protest?'
,Protest! What do we care about one scruffy Yid? You can bet Stern
asked for it somewhere up the line. The Zionist terrorists in Palestine
were a damned sight mo re ruthless than your Palestinian today, Wilson.
A damned sight!' Shaw rubbed his hands together anxiously. 'South
Africa,' he murmured. 'How in blazes did that old fox figure that Out?'
Wilson looked puzzled. 'I'm not sure what you mean, but Swallow
overheard Stern discussing the wife of Sergeant Apfel. Frau Apfel seems
to have been kidnapped by someone in South Africa who is demanding the
Spandau papers as ransom.'
For a moment Shaw seethed to have lost his breath.
'Where's my bloody ship, Wilson?'
'Ship, sir?' Wilson reddened. 'Oh, yes. Lloyd's List has the MV
Casilda bound for Tanzania. However, I managed to get hold of some
American satellite photos which show her anchored in the Mozambique
Channel, off Madagascar.
There are two helicopters lashed to her decks.'
'Thank God,' Shaw said under his breath.
'Sir Neville?' Wilson said softly. 'Does that freighter have something
to do with the Spandau affair?'
'Better if you don't know just yet, Wilson. If all this blows up in my
face, you'll be able to swear you never knew a bloody thing.'
'For God's sak Wilson looked distraught. e, Neville, at least let me
help you!'
Shaw pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'All right, man. If you really want
to help, I've got something that's just your line of country.'
'Name it.'
'There are some files I need. If this thing goes sour, we'll want them
shredded and burned in a hurry.' Shaw picked up a pen and scrawled
three names on a sheet of notepaper.
'Might be a bit sticky, but you've done this kind of thing before.' He
handed over the paper.
Wilson read the names: Hess, Rudolf Steuer, Helmut Zinoviev, V V 'And
where are these files, sir?'
'The Public Records Office.' Shaw watched Wilson closely.
'Although technically they're Foreign Office files.
There is also a Hess file in the War Office, but it's sealed until 2050.
I don't think anyone could get at that.'
Wilson swallowed hard. 'You mean ... you want me to steal files from
the Foreign Office?'
'Be thankful it's only paper, man. There are much dirtier jobs involved
in this case.'
Wilson met Shaw's steady gaze. 'Won't the missing files be noticed?'
'Probably.' Shaw reached into a drawer and withdrew a thick, dog-eared
file. 'That's why I m giving you this.' He handed the folder across to
Wilson. :It's also a Hess file, but it's been ...
amended. The Zinoviev and Steuer files simply have to disappear, but
you can fill the Hess gap with that. It was prepared in the early
seventies, after we were forced.by statute to reveal certain information
on Hess. It was our insurance against the day some hothead like Neil
Kinnock started pressing for radical disclosures. I think it will serve
very well in this situation.' Shaw sighed contentedly.
'Now pour us a Glenfiddich, eh, Wilson? You look like you need one.'
1:L?5 Pm. Room 604, The Protea Hof Hotat Pretoria
Hauer looked forlornly around the hotel room. He had steeled himself
for an explosion that never came. Perhaps Hans was simply too exhausted
to get upset. And then perhaps it was something else. His reaction did
not fit the stimulus, and that bothered Hauer. The fact that three
pages of the Spandau diary were missing clearly reduced the chances of
getting Ilse back alive; yet when Hauer had revealed that the pages were
missing, Hans hadn't said a word. fris eyes had widened in disbelief;
he'd rubbed his temples, seen to sag a little; but he had not shouted at
Hauer for pilfer the papers on the plane, or blasted Professor Natterman
for his cowardice, or tried to attack Hauer as he had done to the
professor at the cabin. He'd simply stood up and walked into the
bathroom. Hauer could hear water running in the sink now.
He unboxed the Nikon N/2000 camera with macro/micro lens that he had
bought at the sporting goods store. Then he set up the special tripod
he had bought to facilitate the time exposures. Less than a foot high,
the squat instrument had short, splayed legs and fully pivoting head. It
reminded him of a robot from a 1950s science fiction movie. He set it
up on the table near the window and opened the drapes; then he mounted
the Nikon.
'Hans!' he called to the bathroom. 'I need the papers!'
Thirty seconds later Hans emerged from the bathroom with the crinkled
foil packet containing the Spandau papers.
He handed it to Hauer without a word.
'Cover the door,' Hauer said. 'if anyone knows where we are, now is the
time they'll hit us.'
Instead of drawing the Walther from his waistband, Hans leaned over and
picked up the crossbow held bought.
Hauer gingerly unwrapped the foil while Hans loaded a stubby,
razor-sharp bolt. 'I'm going to bracket the f-stops,' he said. 'I'll
shoot at the widest aperture flash at one@eth of a second. Then
progressively longer exposures until we'reach two full seconds, just to
make sure.'
Hans said nothing.
'I know you're still worried about the pictures, but Ilse said the
kidnappers could detect whether photocopies o'f the papers had been
made. This is no different than looking at the papers. We've got no
choice, Hans. We're going to have to trade the original Spandau papers
for Ilse. This is our fallback. Besides, to crack Phoenix in Berlin,
Ive're going to need a copy of the papers, plus the evidence in the fire
safe at Steuben's house.'
Hauer worked his way through the exposures for the first page-seven
shots altogether-then carefully set it aside.
Hans handed over the second page; Hauer repeated the procedure.
The first roll of film ran out halfway through page four. While Hauer
reloaded the Nikon, he heard Hans whisper: 'Damn that old man.'
