Spandau Phoenix (77 page)

Hauer stood rock still as waves of anger and panic swept over him.

He dug the foil packet from his pocket and ripped it open. The negatives he had taken at the Protea Hof were there, but the Spandau papers were gone. In,their place lay five sheets of crumpled motel stationery. Hauer tried to breathe calmly. Hans had struck out on his own to meet the kidnappers. He had to accept that. It wasn't hard to understand. Not if the hostage was your wife, and she was carrying your child. Yet Hans was his son. Ilse was his daughter-in-law. And the child she was carrying-Hauer felt a thick lump in his throat-that child was his grandchildhis blood their. Hauer sat down hard on the bed. For the last twenty years he had lived alone, resigned to a solitary life.

Yet in the past forty-eight hours he had been given not only a son, but a family. And now he had lost that family. He read the note again.

Your son, Hans.

"Fool," he muttered.

It took him twenty minutes to reach the Voortrekker Monument. All the way he cursed himself for leaving Hans alone. He had known something like this might happen, that Hans had been walking an emotional razor edge. This morning, while zeroing-in his rifle scope, he had almost packed up the gun and driven straight back to the motel.

But he hadn't. He had finished with the rifle, then gone ahead and scouted for an exchange location. And he'd found one, an empty soccer stadium. Perfect. Damn!

Hauer saw no sign of Hans at the Voortrekker Monument.

For an hour he circled the base of the dun-colored building on foot, but he knew it was hopeless. Hans was gone-maybe dead already.

Faced with this heart-numbing reality, Hauer realized he had but one slim chance to save his son's life. When the kidnappers realized that the Spandau papers were incomplete, they would demand answers.

And when they got them, they might-just might come looking for Captain Dieter Hauer. He would make it very easy for them to find him.

In the Ford again, he checked his map. Then he swung east and headed back toward the Protea Hof Hotel. He pulled straight up to the main,entrance, removed a long leather case from the Ford's trunk, and tipped the doorman to park the car. The hunting rifle felt heavy but reassuring against his leg as he strode toward the elevators. In a European city the oddly shaped case might have attracted unwelcome attention, but in South Africa rifles are as common golf clubs.

Their room looked just as they'd left it yesterday. In a shaft of light leaking through the drawn drapes, Hauer saw the clothes and food they had bought still lyfng in crumpled shopping bags on the beds.

Hans's loaded crossbow leaned in the corner space between the near bed and the bathroom wall. Hauer laid his rifle on the bed. Then he felt the hairs on his neck stiffen.

There was someone else in the room. He turned very naturally, as if unaware of any danger. There. Sitting in the chair by the window.

A thin shadow silhouetted against the dark drapes. Hauer jerked his Walther from his waistband and dived behind the bed, pulling back the slide as he hit the carpet.

"Don't be alarmed, Captain," said a deep, familiar voice.

"It's only me. I managed to get here in spite of you."

Hauer thrust his pistol over the top of the mattress, put two pounds of pressure on the trigger, then slowly lifted his eyes above the edge of the bed. Sitting in a nan-ow shaft of light coming through the drapes was Professor Georg Natterman.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

2.25 P.M. The Northern Transvaal One mile, northeast of the village of Giyani, the Zulu pulled the Range Rover onto the gravel shoulder and climbed out.

-ie Hans stayed put. The Zulu shielded his eyes and stared back @Own the long highway. Lean as an impala, he looked as if ne were scanning the veld for game herds. Whenever a car or truck whizzed past, he stared into the vehicle as if searching for someone he knew.

Hans was getting angry. They had been on the road for hours, and they had stopped like this twice@ before. After a quick glance at the Zulu, Hans climbed out of the Rover on the shoulder side and looked around.

Back toward Pretoria, the sun burned down relentlessly, shimmering like a layer of oil just above the road. To the north, however, Hans saw a vast wall of slate gray clouds. Beneath the leaden ceiling, sheets of rain rolled south toward the Rover, seeming to qM the night behind.

"In," the Zulu commanded, scampering back into the driver's seat.

