Hauer kept working while he talked. 'It isn't the professor's fault,
Hans. That blond Afrikaner got them, and whoever killed him got the
papers. The professor should have told us about the missing pages, but
you know why he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to admit he'd lost
them.
He knew you'd go crazy, and to no avail. We couldn't have done anything
about it anyway.'
Hans sat silently.
'Listen,' said Hauer. 'Natterman was stupid to put these blank sheets
in with the papers. It made the missing pages twice as obvious.
When we make the exchange, we'll use only the six matching pages.
The kidnappers won't know the difference.'
Hans's opinion of this theory was painfully clear on his face.
'You know better than that,' he said softly. 'They have Ilse, and she
knows exactly what I found. She can describe it down to the-' Hans's
mouth stopped moving. 'Phoenix would torture her to find those things
out!'
'Stop talking like that!' Hauer snapped. 'Ilse's smart.
She'll tell them what they want without a fight. Look, Hans, all we
need is Ilse in the open and ten seconds to get her clear. The
kidnappers won't have more than ten seconds to examine the papers.
That's the situation I intend to arrange.
Anything else is unacceptable.'
'Ten seconds is enough time to count pages,' Hans observed.
Hauer sighed heavily. 'At the cabin you said you trusted me, Hans. Now
you've got to prove it. We've got the leverage here, not them. They
know they'll never get the papers back if they kill Ilse.
The moment they make contact, we set out our terms for the exchange.
They have to accept them.
And once they accept our terms, we've got them.'
Hans met Hauer's eyes. 'But do we have Ilse?'
Hauer picked the last diary page up off the bed, shot his last seven
exposures, then removed the film from the camera. He folded the Spandau
papers into quarters, then eighths, then he wrapped the aluminum foil
tightly about them again.
'I'm going to find a lab that can process the film in an hour or two,'
he said, slipping the cartridges into his pocket.
'I want you to sleep while I'm gone. You've been up for thirty-six
hours, and I've been up longer than that. Airplane sleep doesn't count.
The Burgerspark rendezvous is at e tonight.
Call the desk and set a wake-up call for seven-thirty.'
Hans looked up stonily. 'You expect me to steep now?'
'Just shut off the light and breathe deeply. You won't last five
minutes. You should see your eyes right now. They look like they're
bleeding.'
Working his jaw muscles steadily, Hans finally said, 'Shouldn't I keep
the papers here?'
Hauer considered this. Hans had held the papers until now . . .
'They're safer on the move,' he said suddenly. He slipped the packet
into his trouser pocket and headed for the door. 'Get some sleep.
I'll see you when we wake up.'
Outside the hotel the sun burned down without mercy.
Hauer wished he'd thought to bring a hat. Moving watchidly through the
tree-lined streets, he tried to gauge their chances of success. Tonight
would be their first and possibly only chance to turn the tables on the
men who held Ilse, the men behind Phoenix. And with no backup to rely
on, every move could be their last. Hauer needed time to think. And
most critical now, he needed sleep. Maybe worse than he ever had in his
life. He could feel the sun sapping his energy by the minute.
He paused in the shade of a purple-blossomed jacaranda tree. He leaned
against its trunk, folded his arms, and waited for a taxi. None passed.
He did not know that in South Africa taxis may not legally cruise for
business, but must wait in ranks at designated locations.
Struggling to keep his eyes open, he wondered if Hans might be right.
Would the kidnappers make their main move at the Burgerspark tonight?
Would they risk showing themselves this early in the game?
He didn't think so, but this wasn't Berlin. Maybe on their own
territory the bastards would act with impunity. Maybe he should find a
place to hide the papers before the rendezvous. Maybe'T i!'
ax A red Madza driven by an enterprising soul made an illegal U-turn and
screeched up to Hauer's shade tree. For a moment Hauer thought the
driver was Salil, the talkative Indian, but it was only his exhausted
mind playing tricks on him. A tanned Afrikaner leaned out of the
window.
'Where to, mate?' he asked in English.
'I need some film developed,' Hauer replied. 'Fast.'
'How fast?'
'Yesterday.'
'Got money?'
'All I need.'
'Right,' said the driver. 'Get in, then.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I30 Pm. Horn House, Northern Transvaal, RSA Seated in his motorized
wheelchair on the north lawn, Alfred Horn chewed an Upmann cigar while
Robert Stanton, Lord Granville, paced nervously around him, gulping from
an enormous Bloody Mary. For an hour the young Englishman had been
ranting about 'corporate expansion.' The corporation he referred to was
the illegal and wholly invisible one which carried on the lucrative
drug- and currencysmuggling operations he had administered for Alfred
Horn for the past eight years. The old man had sat silent during most
of the tirade. He was curious, but not about increasing his illegal
profits. He was curious about Stanton himself.
Today the young nobleman's voice had the semblance of its usual
brashness, but something in it did not quite ring true.
He was drunk, and Horn intended to give him as much rope as he would
take.
'I don't even know why I'm trying,' he lamented. 'Do you realize how
much money we have lost in the past three days, Alfred? Over two
million pounds! Two million. And I have no idea why. You shut down
