strength to drag the linen chest from the foot of the bed and wedge @it
against the bedroom door. When he had blocked it as well as he could,
he picked up the telephone beside the bed.
Dead as Karl, he thought bitterly. Pinching his bloody nostrils closed,
he surveyed the room. A washstand. A chair.
An old pine armoire. His father's bed beside the window.
The window!
Even as Natterman realized his vulnerability, he saw a pale hand working
just over the sill, trying to force the glass upward. He obliterated
the window with a double-barreled blast, gibbering like a madman as he
did. The stress had finally overcome him. Like a drunkard he staggered
over to the armoire and heaved and pushed until finally it slid across
the gaping window. Then he collapsed in a heap against it, not even
trying to stop the blood that continued to plop onto his heaving chest.
His last act before he fainted was to chamber two more rounds into the
Mannlicher.
142 A.m. The Northern Transvaal, Republic of South Africa Alfred Horn
sat hunched in his motorized wheelchair, his prehensile forearms
pressing a leopardskin rug against his arthritic knees, and stared into
the fire. As always, his mind raced back and forth between past and
present, searching for causes and connections, cataloguing injustices to
be avenged. Perhaps it was his advanced years, but to Horn the present
seemed merely a small space between two doorsone leading back into a
past he could not change-the other opening onto a future that, after
five decades of planning and struggle and living with defeat, promised
the fulfillment of ultimate destiny. Time was short, he knew, and
growing shorter. Did he have a week or a month before his ability to
leave his imprint upon the world was stolen from him? He needed a
month. How ironic, he reflected, that his knowledge of the past posed
the greatest threat to his plans for the future. But he was nearly
ready. A soft knock sounded behind him. He answered without turning
his gaze from the fire.
'Yes?'
The door opened soundlessly. Smuts stood silently at attention.
'What news from Berlin, Pieter?'
'There's a flurry of British and Russian intelligence activity, sir. I'm
almost certain they have not located the papers.
No sign so far of Israeli involvement.'
'But what of our two policemen, Pieter? They have the papers.'
'Sir, Berlin-One informs me that while he has not yet captured the young
man whom he believes found the papers, he does have custody of the man's
wife.'
Horn pondered this intelligence. At length he said, 'We shall have them
all here. Bring the woman, the man will follow. Send a jet tonight.'
'I've already ordered it done, sir.'
'Good. Can the husband be reached by phone?'
Smuts cleared his throat. 'We haven't located him yet, sir.'
While Horn's glass eye remained immobile, his good eye flickered with
birdlike suspicion over his security chief's lanky frame, finally
settling on his craggy face. Under its unrelenting gaze, Smuts shifted
his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
'Pieter?' Horn asked finally.
'Yes, sir?'
'Our two policemen have escaped from West Berlin, haven't they?'
To Smuts's credit, he did not dissimulate. 'That appears likely, sir.
The older man-Hauer-apparently has a great deal of influence in Berlin.
We have a man waiting at their last known destination-a cabin near
Wolfsburg-but he hasn't reported in.'
Horn toyed with a poker in the stand. 'These policemen are proving to
be a credit to their race, Pieter. After you've drawn them here, we
must see what our young friend has dug from the rubble of Spandau.'
'It will be done.'
'Tell me, how will you convince the young husband that you have his wife
if you haven't reached him by the time she's airborne?'
Smuts suppressed a smile. Horn's attention to the smallest details of
an operation constantly surprised him. 'A simple matter really, sir,'
he explained. 'Audio recordings on two separate tape machines.
Prerecorded affirmatives and negatives to be used as needed, with a
short statement to open the exchange. With adequate noise reduction the
results are quite convincing.'
'Excellent, Pieter. I'm pleased.'
Smuts's boot heels cracked like a muffled pistol shot.
Horn unconsciously picked at the stippled scar tissue around his glass
eye. 'I've been thinking, Pieter. I want you to shut down all our drug
and weapons trading for the time being. I want no roads leading from
the outside world to here.'
Smuts nodded. 'Very good, sir. We do have that shipment of gold coming
from Colombia, though, payment for our ether. Two million dollars in
bullion. It's coming by ship, and the ship is almost here.'
Horn considered this. 'We'll let her land, then. But everything else
shuts down.'
'Yes, sir.'
'When the policeman's wife arrives, bring her directly to me.
It's so seldom I get a chance to meet young Germans anymore. I should
like very much to speak with her.'
'Meet her? But, sir, the risks-'
'Nonsense, Pieter. If you are present, what are the risks?'
Smuts nodded. 'As you command.'
Horn eyed Smuts appraisingly. 'Anything else?'
'Beg your pardon, sir?'
Horn frowned. 'The radiation leak. You failed to update me on your
progress.'
Smuts colored. 'I'm sorry, sir. I've been meeting with the engineers
about the runway extension.' He raised his fore arm and read the time
from the inside of his wrist. 'The leak was contained as of two hours
ago. Minimal exposure to personnel, the basement lab is clean.'
'Any word on our cobalt case?'
'No, sir. I'm sorry.'
'All right, Pieter. Dismissed.'
