Spandau Phoenix

  Gadi jerked his rifle toward the sound. Hauer spun to face the darkness, but he saw nothing. “Call off your dog, Stern! That’s a British accent!”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better!” Stern retorted.

  “All right, Gadi,” he said finally. “Stand down.”

  After the young Israeli lowered his weapon, a grinning sandy-haired man of medium height rose from beneath a soapstone lab table. He was wearing tattered commando gear, and his left hand held a well-oiled MP-5 submachine gun.

  “Hullo,” he said. “In a bit of a pinch, are we?”

  “Who the devil are you?” General Steyn croaked.

  “How did you get in?” asked Hauer. “That’s the question.”

  “Name’s Burton, sport. Ex-major in the British Army, too long a story to tell.”

  “Have the shields been lowered?” Stern asked, afraid that the Libyans might already have penetrated into the inner complex.

  “Don’t know about any shields. I came in through a bunker. There’s tunnels running to every one of ‘em and they all intersect right here.”

  “Are you serious?” Hauer cried. “The Arabs didn’t see you?”

  “Those camel humpers? Not bloody likely.”

  “But what’s past the bunkers? Is there any way to get truly out of here? Away from this place?”

  “It just so happens,” said Burton, “that I’ve got my own personal jet and pilot waiting outside.”

  Hauer’s mouth fell open. Hans and Ilse ran to the Englishman. “We’ve got to get out of here!” Ilse cried. “Now! The Arabs will break through any minute!”

  “Boarding in five minutes,” Burton said jauntily. “Only one carry-on bag per person, please.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  General Steyn threw his good arm over Hauer’s shoulder, believing that Burton’s revelation of an escape route had resolved de facto all the argument that had gone before. Ilse barely had time to snatch up Hess’s black briefcase before Hans pulled her across the room toward the Englishman. Dr Sabri also moved cautiously in that direction.

  Yet Stern and Gadi did not move. They stood with their backs against the gleaming steel storage vault, staring watchfully at the excited group gathering around the British mercenary. Hauer laid his hand on General Steyn’s pistol. He understood only too well what was passing through the minds of the Israelis.

  “Gadi,” Stern said sharply. With his rifle braced on his hip, the young Israeli marched past Hauer, grabbed Dr Sabri by the sleeve and pulled him back to where the three bombs waited on their carts. He kicked the Libyan behind the knee, dropping him to the floor, then shoved him down over the bomb in the middle of the cart.

  “Open it,” Stern commanded.

  “Wh-what?” the Libyan stammered.

  “Open the weapon!”

  “I need tools.”

  Gadi swung his rifle around on Smuts.

  “We don’t keep any down here,” Smuts lied.

  Gadi fired a slug into the wall beside the Afrikaner’s head. Smuts didn’t flinch, but after a face-saving moment he stepped over to a drawer and pulled out a metal tool kit. He carried it to the Libyan, then returned to Hess’s side.

  General Steyn watched all this in disbelief. “What are you doing now, Jonas? Our problem is solved! As soon as we take off, I can radio the air force from this man’s plane!”

  Stern looked up from where Dr Sabri had begun to work on the bomb. “This changes only two things,” he said quietly. “First, you people now have a chance to get clear. And second, Hess can go with you.”

  Pieter Smuts stiffened. Stern touched Gadi’s sleeve. “Hess is your responsibility. You’ll take him out with the others.”

  The young Israeli’s face wilted like a little boy’s, then it hardened to stone. “I shall stay behind, Uncle,” he said solemnly. “You should be the one who takes Hess to Israel.”

  Stern shook his head impatiently. “You go, I stay.”

  I say there, you two,” Burton cut in. “You’re not talking about setting off these bombs. I’ve seen enough conventional weapons to know an unconventional one when I see it. Even if we manage to get airborne, the blast wave from one of those would knock us right out of the sky.”

  Stern crouched beside Dr Sabri, who had just gotten the cover plate off the bomb’s arming system. “What’s the minimum safe distance for the aircraft that delivers this weapon?”

