Spandau Phoenix

“How?”

“By the wind, sir. At this time of year the prevailing winds in Israel blow southeast. If the weapon were detonated in Jerusalem, the fallout would probably dissipate over Jordan. But if it were detonated in Tel Aviv, not only would it obliterate the city, but it might well spread a lethal blanket of strontium-90 over Jerusalem within one or two hours.”

Horn closed his eyes and sighed with satisfaction. “And if we get the cobalt-seeded bomb case in time?”

The Afrikaner turned his palms upward. “We won’t, sir. Not sooner than twenty days. The technical problems are formidable.”

“But if we did get it?”

Smuts pursed his lips. “With a cobalt-seeded bomb case and the revised yield figures, I’d say … sixty percent of the Israeli population would be dead within fourteen days, and Palestine would be rendered uninhabitable for at least a decade.”

Horn let out a long sigh. “Increase the bounty, Pieter. Five million rand in gold to the team that delivers a cobalt bomb case within seven days.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do we have any further information on the Israeli doctrinal response?”

Smuts shook his head. “Our London source dried up after we requested the American satellite photos. Frankly, I don’t even trust his initial reports on that subject.”

“Why?”

“Do you really think Israel would target Russian cities?”

Horn smiled. “Of course. It’s the only way the Jews could win a war against a united Arab force. They must be able to prevent Soviet resupply of the Arabs, and the only way they can do that is to blackmail the Soviets. What do they have to lose by doing so?”

“But the deployment plan for Israel’s nuclear arsenal is the most closely guarded secret in the world. How could our London source know what he claims to know?”

Horn smiled. “Not the most closely guarded secret, Pieter. No one has yet proved that South Africa’s nuclear arsenal even exists.”

“Thanks in no small part to us,” Smuts observed. The Afrikaner began cracking his knuckles. “The Russian matter aside, I think we can safely assume that if Tel Aviv or Jerusalem were destroyed, Israel would go beyond a measured response. If they knew the source of the attack, they would respond with a significant portion of their ‘black’ bomber and missile forces.”

“They will know the source of the attack,” Horn rasped.

“There is one unpredictable factor,” Smuts said carefully. “If our clients were to detonate the weapon at Dimona, Israel’s weapons-production plant, there is a slight chance that the rest of the world might believe the explosion to be a genuine Israeli accident. The Americans might coerce the Jews into waiting until an outside investigation was completed. By that time cooler heads might prevail.”

Horn made a dismissive gesture with his skeletal arm. “Don’t worry. I’m relying on Arab impatience, not stupidity. Hussein, Assad, these men might have the self-control to wait and try to develop a cohesive plan. Not our friend. He will strike swiftly. Consider how quickly he agreed to our meeting. He won’t purposefully hit Jerusalem—there are too many sacred Muslim sites there. And the security around Dimona is airtight. We needn’t worry on that score. The target will be Tel Aviv.”

Horn’s one living eye focused on the Afrikaner. “What of the Spandau matter, Pieter? Have they captured the traitor? Have they found the papers?”

“Not yet, sir. Berlin-One assures me it is only a matter of time. However, I received a call from his immediate subordinate, Berlin-Two. He’s a lieutenant, I believe. Jürgen Luhr.”

“And?”

“Lieutenant Luhr doesn’t feel the prefect is up to the job. He’s moved some of our German assets into play without the prefect’s knowledge. He checked the files on the two missing officers and dispatched men to all locations they might possibly run to. I approved his action. Who knows what those Bruderschaft clowns are really doing. A little competition might speed up the capture.”

“I’m surprised that these policemen were able to escape at all,” Horn remarked.

Smuts shifted uncomfortably. “I did a little checking on my own, sir. The man who betrayed us—Hauer—he’s quite an officer, it seems. An ex-soldier. Even the young man with him was decorated for bravery.”

Horn raised a long, crooked finger in Smuts’s tanned face. “Never underestimate the German soldier, Pieter. He is the toughest in the world. Let this be a lesson to you.”

Smuts colored. “Yes, sir.”

“Keep me posted hourly. I’m anxious to see how this ex-soldier does.”

“You almost sound as if you want them to escape.”

“Nonsense, Pieter. By getting hold of the Spandau papers, we might well buy ourselves extra time. At least we can keep the Russians and the Jews out of our business, if not the British. But that’s it, you see. At this moment MI-5, the KGB, and the Mossad must be scouring Berlin for our two German policemen, yet so far they have failed to capture them. If these men live up to their racial heritage, I suspect they will manage to evade their pursuers. In the end we will have to find them ourselves.”

The Afrikaner nodded. “I’ll find them.”

Horn smiled coldly. “I know you will, Pieter. If this Hauer but knew you as I do, he would already have given himself up.”

NINE (#ulink_3ed549a4-a6e3-5a67-96c2-2e816ab80a90)

10:35P.M.Goethestrasse: West Berlin

“There,” Hauer grunted. He had wedged Hans’s Volkswagen so tightly between two parked cars that the one behind would have to be moved to reveal the license plate. “All right, where’s the house?”

“I’m not sure,” Hans replied, peering through his window. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Are you joking?”

“No.”

Hauer stared in disbelief. “So why are we here?”

“Because it’s just what you asked for—a place we can’t be traced to.”

Hans climbed out of the VW and started up the deserted street, skirting the pools of light from the street lamps. “That’s it,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. Hauer followed a few paces behind. “See it? Eleven-fifty.”

“Quiet!” said Hauer. “You’ll wake the whole block.”

Hans was already halfway up the walk. He rapped loudly on the front door, waited half a minute, then knocked again. Finally, a muffled voice came from behind the wood.

“I’m coming already!”

Someone fumbled with the latch, then the door opened wide. Standing in a pair of blue silk pajamas, a tiny man with silver hair and a tuft of beard squinted through the darkness. He reached for a light switch.

“Please leave the light off, Herr Ochs,” Hans said.

“What? Who are you?” Finally the uniform registered in the old man’s brain. “Polizei,” he murmured. “Is there some problem?”

Hans stepped closer. He took the tattered business card from his pocket and handed it to the old man. “I don’t know if you remember me, Herr Ochs, but you said that if I ever needed a favor—”

“Gott im Himmel!” Ochs cried, his eyes wide. “Sergeant Apfel!”

Hans nodded. “That’s right. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there’s an emergency. My captain and I need to make some telephone calls. We can’t use the station just now—”