backseat, laid out and trussed like a Christmas turkey, Hermann the
forger jerked his head back and forth in impotent rage.
'Get in,' said Stern. 'I thought this fellow might come in handy, so I
invited him to stay for a while.'
Too surprised to speak, Natterman climbed into the car and stared back
at Hermann as they drove back to the cabin.
'Is the cabin phone still working?' Stern asked.
Natterman nodded.
'I've quite a few calls to make, but soon we shall be on a plane bound
for Israel. And from there, South Africa.'
'Why Israel? Why not fly straight to South Africa?'
Stern skidded to a stop before the battered cabin. 'We have some
packages to pick up. Now, untie that fool while I get his equipment.
I have much to arrange before we can be on our way.'
Like a dazed recruit of eighteen, the old historian followed the
Israeli's orders, a little afraid, but grateful to be part of the chase
at last.
555 Pm. Sonnonalloo Checkpoint.
American Sedor, West Berlin Harry Richardson walked slowly toward the
barrier post on the eastern side of the Berlin Wall. In spite of
Kosov's assurances to Colonel Rose, Harry still half-expected to be
arrested at the checkpoint. He walked quickly past the Fmt German
documents-control booth, then stopped as instructed at the
currency-check station. Glancing right, he saw two pale faces peering
out of the warmly lit observation window.
One hovered above the red shoulder boards of a KGB colonel: Ivan Kosov.
The other, angrier face belonged to Captain Dmitri Rykov. A bad week
altogether for the young chekist, Harry thought. He tipped his head at
Rykov, then walked on.
The gray sky had darkened. Harry could just make out the U.S, Army Ford
waiting on the American side of the Wall, parked beyond the harsh glow
of the checkpoint area, motor running. Beside the Ford, a restless line
of cars and lorries waited to pass through the blocked checkpoint. Fifty
yards closer, the door to the West Berlin customs booth opened suddenly
and a young border policeman stepped out. Behind him emerged Colonel
Rose, wearing a long olive-drab greatcoat. Then came two men wearing
civilian clothes and handcuffs, followed by Sergeant Clary, who carried
a Colt .45 in his right hand.
Harry heard footsteps behind him, then felt Kosov's hand grip his upper
arm. Twenty seconds later, seven men stood awkwardly around the
white-painted line that marked the absolute boundary between East and
West Berlin-five on the American side, two on the Soviet. Tonight
protocols were few. With a nod Kosov signaled the . two handcuffed
Soviet illegals to step over the line. As they did, he released his
grip on Harry's arm- Harry stepped across the line. He breathed a
heartfelt sigh of relief when Clary clapped him on the back in welcome.
Kosov looked at Rose. 'I commend your nerve in negotiating this
exchange, Colonel. Your pragmatic style is somewhat surprising in an
American. Next time, however@' Rose turned and marched away without a
word. Sergeant Clary and the border policeman followed him. Before
Harry could turn, however, Kosov reached out and caught hold of his arm.
'Axel Goltz is dead,' he growled.
'Does that bother you?'
'What bothers me is that I don't understand why he did what he did.
Since you killed him, I doubt very much that he worked for you.
And given that, I must begin to take seriously the nationalistic drivel
he spouted off before he shot Corporal Ivanov. He mentioned something
called Phoenix, I believe? Have you heard of this?'
Harry shrugged. 'Sure. It's about a hundred miles south of Tucson,
isn't it?'
Kosov smiled coldly. 'Have it your way, Major. I would prefer that our
two services collaborate on the Hess case. All my country wants is for
the truth to be exposed to the world.
When Germany begins to stir, even traditional enemies must join forces.'
'Someone should have told Stalin that in 1939,' Harry observed.
'Guten Abend, Colonel.' He turned and jogged to the waiting Ford.
While Kosov fumed, Rykov emerged from the customs booth, trailed
noiselessly by a lean figure dressed from head to toe in black.
'Misha,' Kosov muttered, his voice hoarse with fury.
The young killer pricked up his ears like a hungry panther.
'I think it's time you paid a visit to the whore who showed us such
disrespect. Show her that we keep our promises.'
Misha nodded, and then, with a swiftness that astonished Rykov, he
melted into the gray dusk of the Sonnenallee.
'What now, Colonel?' asked Rykov.
'We wait,' Kosov replied, still staring after the Americans. 'I'm
expecting a visitor.'
Fifty meters away, Harry climbed into the Army Ford and found a bearish
man wearing a hat and civilian clothes waiting in the backseat.
He looked familiar, but Rose made no introductions.
Sergeant Clary swept across West Berlin with the subtlety of a fire
truck. Harry let his head fall back on the seat, intending to savor his
newfound freedom, but Rose gave him no respite. The colonel heaved a
beefy forearm back over the passenger seat and grinned.
'Okay, Harry, what did you find out over there?'
Harry answered with his eyes closed. 'I found out that whatever is in
those Spandau papers is important enough for a Stasi agent to kill a KGB
officer over it.'
'Axel Goltz,' said Rose. 'Did you kill him?'
'He didn't leave me any choice.'
The colonel nodded. ' ' Our East German sources said Kosov went berserk
when he found out he couldn't interrogate Goltz. He arrested every
ranking Stasi officer he could lay his hands on.'
Harry shook his head. 'Colonel, Goltz was no more afraid of Kosov than
a rabid dog would have been. He acted as if he expected Heinz
Guderian's tanks to roll out of the Black Forest any minute and chase
the Russians right out of Germany.'
'It'd take more than that,' Rose muttered. 'Every T-72
tank in the DDR is on the move. They're running civilian vehicles right