When Hans climbed into the backseat, he found a thin black arm dangling a long black cloth before his eyes. 'No, he said.

The Zulu dropped the blindfold in Hans's lap and turned back to the windshield. His posture told Hans that unless he obeyed, the vehicle would not move one inch further toward his wife.

Hans cursed and tied the scarf around his eyes. "Now," he muttered, "move your ass."

The next thirty minutes felt like a G-force test. The Zulu swung off of the road immediately, and the bone-crashing ride that followed would have totaled a vehicle less sturdy than the Range Rover. Hans peeked around the blindfold when he could, trying to maintain some rough idea of their progress, but taking accurate directional bearings was impossible. By the time they finally leveled out, his head had taken several vicious knocks and the.Zulu's goal of disorienting him had been well and truly achieved.

The road surface felt like rock scrabble now, but that didn't help Hans.

All he could do was press himself into the rear seat and wait for journey's end. Thirty minutes later the Rover stopped and the Zulu ordered him out. When Hans's feet hit the ground, the Zulu pushed him against the side of the vehicle and searched him. He immediately discovered the knife taped to Hans's ribs, and ripped it away from the skin. He told Hans to wait.

When Hans heard receding footsteps, he pulled off the blindfold.

He stood before an enormous building unlike any he had ever seen.

Before he could examine it in any detail, however, a great teak door opened and a tall blond man stepped out, his well-tanned arm extended in greeting.

"Sergeant Apfel?" he said. "I'm Pieter Smuts. I hope the ride wasn't too rough. Come inside and we'll see about getting you more comfortable."

"My wife," Hans said awkwardly, holding his ground.

"I've come for my wife."

"Of course. But inside, please. Everything in good time."

Hans followed the Afrikaner into a majestic reception hall and down a long corridorIn a cul-de-sac full of shadows, they stopped beside two doors. Smuts turned to him.

"The Spandau papers," he said softly.

"Not until I see my wife," Hans retorted, raising himself to his full height-which was about eye level with the Afrikaner.

"First things first, Sergeant. That was our agreement.

When we are satisfied that no copies'exist, you will be reunited with your wife."

Hans made no move to comply.

A brittle edge crept into the Afrikaner's voice. "Do you intend to break our agreement?"

Hans held his breath, struggling to cling to the illusion that he had entered Horn House with bargaining power. It was now painfully clear that he had not. He had probably.

made the worst mistake of his life by coming here. He had gone against the advice of the one man who might have been able to help him, and now Ilse would pay the price for his stupidity.

Smuts saw Hans's pain as clearly as if he had burst into tears.

He opened a door and motioned for Hans to enter the small bedroom beyond. "The papers," he repeated.

Like a zombie Hans withdrew the tightly folded pages.

Smuts did not even look at them. He slipped the wad into his pants like pocket change, then nodded curtly. "I'll be back soon," he said. "Get some rest."

"But my wife!" Hans cried. "You've got to take me to her! I've done everything you asked!"

"Not quite everything," Smuts admonished. "But enough, I think."

He closed the door solicitously, like a well-tipped bellman. , "Wait!"

Hans shouted, but the Afrikaner's footsteps faded into silence.

Hans tried the door, but it was locked. It's out of my hands now, he thought hopelessly@. Is that what I wanted all along? He wondered how long the procedure to detect photocopying would take. He was still wondering that when the countless hours without sleep finally overpowered him. He collapsed onto the small bed, his mouth moving silently as exhaustion shut down his frazzled -brain. For the first time since childhood, Hans Apfel fell asleep with a prayer on his lips.

When the Afrikaner jerked him awake ten minutes later, Hans knew that his desperate gamble had failed. Smuts's eyes burned with feral fire, and though he spoke even more quiedy than before, violence crackled through his every syllable like static electricity.

"You have made a grave mistake, Sergeant. I will ask you only once.

Your wife's life depends upon your answer.

Where are the three missing pages?"

Hans felt as if he had suddenly been sucked high into the stratosphere.

His ears seemed to stop up. He couldn't breathe. "I-I don't understand," he said stupidly.

