'She's not here,' Hans told him. 'She's not here . . .'
'Take his legs!' Hauer ordered, grabbing the old man under the arms. He
had to keep Hans moving, keep his mind on something besides his wife
until there was time to analyze the situation.
They laid Natterman on the sofa in the front room. Hauer sent Hans to
fill a sock with snow, then tried his best to determine the seriousness
of the professor's wound. Cleaning it started the bleeding again-which
seemed incredible given the amount of blood splattered throughout the
cabin-but the frozen compress stanched the flow nicely.
Hauer substituted adhesive tape for sutures, fastening the edges of the
severed nostril together with surprising skill. He leaned back to
survey his work. 'Wouldn't pass inspection at a Bundeswehr hospital,
but not bad for a field dressing. Let's get a blanket on him.' He
looked around.
'Hans?'
Standing rigid at the bedroom door, Hans gasped and staggered backward.
Hauer darted to the door, saw Karl Riemeck's body, then returned to
Natterman's side.
'Who's the man in the bedroom?' he asked, his mouth an inch from the
old man's ear. 'A friend of yours?'
Natterman nodded.
'Who killed him? Did you see him killed?'
The professor shook his head, then opened his eyes slowly. 'Karl was my
caretaker,' he whispered. 'The animal killed him.'
'Animal? What animal?' Hauer groaned as the old man's eyes closed. He
was out again. 'Hans! Get over here and help me!'
Hans didn't move. His eyes seemed to be fixed on some undefined point
in space. Hauer had seen the look before: American army officers called
it the thousand-yard stare. It was the Vietnam variant of shell shock,
but Hauer knew that neither bullets nor blood had caused Hans's torpor.
What had overloaded his mind was the justified fear of losing his wife
forever. Giving Hans hope became Hauer's primary objective, for he knew
that Hans's unearthly calm was merely the silence before the storm, the
moment when all his fear and impotent rage would explode through his
self-control like a hurricane.
'Ilse must still be on her way,' Hauer said confidently, preparing to
restrain Hans physically if necessary.
Hans's jaw muscles flexed steadily. 'I would have seen her,' he
mumbled.
'You wouldn't have seen her. We crossed East Germany in the trunk of a
car, for God's sake. Maybe, she took a late train like the professor.
Maybe she hitched a ride in a truck.
She could still be waiting for a train right now.' Keeping his eyes on
Hans, Hauer shook Natterman gently. 'Is there a telephone, Professor?'
'Dead ... I think the man who attacked me cut the line.'
'Repair it, Hans,' Hauer ordered. 'Check the unit, then trace the
wire.'
Hans finally focused on Hauer's face. 'No,' he said quietly .
'I'm going back to Berlin.' He was trying to rebutton his coat, but his
shaking fingers seemed unable to keep hold of the small buttons.
'You can't get back in,' Hauer told him.
'It's Ilse's only chance . . . She could be@' 'No! ' Professor
Natterman's stentorian voice boomed through the small room like a
thunderclap. Hauer stared as the old man slowly raised himself and
leveled a long finger at Hans. 'You will not go back. To return now
would be suicide. Can you help Ilse if you're dead? The telephone must
be our lifeline now.'
The professor's rebuke left him winded, but it had a dramatic effect on
Hans. He rubbed his forehead furiously with both hands as he walked
away from the two older men. 'If only I hadn't tried to keep those
goddamn papers,' he muttered.
'You did the right thing,' Hauer said firmly. 'If you had turned the
papers in, Funk would have them now, and you'd be as dead as your friend
Weiss.'
Hans looked up with red-rimmed eyes.
'Trace the wire,' Hauer said softly, looking to Natterman for support.
'It runs out of a hole in back of the cabin,' said the professor.
Hans still looked uncertain.
Hauer drew his Walther. 'And take this. Whoever attacked the professor
may still be out there.'
Hans snatched the pistol and disappeared through the front door.
Natterman turned to Hauer. 'Will he try to leave?'
'He can't. I've got the keys.'
Natterman studied Hauer's face. 'You're Hans's father,' he said after
some moments. 'Aren't you? I can see the resemblance.'
Hauer took a slow, deep breath, then he nodded curtly.
Natterman made a sound that was almost a chuckle. 'Ilse told me you had
been at Spandau. So, you've acknowledged your son at last, eh?'
'I acknowledged him the first moment I saw him,' Hauer said in a clipped
tone.
Natterman looked skeptical. 'Tell me, Captain, you're the expert.
Do you believe I will ever see my granddaughter again?'
Hauer pursed his lips. 'Who has the papers Hans found at Spandau?'
Natterman hesitated, thinking of the three pages that had disappeared
with Karl Riemeck's murderer. 'I do,' he confessed.
'They're safe.'
Hauer wondered if the old man had the papers on him.
'Then I'll give you sixty-forty odds that she's still alive.
Frankly, I'd expect a ransom demand any time now. And you know what
they'll be asking for.' He walked over to the cabinet that had
concealed the shotgun. He touched it softly, appearing to examine the
grain of the wood. 'So,' he said.
'Exactly what is in THESE papers Hans discovered?'
Natterman propped himself up on the arm of the sofa. It made him dizzy,
but he felt better able to deal with questions from an upright position.
' 'You must realize that you'll need assistance to do anything from this
point on,' Hauer said. 'You must also realize that I'm the only man
within a great distance who is able to help you.'
'On the contrary,' Natterman said testily. 'There are many nearby who
