Spandau Phoenix (27 page)

"Auf Wiedersehen, Josef."

Before Hauer could set the phone in its cradle, Hans broke the connection and punched in a new number.

"Who are you calling?" Hauer asked.

"None of your goddamn business," Hans snapped. "You can cover your friends with GSG-9 men, but you can't take twenty minutes to save Ilse?"

"Hans, you don't understand-"

"Eva?" he said loudly.

"Hans!"

"Yes. Eva, I want you to look outside your door and-' "Listen to me, Hans! Someone is tearing your apartment to pieces right now! That tells me they haven't found her yet!"

"What? You've seen Ilse?"

"Seen her? I sneaked her out of the apartment tonight just before the stinking Russians got her! What the hell have you done?"

"Russians!"

Hans's exclamation brought Hauer out of his chair like a cannon shot.

"Tell me, Eva, hurry!"

Eva related the story of their escape from Kosov's team, ending with Ilse fleeing into the dark alley. Hans slammed his fist against the table. "But you don't know where she is now?"

"No, but she told me to give you a message."

"What message?"

"Mittelland."

"That's it? One word?"

"That's it. Mittelland, like the canal. I guess she didn't want me to know anything."

Hans shook his fist in exultation. "Eva, that's it! I know where she's gone."

"So get her, you damned fool! And you'd better get some serious help. I don't think your Polizei friends are up to it."

She paused. "And if you come up on a young fellow called Misha .

.

'.YesT' "Kill the bastard. Send him to hell. He cut my face."

Hans felt his heart thump. "What happened?"

"Just find Ilse, Hans. If anything happens to that girl, you're going to answer to me. And stay the hell away from her-e. Your apartment sounds like a Bremen bar fight." Eva hung up.

Hauer grabbed Hans's shoulder. "You said Russians."

"Eva said Russians came to the apartment looking for me.

"How does she know they were Russian?"

Hans shrugged. "She's been around, you know? She's an old barmaid who turns a few tricks for rent money. She got Ilse out of the building, but that's all she could tell me."

"It must be Kosov," Hauer muttered. "The quiet colonel from Funk's polygraph session. He knew that test was rigged from the start.

Did Ilse have the papers with her?"

"I don't know."

"For God's sake, Hans, you've got to start thinking like a policeman."

"I don't give a damn about those papers!"

"Quiet! You'll bring Ochs in here. And you'd better give a damn about those papers. They may be the only thing that can keep us or Ilse alive now." He held up a forefinger.

"You said you knew where Ilse had gone. Where?"

Hans's eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. "Christ, you might have brought me here just to find out where she is. Where the papers are!

God, you might-2' Hauer slapped him, hard. "Get hold of yourself, Hans!

You brought me here, remember? You've got to trust somebody, and I'm all you have."

Hans scowled. "Wolfsburg," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Ilse's grandfather has a small cabin on the Mittelland Canal, near Wolfsburg. It's an old family retreat. The professor must have been working there and Ilse found out. God, I hope she's made it."

His face clouded. "But how could she?

I've got the car!"

"Train?" Hauer suggested.

"She didn't have any money at home."

"All women have money at home, Hans, believe me. They hide it for emergencies we never think about."

"Captain, I've got to get to Wolfsburg!"

"I agree. But before I give you the keys, you're going to listen to me for ten minutes. Then I'll figure out a way for us to get out of Berlin. You know you'd never make it without my help."

Hans knew Hauer was right. He could never evade Funk's dragnet on his own. "Ten minutes," he agreed.

Hauer sat down and leaned forward. "You've got to understand something, Hans. Early this morning you stumbled into a case that I've been working on for over a year. That's what I meant about Steuben.

There's more that needs protecting at his house than his wife and children. There's a fireproof safe full of evidence that he and I have compiled over the past year. Until a couple of hours ago, I had no idea that Spandau Prison had anything to do with this case, but now I'm almost certain that it does."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those papers you found at Spandau aren't just some relic from the past, Hans. The Russians haven't gone crazy searching for a museum piece.

Those papers pose a very serious threat to someone now-in the present."

Hauer took a cigar from his pocket and bit off the tip.

"Before I tell you anything else, you must understand some thing very important. Right now, as we speak, Germanythe two Germanys-are very close to reunification."

"What? "

"I don't mean it's going to happen tomorrow, or next week. But six months from now ... a year ... maybe."

"Are you mad?"

Hauer paused to light his cigar. "Most Germans would say so," he said.

"And they would be as wrong as you are. Tell me, as you grew up, didn't you notice all the societies who clamor for the reunification of the Fatherland? I don't mean administrative committees plodding through mountains of paper; I mean the hard-core groups, the ones that exist only to restore Germany's lost might."

Hans shrugged. "Sure. So what? What's wrong with working to make Germany strong? I agree with them. Not some of the crazier factions, maybe, but I want Germany to be united again. One nation, without the Wall."

Hauer raised an eyebrow.

Hans colored. "It's my country, isn't it? I want it to be strong!"

"Of course you do, boy. So do 1. But there are different kinds of strength. Some of these groups have some very strange ideals. Old ideals. Old agendas.' "What do you mean? How do you know?"

Hauer studied his cigar. "Because we've been to their meetings-Steuben and 1. I stumbled into this whole thing by accident.

About two years ago, I got drawn into a Special Tasks drug case.

The money trail led me to two police officers. In short order I became aware that quite a few cops were involved in the drug traffic flowing into and through Germany. And in spite of orders to the contrary, I began to compile evidence on these officers. Steuben helped me all the way. It didn't take us long to realize that their drug operation extended into the highest ranks of the force."