  Dr Sabri looked up at Stern with wild eyes. “There’s no way to know! If the explosion breaks through the surface… five… perhaps six kilometres?”

  Stern rose to his feet. “If you all leave now,” he said loudly, “you should be able to reach minimum safe distance before the Libyans break through the shields. I suggest you get moving.”

  Hauer jabbed a finger toward the bomb cart. “Stern, that thing must have some kind of timing mechanism. Why not set it for thirty minutes and get out with the rest of us?”

  Gadi’s face lit up. “Of course Uncle, that’s it!”

  Stern shook his head. “In fifteen minutes the Libyans will be inside this room. They’re almost certain to have someone with them who would know how to stop a timer.” Stern pulled Dr Sabri to his feet. “What kind of detonator does this weapon have? Is there a timing mechanism?”

  “A timer, yes! But not the kind you imagine. This is an air-burst weapon. It’s meant to be exploded above ground. Once armed, its clock begins at a pre-programmed atmospheric pressure level.”

  “How long does the clock run?”

  “This one is set for twelve seconds. But I could set it for much longer!”

  Gadi jammed the barrel of his R5 into the terrified Libyan’s stomach. “How do we know he’s telling us the truth about the detonator? What if you stay behind and the bomb doesn’t explode? You’ll have thrown your life away for nothing!”

  Stern turned to Sabri. “Show me how the detonator works. Be quick!”

  While the Libyan bent, over the bomb casing, Hauer stepped up to Stern. “Do you want to throw your life away, Stern? You have a real alternative now. General Steyn is right—the South African air force can easily shoot down the Libyans when they try to leave the country.”

  Stern smiled wryly. “And if someone in the South African air force doesn’t want to shoot them down?”

  “Sir?” said Dr Sabri, looking up from the weapon. Hauer looked down. In the Libyan’s hands, held as gingerly as if they were coiled vipers, were four tricoloured wires that led from a small aperture in the bomb casing. Two exposed copper wire ends glinted in the fluorescent light. “Touch these together,” Dr Sabri said hoarsely, “and the bomb will think it has reached the preprogrammed altitude. The timing mechanism will run its course, and the detonator will explode. A few nanoseconds later, nuclear fission will be initiated.” There was dead silence in the room.

  “Must the wires remain connected during the timer’s entire run?” Stern asked.

  The Libyan nodded.

  Before anyone could stop him, Stern seized the two wires, wrapped them together, and closed them in his fist. Ilse screamed.

  Alan Burton dived under a soapstone lab table, as if it could somehow protect him from a nuclear blast. Hauer and Gadi froze, mesmerized by Stern’s insane act. But no one reacted with the same abject terror as Dr Sabri. Shrieking wildly, the Libyan grabbed Stern’s wrists and tried desperately to separate the two wires. But despite the great age difference between the two men, Sabri failed. After what Stern judged to be nine seconds—long enough for everyone in the room to stare death in the face—he jerked the two wires apart with a sardonic smile. “I think he’s telling the truth, Gadi.”

  Dr Sabri fell to his knees and peered into the bomb’s access panel. “There are only two seconds left on the clock! In the name of Allah, do not let the wires touch again!”

  “Not until you’re all safely away,” Stern promised.

  Hauer half-smiled. “Or until the Libyans break into this complex. Right, Stern?”

  “You’d b
etter hurry,” Stern said tersely.

  Gadi laid a hand on his shoulder. “Uncle, please! Do not sacrifice yourself. I am a soldier. I should be the one.”

  “I am a soldier too.” Stern sighed deeply. “An old one. But it doesn’t matter. I’m dead already.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already been exposed to enough radiation today to kill me. And if not enough to kill me, at least enough to make what little that remains of my life quite unpleasant.” Stern rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I can barely see you now, Gadi. Everything has a halo.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gadi cried.

