Spandau Phoenix. Greg Iles

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СКАЧАТЬ one of Harry’s “private assets,” a rather high-strung German trade liaison named Klaus Seeckt. During Harry’s first year in Berlin, he had spotted Klaus at the Philharmonie, in the company of an arrogant and well-known KGB agent named Yuri Borodin. It hadn’t taken Harry long to establish that Klaus was using his semi-official cover to funnel restricted technology to Moscow. That had not interested Harry much; what had interested him—after a thorough investigation of Seeckt—was that while Klaus dealt directly with the KGB, he had no ties, voluntary or otherwise, to the East German secret police, the Stasi. And that was a very rare combination in Berlin.

      Rather than arrest Klaus for the high-tech ripoff, Harry had opted to use his leverage whenever he needed a direct line into KGB operations. He never even filed a report on Klaus. Colonel Rose might have insisted that Harry push the German too hard, which would only have spooked him into fleeing the city. Men like Klaus had to be treated delicately. Harry cultivated the man’s ego, pretending to share with him the fraternal enjoyment of superior intellect, and applied pressure only when necessary.

      Tonight was different. Eduard Lenhardt’s apprehensions were worming their way into Harry’s gut, and the checks he normally kept on his imagination began to erode as his mind raced through the possible implications of the events at Abschnitt 53. When the taxi reached the Tiergarten house, Harry tipped its driver enough to satisfy, but not enough to draw attention. And as he reached Klaus’s door, he decided that his sensitive East German would have to pay the remainder of his debt tonight.

      10:10 P.M. The Bismarckstrasse

      “Captain!” Hans warned. “Motorcycle patrol, three cars back!”

      “I see him.” Hauer swung the Volkswagen smoothly around a corner just as the traffic signal changed, stranding the police cycle in the line of vehicles stopped at the light. “We’ve got to get off the street.”

      “Where do we go? My apartment? Your house?”

      “Think, Hans. They’ll be covering both places.”

      “You’re right. Maybe—” He grabbed Hauer’s sleeve. “Jesus, Ilse’s at the apartment alone!”

      “Easy, Hans, we’ll get her. But we can’t walk in there like lambs to the slaughter.”

      “But Funk could have men there already!”

      “Hold your water. Where are we, Bergstrasse? There should be a hotel four blocks south of us. The Steglitz. Just what we need.”

      “A hotel?”

      “Get in the backseat,” Hauer ordered, and stepped on the accelerator.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Do it!”

      As Hans climbed into the backseat, Hauer ripped the police insignia from his collar and spurred the VW into the Steglitz garage. The violent turn threw Hans against the side door. They squealed down the curving ramp to the parking sublevels below and into a tiny space between two large sedans.

      “All right, Hans,” Hauer said. “Out with it. Everything. What really happened at Spandau this morning?”

      Hans climbed awkwardly through the narrow gap between the seats. “I’ll tell you on the way to my apartment.”

      Hauer shook his head. “We don’t move one meter until you talk.”

      Hans bridled, but he could see that Hauer would not be swayed. “Look, I would have reported it if it hadn’t been for those damned Russians.”

      “Reported what?”

      “The papers. The papers I found at Spandau.”

      “Christ, you mean the Russians were right?”

      Hans nodded.

      “Where did you find these papers? What did they say?”

      Hauer looked strangely hungry. Hans looked out the window. “I found them in a pile of rubble. In a hollow brick, just like Schmidt asked me. What does it matter? I started reading them, but one of the Russians stumbled on me. I hid them without even thinking.” He turned to Hauer. “That’s it! That’s all I did! So why has everyone gone crazy?”

      “What did the papers say, Hans?”

      “I don’t know. Gibberish, mostly. Ilse said it was Latin.”

      “You showed them to your wife?”

      “I didn’t intend to, but she found them. She understood more of it than I did, anyway. She said the papers had something to do with the Nazis. That they were dangerous.” He looked down at his lap. “God, was she right.”

      “Tell me everything you remember, Hans.”

      “Look, I hardly remember any of it. The German part sounded bitter, like a revenge letter, but … there was fear in it, too. The writer said he had written because he could never speak about what he knew. That others would pay the price for his words.”

      Hauer hung on every syllable. “What else?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Nothing at all?”

      “It was Latin, I told you! I couldn’t read it!”

      “Latin,” Hauer mused, leaning back into his seat. “Who wrote the papers? Were they signed?”

      Hans shrugged uncomfortably. “There wasn’t any name. Just a number.”

      “A number?” Hauer’s eyes grew wide. “What number, Hans?”

      “Seven, goddamnit! The lucky number. What a fucking joke. Now can we get out of here?”

      Hauer shook his head slowly. “Hess,” he murmured. “It’s impossible. The restrictions, the endless searches. It can’t be.”

      Hans ground his teeth angrily. “Captain, I know what you’re talking about, but right now I don’t care! I just want to know my wife is safe!”

      Hauer laid a hand on his shoulder. “Where are these papers now?”

      “At the apartment.”

      “No! You made copies?”

      “No, damn it! I don’t care about the papers anymore! We’re going to get Ilse now!”

      Hauer pinned him against the seat with an arm of iron. “You saw Weiss, didn’t you? If you go charging into your apartment, the same thing could happen to you. And to Ilse.”

      The memory of Weiss’s mutilated corpse brought a strange stillness over Hans. “What did happen to Weiss?”

      Hauer sighed. “Someone got too impatient, pushed the doctor too far. Probably Luhr, Funk’s personal stormtrooper.” He shook СКАЧАТЬ