the airstrip, Hans and Hauer
lifted General Steyn through the main door of the Libyan Learjet.
Ilse and Dr. Sabri were already aboard. After laying the general on a
pile of carpets at the rear of the cabin, Hauer leaned out of the plane
to speak to Alan Burton.
The Englishman had disappeared. Peering into the darkness further up
the runway, Hauer saw the Libyan Yak-42.
Several guards patrolled beneath the big airliner, but as yet 'they had
not spied the activity around the Lear. "Burton!"
Hauer called into the darkness. "There's no pilot in here!"
Hearing a scuffle of footsteps at the edge of the runway, Hauer raised
his pistol.
"Help me get him in!" said Burton.
"My God," Hauer breathed, spying Diaz's blood-soaked shirt. He slid
beneath the Cuban's shoulder and struggled up the jet's three steps. It
took both him and Burton to get Diaz to the Lear
's cockpit.
Hauer looked down at the Cuban's face. "He's unconscious!"
"Just resting his eyes," said Burton. "He's a tough little bugger." The
Englishman slapped Diaz on the cheek.
"Aren't you, sport?"
The Cuban's head lolled forward in something close to a nod.
"Jesus," Hauer muttered.
As Hans pulled the Lear's step-door closed, someone grabbed it from
outside and tried to pull it down. "Captain!"
he shouted.
Hauer darted back to the cabin,'kicked the step-door down, and shoved
General Steyn's pistol through the door.
Gadi Abrams stood there gasping for breath, his left trouser leg soaked
with blood. Hauer pulled the Israeli into the plane and secured the
door.
"Ready!" Hans shouted forward.
In the cockpit, Burton strapped Diaz into the pilot's chair.
Everyone else hunkered down in the passenger cabin. Ilse did her best
to comfort General Steyn, who lay with his head propped on a small
pillow. Hess's briefcase lay on the floor at Ilse's feet.
"Can that man fly?" she asked worriedly"If he wants to live," Gadi
groaned as he tied a pillowcase around his torn thigh.
Hans ducked his head and walked up to the cockpit partition. Over
Hauer's shoulder he saw Burton sitting in the copilot's seat, massaging
Diaz's ashen face. "Can he do it?"
Hans asked quietly.
Hauer shrugged. "He's trying."
Diaz's hands floated forward and hit several switches. The cockpit
lights came on. Hans felt a soft thrumming in the jet's hull.
Burton glanced up at Hauer"Those camel bumpers will come running when
they hear the engines, mate. Can you handle them?"
Hauer moved back into the cabin and lifted a Libyan Uzi from the floor.
Hans pulled open the rear door for him.
"Put your hand in the back of my pants," said Hauer.
Then, with only Hans to keep him from falling, he leaned out and drew a
bead on the black figures beneath the Libyan airliner.
Suddenly General Steyn sat up and shouted, "Can't! Can't let Stern ...
detonate! He'll kill thousands'. .. millions!"
Ilse tried to calm the South African, but he would not be comforted.
"Shut him up!" Gadi snapped from the floor.
Hans glared back at the Israeli. "You shut up, you fucking fanatic!"
"Everyone be quiet," Ilse begged. "Please.
The Lear shuddered once, then lurched forward. Through the open hatch
Hans heard distant shouts of alarm. Hauer's Uzi barked three times in
quick succession. Hans thought he saw two Libyans fall, but in the
darkness it was hard to tell.
"Secure that hatch!" Burton shouted from the cockpit.
Hauer fired twice more, then he pulled the steps up into the Lear's
belly. The sleek jet gathered speed rapidly.
Through a side window Hans saw the Yak-42 flash past.
Diaz pushed the engines to their limit. Everyone in the cabin clung
fearfully to whatever he could.
Hauer struggled up to the cockpit and looked out through the windshield.
He saw only darkness ahead. Gripping the back of Diaz's seat, he heard
the Cuban muttering a prayer.
He said a silent one himself. Suddenly Diaz pulled back hard on the
stick, and with a sickening boom the Lear tore itself from the earth's
grasp. The dark veld fell away beneath them.
They were airborne.
JL
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Stern peered into the darkness at the far end of the
lab. Hess lay motionless beside him. The old Nazi had dragged himself
too close, and Stern had clubbed him with the butt of his rifle.
He looked dead. Three silent minutes had passed since the last
explosion. Then-just seconds ago Stern thought he had heard a furtive
shuffle from the shadows.
There ... again. He recognized the sound now: the stealthy rustle of
soldiers maneuvering into position.
"Herr Horn!" called a voice from the darkness. "Guten Abend!
This is Major Ilyas Karami! I have come to take delivery of my weapon!"
Squatting behind the bomb with the stripped wires in his hands, Stern
leaned his cheek against the cool metal.
"Herr Horn!" Karami shouted. "There is no need for more men to die! We
want the same thing, don't we? The destruction of Israel!"
