'Clary!' Rose's gruff baritone boomed through the open I
door.
'Yes, sir?'
'Let Major Richardson into Captain Donovan's office.
He's got a little work to do on the computer.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And Clary?'
'Sir?'
'I want one of those phone gadgets like Richardson's
got.'
Grinning, Sergeant Clary backed out and pulled the door
shut.
Rose looked longingly at the Wild Turkey bottle, then
slipped it back into his bottom drawer. He closed his eyes,
leaned his chair all the way back and propped his legs up on f
the huge desk. That Richardson is one strange bird, he
thought. Damn near insubordinate sometimes. But he gets
the job done. Rose congratulated himself on a f me piece of
human resource management. Harry can handle the fairies
,from State, he thought with satisfaction, and I'll take care of
the,friggin' Russians. And if the Brits stick their stufft noses
into it, the devil take the hindmost.
6. 10 pm. mI-5 Headquarters. Charles Street, London, England Sir
Neville Shaw looked up from the report with anger in his eyes. As
director general of mI-5, he had witnessed his share of crises, but the
one he now faced was one he had long prayed would remain buried in the
ashes of history.
'This, cock-up started almost twelve hours ago!' he snapped.
'Yes, Sir Neville,' admitted his deputy. 'The unit on the scene
reported it to General Bishop in Berlin. Bishop informed mI-6 but saw
no reason to apprise us. The Russian complaint went to the Foreign
Office, and the F.O. apparently felt as the general did. We've got one
contact on the West Berlin police force; he's the only reason we got
onto this at all. He can't tell us much, though, because he's stationed
in our sector. These German trespassers were taken to a police station
in the American sector. The thing's been on the telly over there since
this afternoon.'
'Good God,' Sir Neville groaned. 'One more bloody week and this would
have been nothing but a minor flap.'
'How do you mean, sir?'
Shaw rubbed his forehead to ease a migraine. 'Forget it.
This was bound to happen sooner or later. Damned journalists and
curiosity hounds poking at the story for years. Matter of time, that's
all.'
'Yes, sir,' the deputy director commiserated.
'Who did we have at Spandau, anyway?'
'Regular military detail. The sergeant in charge said he knew nothing
about any papers. He didn't have the foggiest idea of the
implications.'
'What monumental stupidity!' Shaw got to his feet, still staring at the
report in his hands. 'Can this Russian forensic report be relied upon?'
'Our technical section says the Soviets are quite good at that sort of
thing, sir.'
Sir Neville snorted indignantly. 'Papers at Spandau- Good Christ.
Whatever has turned up over there, ten to one it's got something to do
with Hess. We've got to get hold of it, Wilson, fast. Who else was at
Spandau?'
'The Americans, the Frogs, and the Russians. Plus a contingent of West
Berlin police.'
Sir Neville wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'I could hang
for this one, that's sure. What do we have in Berlin?'
'Not much. What we do have is mostly on the commercial side. No one
who's cleared for this.'
'I didn't think anyone was cleared for this rot,' Shaw murmured.
'All right, you get me four men who are cleared for it-men who can quote
me the bloody Official Secrets Act-and get them here fast.
Arrange air transport to West Berlin straightaway. I want those lads
airborne as soon as I've briefed them.'
'Yes, sir.'
After an almost interminable silence, Shaw said, 'there is a ship,
Wilson. I want you to locate her for me.'
'A ship, sir?'
'Yes. A freighter, actually. MV Casilda, out of Panama.
Get on to Lloyd's, or whoever keeps up with those things.
Talk to the satellite people if you have to, just find out where she
is.'
Perplexed, the deputy director said, 'All right, sir,' and turned to go.
At the door he paused. 'Sir Neville,' he said hesitantly. 'is there
anything I should know about this Hess business? A small brief,
perhaps?'
Shaw's face reddened. 'If there was, you'd know it already, wouldn't
you?' he snapped.
Wilson displayed his irritation by clipping out a regimental 'Sir!'
before shutting the door.
Shaw didn't even notice. He walked to his well-earned window above the
city and pondered the disturbing news.
Spandau, he thought bitterly. Hess may stab us in the back yet.
In spite of the ticklishness of his own position, Sir Neville Shaw
smiled coldly. There'll be some royal arses shaking in their beds
tonight, he thought with satisfaction.
Right along with mine.
He reached for the telephone.
625 pm. #39 Liitzenstrasse, West Berlin
Hans reached the apartment building too winded to use the stairs.
He wriggled into the elevator, yanked the lever that set the clattering
cage in motion, then slumped against the wrought-iron grillwork.
Despite his frayed nerves, he was smiling. Heini Weber could joke all
he wanted, but in the end the joke would be on him. Because Hans knew
something Weber didn't: where he had found the papers. And that single