"Prefect Funk?"

"Excellent example. But then things got strange. Pretty soon we discerned a attem. Every officer involved in the drug traffic was also a member of a semisecret society called Der Bruderschaft."

"The Brotherhood? I've heard of that."

Hauer exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. "I'm not surprised.

I joined it myself last year. That's what the tattoo is about.

The eye is their symbol. Ever see a policeman with a bandage behind his right ear? That means he's gotten the mark.

They wear the bandage till the hair grows back. I don't know what the eye means, but I was only a month away from getting it myself. You get marked after a year in the group." Hauer stood up and flicked some cigar ash into Ochs's sink. "The real name of the organization is not Der Bruderschaft, however; it's Bruderschaft der Phoenix. Have you heard of that?"

Hans's eyes widened. "I have! It was in the Spandau papers.

Something about the 'soldiers of Phoenix' appeanng before Prisoner Number Seven."

"Christ, what else do you remember?"

Hans shook his head. "I only remembered that because it was in German, not Latin."

Hauer began pacing the kitchen. "God, it's so easy to see now.

Der Bruderschaft is neoNazi. It would only be natural for them to try to contact Hess in prison, to try to use him as some kind of mascot.

But maybe Hess didn't like the idea, eh? Maybe-my God," Hauer said suddenly. "They might well be the ones who killed him! Hess would be much more valuable to them as a martyr than a pathetic prisoner!"

"Who comes to these Bruderschaft meetings?" Hans asked.

"A bunch of malcontents and young toughs, mostly. You know the type@ops who won't answer a call to help a Turkish woman who's being beaten in the street. Most weren't even born until fifteen or twenty years after the war." Hauer shook his head in disgust. "'They get drunk, argue, make speeches about throwing the traitors out of Bonn and making Berlin the capital again. Then they sing Deutschland fiber Alles. If they're really tanked they sing the Horst Wessel. At first the whole thing seemed comical.

But after a while I realized something. These clowns were bringing in millions of marks through their drug operations, yet they didn't seem to be keeping any of it. No Ferrans, no new houses. Where was all the money going? I traced the command chain all the way up to Prefect Funk, but after six months of investigation I hit a dead end."

Hauer's eyes flickered. "Then I had my revelation. It had been right in front of me all the time. Their money came from drugs, right?

Well, where do the drugs flow in from?"

"The East," Hans said softly.

"Right. So I asked myself, What if their organization extended laterally, not vertically? You see? How were the drugs getting through East Germany? Were the Vopos blind?

Hell no. They were allowing the drugs to get through. The East German police have their own Bruderschaft members."

Hans blinked in astonishment. "The Volkspolizei?"

Hauer nodded. "And the Stasi."

Hans drew back at the mention of the hated East German secret police.

"But why would the Stasi smuggle drugs? For hard currency?"

Hauer shook his head. "Think about being a Stasi agent for a minute, Hans. What it's really like."

"No thanks."

Hauer waved his cigar. "Sure, a lot of them are scum. But they're German scum. You see? All day and night they have the Russians leaning over their shoulders telling them what to do. They hate the Russians more than we ever could.

They're communists, sure, but what choice do they have?

They've been,under the Russian boot since 1945. So, what do you think they do? Lie down and take Moscow's crap?

Most of them do." Hauer's eyes gleamed. "But some of them don't.

The HVA-East German intelligence-sucks Moscow's shitpipe. They're like a German arm of the KGB.

But the Stasi? Forget it. They go their'own way. They can beat the KGB at their own game and the KGB knows it. If Moscow complains about the Stasi, Honecker himself tells the Kremlin to mind its own business."

"You sound like you admire the bastards."

Hauer shook his head. "This isn't a case of absolutes, Hans. The point is that some elements of the Stasi want reunification even more than we in the West do, and they're willing to fight for it. They want their slice of the European economic pie, and they know that so long as they're separate from us, they'll never get it. And that brings us to the drugs.

"How? Drugs are their slice of the pie?' "No. Drugs are part of the strategy. I think their theory runs something like this: the more rapidly the social situation in West Germany breaks down, the more rapidly the right-wing and nationalist factions in the West consolidate their power. Think about it. For twenty years the Stasi supplied the Red Army Faction and other left-wing terrorists with guns and plastique.

Why? Just to create chaos? No. Because every time those misguided hotheads blew up a bank or an airport lounge, the right wing in the West hit back a little bit harder. The public reaction got a little stiffer.

I'm telling you, Hans, it's a sound strategy. Moscow has never been more lenient than it is right now. The entire Eastern Bloc is restless.

Trouble and sedition are brewing everywhere. And East Germany is the most independent satellite of all. The Stasi monitors everything there: student unrest, political volatility, economic stress, plus they have that rarest of all commodities, direct intelligence lines into Russia.

I think Der Bruderschaft-and whoever controls it-believes that a strong enough chancellor in West Germany could seize the right opportunity and wrench the two Germanys back together." Hauer was breathing hard.

"And by God, they may be right."

Hans stared, fascinated. "Is the Stasi really as powerful as people say? I've heard they have hundreds of informers here and in Bonn."

Hauer chuckled. "Hundreds? Try thousands. If I had the files from Stasi headquarters, I could break half the political careers in West Germany and a good many in Moscow. I mean that. Some of our most powerful senators are actually on the Stasi payroll. Funk is just small beer."