Stern glanced at his watch. He reluctantly set the detonator wires
aside and picked up one of the rifles Gadi had left him.
'Herr Horn!" Karami cried. "I know you are there!"
Stern stared down at the exposed detonator wires. They were blurred
now. The radiation had done its work. I could touch them together now,
he thought, and end the whole mad game. But the others will barely be
airborne by now, if they've reached the plane at all.
Gadi ... Hauer ... Frau Apfel . . . the Spandau papers ...
Stern pulled back the bolt on the R-5 and pointed it into the darkness.
"If you do not answer," Karami shouted, "I shall be forced to order my
men forward!"
Stern rose to one knee and depressed the R-5's trigger.
The muzzle flashes seared his damaged eyes as he strafed the far end of
the dark lab. He fired until the clip ran out, then picked up another
rifle. His ears were ringing like fire bells.
Someone moaned in agony.
A deep voice screamed Arabic in the darkness: "Don't shoot back!"
He doesn't want his men to hit the bombs, Stern realized.
That might buy me a few moreStern froze. Through the groans of the
wounded he could hear the rustle of the Libyans edging forward through
the unfamiliar darkness. They were coming. Fighting an almost
irresistible urge to ffimst the wires together, he cocked the second
R-5, rose up, and opened fire.
The Lear was at seventeen thousand feet and still climbing. Diaz had
pointed the sleek jet dead-east, toward Mozambique and the Indian Ocean.
It streaked upward like a bullet, passing four hundred miles per hour.
Alan Burton sat in the cockpit beside Diaz and did his best to keep the
Cuban conscious, while behind them a violent argument raged in the
passenger cabin.
Gadi Abrams wanted Hess's briefcase. He meant to obey his uncle's last
wish, and that meant taking the papers to Israel himself. The briefcase
lay beside Ilse, who was ministering to General Steyn at the rear of the
cabin.
"It is my duty and my right!" the Israeli repeated. "Hess was a Nazi
and his mission was directed at the Jews!"
Hauer stood up from his seat beside Hans and placed himself between Gadi
and Ilse. "Take it easy," he said. "The Holocaust doesn't give you the
right to take possession of every scrap of history relating to the
Nazis. The papers deal first and foremost with Germans. We should be
the ones
t@ll
"You'll bury them forever!" Gadi ac@used.
Hauer shook his head. "You idiot. Those papers don't hurt Germany,
they hurt Britain."
"This is ridiculous!" Hans snapped. "We could all die at any moment!
If you want to argue about who owns the Spandau papers, it's me. I
found them, so just shut up. Ilse will keep them until we're safely
away from here."
&nb
sp; "When will that be?" Ilse asked Dr. Sabri.
"I'm not sure," the Libyan replied. "It depends on how
AL
minimum distance point now."
"Listen to me!" Gadi interrupted. "You may have found the Spandau
papers, but Hess gave the Zinoviev book to my uncle."
"In the belief that he was my grandfather," Ilse reminded him.
Gadi wobbled uncertainly on his wounded leg. Fearing he might lose
consciousness, he raised his R-5 threateningly.
"Tell Frau Apfel to pass the case to me, Captain. Or I will be forced
to take it."
,Put that down!"' Hauer bellowed. "If you fire in here you'll kill us
all!" He took a step toward the commando.
"Stop!" Gadi warned, jabbing his rifle forward.
With the mesmerizing stare he had used on the Russian KGB officer all
the way back at Spandau Prison, Hauer took one more step, then pinioned
Gadi's wrist with a grip of iron.
"Let go!" Gadi cried, his face white with rage. The muzzle of the R-5
was an inch from Hauer's left eye.
"Drop it," Hauer said quietly.
"Let's all calm down, shall we?"
Alan Burton had spoken qgietly from the'cockpit door, but his MP-5
submachine gun put steel in his words. "Let the nice lad go, Captain,"
he said. "So he can drop his weapon."
"He won't drop it."
"I think he will," said the Englishman. "This is a pressurized cabin,
Captain. If he fires that rifle in here, he will kill us all-himself
included d the papers will be destroyed.
My weapon, on the other hand, holds teflon-coated bullets.
They explode before they pass through a human body. A rather handy
innovation. Our Israeli friend probably knows all about it."
Hauer loosened his grip.
"And I must tell you, gentlemen," Burton, added, "I rarely miss what I
aim at."
Hauer let go. Gadi reluctantly let his R-5 fall to the cabin floor.
"None of you need worry about the papers anyway," said Burton, "because
I am taking that briefcase with me."
Hauer and Gadi gaped at the Englishman. Burton grinned.
"You didn't think I was down in that basement on vacation, did you? I
was sent to do a job. To kill a man. And after very name his double
gave when he parachuted into Scotland. How long would it take the
Mossad to figure that one out? A week? Yet the story has never been
made public. If what Stern said about Israeli/South African nuclear
agreements is true, I can see how the Israelis might have let him live.
