What he had not said was anything about papers found in Spandau Prison.
What he had said was this: That the prefect of police, Wilhelm Funk, had
moved out of the Police Presidium and set up a command post in Abschnitt
53, after which the station had taken on the demeanor of an SS barracks
after Graf Stauffenberg's briefcase exploded in Hitler's bunker. That
two Berlin policemen had been detained in a basement cell, then had
either escaped or been killed. And that while the Russians had pulled
out of Abschnitt 53 at eight, they had acted as if they might return at
any time with T-72 tanks. All this in breathless gasps from a veteran
policeman whom Harry had never seen get excited about anything other
than the piano quartets of BrahmsHarry dropped ten marks on the table
and hurried out of the pub. Sixty seconds later he was on the Ku'damm,
where he flagged down a taxi and gave the driver an address near the
Tiergarten. The man who occupied the house there was one of Harry's
'private assets,' a rather high-strung German trade liaison named Klaus
Seeckt. During Harry's first year in Berlin, he had spotted Klaus at
the Philharinonie, in the company of an arrogant and well-known KGB
agent named Yuri Borodin. It hadn't taken Harry long to establish that
Klaus was using his semi-official cover to funnel restricted technology
to Moscow. That had not interested Harry much; what had interested
him-after a thorough investigation of Seeckt-was that while Klaus dealt
directly with the KGB, he had no ties, voluntary or otherwise, to the
East German secret police, the Stasi. And that was a very rare
combination in Berlin.
Rather than arrest Klaus for the high-tech ripoff, Harry had opted to
use his leverage whenever he needed a direct line into KGB operations.
He never even filed a report on Klaus. Colonel Rose might have insisted
that Hariy push the German too hard, which would only have spooked him
into fleeing the city. Men like Klaus had to be treated delicately.
Harry cultivated the man's ego, pretending to share with him the
fraternal enjoyment of superior intellect, and applied pressure only
when necessaryTonight was different. Eduard Lenhardt's apprehensions
were worming their way into Harry's gut, and the checks he non-nally
kept on his imagination began to erode as his mind raced through the
possible implications of the events at Abschnitt 53. When the taxi
reached the Tiergarten house, Harry tipped its driver enough to satisfy,
but not enough to draw attention. And as he reached Klaus's door, he
decided that his sensitive East German would have to pay the remainder
of his debt tonight.
10.10 Pm. The Bismarekstrasse
'Captain!' Hans warned.-'Motorcycle patrol, three cars back!
'I see him.' Hauer swung the Volkswagen smoothly around a corner just
as the traffic signal changed, stranding the police cycle in the line of
vehicles stopped at the light.
'We've got to get off the street.'
'Where do we go? My apartment? Your house?'
'Think, Hans. They'll be covering both places.'
'You're right. Maybe-' He grabbed Hauer's sleeve. 'Jesus, Ilse's at
the apartment alone!'
'Easy, Hans, we'll get her. But we can't walk in there like lambs to
the slaughter.'
'But Funk could have men there already!'
'Hold your water. Where are we, Bergstrasse? There should be a hotel
four blocks south of us. The Steglitz. Just what we need.'
'A hotel?'
'Get in the backseat,' Hauer ordered, and stepped on the accelerator.
'What are you going to do?'
'Do it!'
As Hans climbed into the backseat, Hauer ripped the police insignia from
his collar and spurred the VW into the Steglitz garage.
The violent turn threw Hans against the side door. They squealed down
the curving ramp to the parking sublevels below and into a tiny space
between two large sedans.
'All right, Hans,' Hauer said. 'Out with it. Everything.
What really happened at Spandau this morning?'
Hans climbed awkwardly through the narrow gap between the seats.
'I'll tell you on the way to my apartment.'
Hauer shook his head. 'We don't move one meter until you talk.'
Hans bridled, but he could see that Hauer would not be swayed.
'Look, I would have reported it if it hadn't been for those damned
Russians.'
'Reported what?'
'The papers. The papers I found at Spandau.'
'Christ, you mean the Russians were right?'
Hans nodded.
'Where did you find these papers? What did they say?'
Hauer looked strangely hungry. Hans looked out the window. 'I found
them in a pile of rubble. In a hollow brick, just like Schmidt asked
me. What does it matter? I started reading them, but one of the
Russians stumbled on me. I hid them without even thinking.' He turned
to Hauer. 'That's it!
That's all I did! So why has everyone gone crazy?'
'What did the papers say, Hans?'
'I don't know. Gibberish, mostly. Ilse said it was Latin.'
'You showed them to your wife?' ' 'I didn't intend to, but she found
them. She understood more of it than I did, anyway. She said the
papers had something to do with the Nazis. That they were dangerous.'
He looked down at his lap. 'God, was she right.'
'Tell me everything you remember, Hans.'
'Look, I hardly remember any of it. The German part sounded bitter,
like a revenge letter, but ... there was fear in it, too. The writer
said he had written because he could never speak about what he knew.
That others would pay the price for his words.'
Hauer hung on every syllable. 'What else?'
'Nothing.'
'Nothing at all?'
'It was Latin, I told you! I couldn't read it!'
'Latin,' Hauer mused, leaning back into his seat. 'Who wrote the
papers? Were they signed?'
