rarer still by apparent unconsciousness of itself.
When Grauber caught himself admiring her breasts-high and round, more
Gallic than Teutonic, he thought-he flushed and looked quickly back at
the slip of paper in his hand.
'Well,' he coughed. 'That's that.'
Ilse waited expectantly, too anxious to ask for the verdict.
'Your urine indicates pregnancy,' Grauber announced.
'I'd like to draw some blood, of course,'confirm the urine with a
beta-subunit test, but I'd say that's just a formality.
Would you like to bring Hans in? I know he'll be excited.'
Ilse colored. 'Hans didn't come this time.'
Grauber raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'That's a first.
He's got to be the most concerned husband I've ever met.'
The smile faded. 'Are you all right, Ilse? You look as though I'd just
given you three months to live.'
Ilse felt wings beating within her chest. After all her anxiety, she
found it hard to accept fulfillment of her deepest hope. 'I really
didn't expect this,' she murmured. 'I was afraid to hope for it. My
mother died when I was born, you know, and it's ... it's just very
important, to me to have a child of my own.'
'Well, you've got one started,' said Grauber. 'Now our job is to see
that he-or she-arrives as ordered. I've got a copy of the standard
visiting schedule, and there's the matter of . . .'
Ilse heard nothing else. The doctor's news had lifted her spirit to a
plane where no mundane detail could intrude.
When the lab technician drew her blood, she felt no needle prick, and on
her way out of the office the receptionist had to call her name three
times to prevent her leaving without scheduling her next visit.
At the age of twenty-six, her happiness was complete.
11:27 A.M. Pretoria, The Republic of South Africa
Five thousand miles to the south of Germany, two thousand of those below
the equator, an old man sentenced to spend half his waking hours in a
wheelchair spoke acidly into the intercom recessed into his oaken office
desk.
'This is not the time to bother me with business, Pieter.'
The man's name was Alfred Horn, and though it was not his native
language, he spoke Afrikaans.
'I'm sorry, sir,' the intercom replied, 'but I believe you might prefer
to take this call. It's from Berlin.'
Berlin. Horn reached for the intercom button. 'Ah ... I believe you're
right, Pieter.' The old man let his finger fall from the button, then
pressed it again. 'Is this call scrambled?'
'Sir, this end as always. I can't say for certain about the other. I
doubt it.'
'And the room?'
'Swept last night, sir.'
'I'm picking up now.'
The connection was excellent, almost noiseless. The first voice Horn
heard was that of his security chief, Pieter Smuts.
'Are you still on the line, caller?'
'Ja, ' hissed a male voice, obviously under stress. 'And I haven't much
time.'
'Are you calling from a secure location?'
'Nein. '
'Can you move to such a location?'
'Nein! Someone may have missed me already!'
'Calm yourself,' Smuts ordered. 'You will identify yourself again in
five seconds. Answer any questions Put to You-'
'You may remain on the line, Guardian,' Horn interrupted in perfect
German.
'Go ahead, caller,' Smuts said.
'This is Berlin-One,' said the quavering voice. 'There are developments
here of which I feel you should be apprised.
Two men were arrested this morning at Spandau Prison.
West Berliners.'
'On what charge?' Horn asked, his voice neutral.
'Trespassing.'
'For that you call this number?'
'There are special circumstances. Russian troops guarding the prison
last night have insisted that these men be charged with espionage, or
else transferred to East Berlin for such action.'
'Surely you are joking.'
'Does a man risk his career for a joke?'
Horn paused. 'Elaborate.'
'I don't know much, but there is still Russian activity at the prison.
They're conducting searches or tests of some sort. That's all I-'
'Searches at Spandau?' Horn cut in. 'Has this to do with the death of
Hess?'
'I don't know. I simply felt you should be made aware.'
'Yes,' Horn said at length. 'Of course. Tell me, why weren't our own
men guarding Spandau?'
'The captain of the unit was one of us. It was he who prevented the
Russians from taking the prisoners into East Berlin. He doesn't think,
the trespassers know anything, though.'
'He's not supposed to think at all!'
'He-he's very independent,' said the timid voice. 'A real pain in the
neck. His name is Hauer.'
Horn heard Smuts's pen scratching. 'Was there anything else?'
'Nothing specific, but ...
'Yes?'
'The Russians. They're being much more forceful than usual. They seem
unworried by any diplomatic concerns. As if whatever they seek is worth
upsetting important people.
The Americans, for example.'
There was a pause. 'You were right to call,' Horn said finally.
'Make sure things do not go too far. Keep us informed. Call this
number again tonight. There will be a delay as the call is re-routed
north. Wait for our answer.'
'But I may not have access to a private phone-'