Smuts turned and reached for the doorknob.

"Wait!" Hans cried. "It's not my fault! I don't have the other pages!"

"Dieter Hauer has them," Smuts said in a flat voice.

"Doesn't he?"

Hans gulped in surprise. "Who?" he asked lamely.

"Polizei Captain Dieter Hauer!" Smuts roared. "The man who helped you escape from Berlin! What kind of game is the fool hying to play? Where is he now?"

Hans felt suddenly faint. Phoenix knew everything. They had known from the beginning. "Hauer doesn't have the pages, I ' I ' he said. "I swear it. The pages were stolen in Germany.

Smuts grabbed him by the sleeve and jerked him across the room toward the window. Hans was amazed by the strength in the wiry arm.

Pulling back the curtains, Smuts waved his arm back and forth across the pane. Satisfied with what he saw, he motioned for Hans to step forward.

Puzzled, Hans put his face to the glass. When he saw what waited beyond, every muscle in his exhausted body went rigid. Thirty meters from the window, Ilse Apfel stood facing the house. Her hands were bound with wire. Affixed@ to the wire was a long chain, held at the other end by Hans'-@ Zulu driver. At the Zulu's feet lay an old black tire; beside.

him stood Lieutenant Jiirgen Luhr of the West Berlin police Luhr wore civilian clothes, but his tall black boots gleamed, in the sun.

seeing Hans in the window, Luhr smiled and pressed a Walther PI against Ilse's left temple. Smuts caught Hans in a bear hug and held him still.

"Ilse!" Hans shouted.

Ilse moved her head slightly, as if she had sensed the, sound but could not locate its source. When Luhr jabbed the' pistol barrel into her ear, Hans jumped as if the gun had struck his own head. He sucked in a rush of air to shout again, but Smuts cut him off.

"Scream again, Sergeant, and she dies. I presume you know that man out there?"

Hans had only spoken to Jiirgen Luhr in person once, but he would never forget it. Luhr had called him in for the, polygraph session at Abschnitt 53, the call that had started, all the madness. Luhr was the man who had gouged the Star of David into Erhard Weiss's chest. His presence here, five thousand miles from Germany, compounded Hans's sense of dislocation.

Smuts released Hans. "Step back from the window," he, commanded.

Hans didn't move.

"Step back!"

When Hans refused, Smuts gave another hand signal. The Zulu handed the leash chain to Luhr, then reached down an lifted the tire high into the air. As it hung suspended like a black halo over Ilse's head, amber liquid sloshed out of it onto her hair. With a sadistic grin the Zulu jerked the tire savagely down around Ilse's torso, pinning her arms to her sides.

Smuts spoke from behind Hans. "Are you familiar with the 'necklace,'

Sergeant? It's a local native specialty. They fill an old tire with gasoline, pin the victim's arms to his sides with the tire-thus the term 'necklace'-then they set the gasoline afire. The results are quite ghastly, even to a , man of my wide experience. A human torch running about Blind with rage, Hans hurled himself backward and hammered his elbow into Smuts's chest. Then he whirled, lowered his head like a bull, and drove the Afrikaner back toward the heavy door. The sudden attack startled Smuts, but as the Afrikaner backpedaled toward the wood, he bucked his knee into Hans's ribs-an upward blow so sharp and quick that Hans did not even realize what had hit him. He went down gasping.

When he looked up, Smuts was standing across the room, arms folded, glaring at him.

"Let her go!" Hans begged. "What has she done to you?"

"Where is Captain Hauer, Sergeant?"

Hans staggered to his feet and went to the window. Ilse's face had taken on an ashen pallor. She had recognized the smell of gasoline, and with it the terrible danger. She swayed -slightly on her feet. Luhr jabbed his pistol at her. Behind Hans, Smuts lifted his hand yet again.

Grinning, Luhr reached into his pocket, withdrew a cigarette lighter, and flicked it alight. He held the flame less than a meter from Ilse, his arm stretched to its limit in case the gasoline vapor should accidentally ignite.