  “It’s true,” Ilse interjected. “They did the same to me. Or they pretended to.”

  Gadi looked mystified. Against the wall, Pieter Smuts shifted his body slightly away from Hess.

  “X-rays, Gadi,” Stern explained. “The same way I confirmed that Horn was actually Hess. They strapped me down and dosed me with X-rays for two hours.”

  The young commando blinked. “What? Who did that to you? Who!”

  At that moment Smuts nodded almost imperceptibly. Rudolf Hess slid silently to the floor.

  “That man there!” Ilse shouted, pointing to Smuts.

  As her accusing finger went up, the Afrikaner whipped up a Beretta automatic he had slipped from an ankle holster and aimed it at the two Israelis. Incredibly, no one had thought to search him; now he had both Stern and Gadi in his sights. From ten feet he could not miss. With a strangled cry Gadi knocked Stern down with his left hand and jerked up his carbine with his right.

  The two men fired at the same instant.

  Outside the front entrance of Horn House, one of Major Karami’s commandos leaned into the empty driver’s compartment of the Armscor and saw that the ignition keys had been removed. He craned his neck around the seats just in time to see Captain Barnard’s bloody face appear out of the gloom like a ghost. It was the last thing the Libyan would ever see. Barnard’s bullet struck him right between the eyes.

  Hearing the shot, two more Libyans leaped through the Armscor’s doors. Captain Barnard shot them both through the head.

  Struggling to breathe through the blood in his throat, the South African thrust his pistol through the shattered windshield and fired wildly at the Libyans grouped around the howitzer.

  “Hold your positions!” Major Karami shouted.

  The 105mm howitzer stood only twenty metres from the Armscor. Two of Captain Barnard’s bullets struck the barrel of the big gun, sending several Libyans scurrying for cover, but Major Karami stood still as stone.

  “Hold your positions!” he roared. “Set elevation and blow that pile of shit out of my way!”

  For an artillery piece the shot was point blank. Everyone opened their mouths and put both hands over their ears. Major Karami raised one brown hand high, then dropped it. “Fire!”

  Pieter Smuts’s bullet struck Gadi square in the centre of the chest. The Israeli flew backward and knocked Stern down. Gadi had fired a burst, but only one round struck the Afrikaner, splintering his left wrist in a spray of blood and bone. Before either man could move again, the exploding howitzer shell shook the ceiling of the basement like a thunderclap.

  “They’re coming!” Hans shouted.

  Hauer saw the subsequent action in slow motion. Gadi—who had been saved by his body armour—struggled to his feet. Smuts steadied his pistol for a second shot. Hauer shouted a warning, as the Afrikaner fired. His second shot tore through Gadi’s unprotected right thigh.

  As Hauer heard the second howitzer shell explode above them, he raised General Steyn’s pistol, pointed it at Smuts and fired four times. His bullets nailed the Afrikaner to the wall. Smuts hung there a moment, wide-eyed, then dropped like a sack across his master’s crippled legs.

  “Pieter!” Hess cried. “My God, no!”

  Another explosion shuddered through the house.

  “It’s now or bloody never!” Burton shouted. He too one last look at Hess on the floor, then he turned and ran.

  “Everyone out!” Stern ordered. “Now! Go!”

  Hauer hustled General Steyn toward the dark laboratory aisles that led to the tunnels, but the wounded general collapsed after ten steps. Hauer started dragging him; Hans came back to help. Dr Sabri glanced fearfully at Gadi, then darted after the others.

  “May I come with you, sir?” he asked Hauer.

  Hauer shoved the Libyan down the aisle, then turned back to Stern. “Give us every goddamn second you can, Stern! These people deserve to live! Keep your fanatic nephew with you and hold them off as long as you can!”

  “Don’t worry, you Kraut bastard!” Gadi yelled back, gripping his bleeding thigh. “I’m staying! I’ll kill every Arab up there!”

  “No, Gadi!” Stern insisted. “You’re going with them! You must get Hess out!”

  “I’m staying with your” Gadi pointed his assault rifle at the old Nazi. “Go to hell, you Nazi bastard!”

  Stern grabbed his arm. “Stop! You must take Hess to Israel! Pick him up, Gadi! Pick him up and carry him out of here! Carry him all the way to Jerusalem! He’ll hang soon enough!”

  Hauer and the others had paused halfway to the tunnel. All eyes were rivetted on the surreal drama taking place in the pool of fluorescent light before the silver storage vault. Even facing their own deaths, those who wanted so desperately to live could not tear their eyes away from two men so ready to die without fear or regret. Another explosion rattled the glassware in the lab.

  “The Englishman’s gone!” Hans shouted. “Let’s go!”

  Dr Sabri broke and ran. Hans shoved Ilse after the Libyan.

  Stern squatted astride the bomb and picked up the stripped detonator wires.

  “Mother of God,” Hauer murmured, looking toward the shadows.

  Gadi had stubbornly taken up a firing position behind Stern. Stern turned around and gazed into the young commando’s burning eyes. His voice cracked with emotion. “In the name of Abraham, Gadi, take Hess to Israel. That is not an order. It is a sacred charge on the souls of our ancestors. Leave me a gun and get Hess out!”

  A tear streaked the young Israeli’s face. With shaking hands he laid his rifle against the bomb casing and crossed to where Hess lay. Favouring his good leg, he crouched down, caught the old man under the arms, and lifted. Hess immediately began to struggle. Gadi punched him viciously in the side of the head the heaved the wasted body over his shoulder.

  “Yes!” Stern called. “Get him out!”

  Quivering beneath his hundred-pound load, the wounded Israeli staggered after Hauer and Hans. Yet after only four short steps his savaged thigh muscle gave way. He crashed to the floor, screaming in agony. Hess fell on top of him. Gadi clenched his jaws shut and rolled the old man off. Then, with his bloody thigh twitching uncontrollably, he struggled to his feet again. Again he hoisted Hess to his shoulder and tried to walk. He gasped with each step, fighting the searing fire in his leg. Like a boxer knocked senseless but still on his feet, he reeled backward toward Stern.

  “No, Gadi!” Stern barked. “The other way! Forward!”

  The young commando tottered a moment, then collapsed. Hess hit the floor hard this time and didn’t move. Sobbing with rage and pain, Gadi got to his knees and tried once more to lift the old man. He summoned every ounce of strength he had left, but Smuts’s bullet had done too much damage.

  “I can’t do it, Uncle! I’ll never get him through the tunnel!”

  “Hauer!” Stern shouted. “Come back and help the boy!”

  “Yes!” Gadi called. “Help me, Captain!”

  Hauer’s answer flared out of the darkness. “Hess can go to hell! I’m saving General Steyn! You just hold those Arabs back as long as you can!”

  “You owe it to us!” Stern shouted. “For Munich! Yes, I know you were there! Come back, Hauer! For the Jews you let die!”

  “Let it go, Stern! That war is over!”

  “Leave him, Gadi,” Stern cried angrily. “Frau Apfel has the
Zinoviev book and the Spandau papers. That’s all the proof you need. Those papers alone indict the British.”

  “Then I’m staying with you!”

  “No. You must get that evidence to Israel!”

  “The others can do it.”

  “A Jew, Gadi. A Jew must do it. Be sure it’s done!”

  Gadi looked wildly at his uncle for a moment, then made his decision. He stripped the guns from the South Africans he had killed and laid them at Stern’s feet. “Kill as many as you can, Uncle. I will get your papers to Jerusalem.”

  Stern smiled. “I know you will, my boy. Now go.” He hugged Gadi’s face to his own. “Shalom.”

  “Shalom, Uncle.” Gadi choked back a sob. “No Jew will ever forget you.”

  “Go,” Stern commanded. “My time has come.”

  Dragging his bleeding leg behind him, Gadi picked up his rifle and went. 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.