'Wilhelm Funk is a dead man,' he vowed. 'I swear that by Steuben's
children. '
'I'm afraid that won't solve your problem,' Natterman observed, backing
up a little. 'Hans, please, you've got to try to think this thing
through rationally. What do these men want you to do?'
Hans stared unseeing at the old man. A single vision floated behind his
eyes, a searing memory of a Berlin dawn, two years before.
A kidnapped girl ... lithe and blond like Ilse ... the daughter of a
Bremerhaven shipping magnate. They'd fished her out of the Havel in the
gray morning light, her naked body bloated and lifeless, her sightless
eyes wide, her pubic hair matted with river slime. The kidnappers had
thrown her alive into the river with her hands tied behind her. The
thought that Ilse could end up like the wretched girl ...
Hans hadn't eaten a full meal for almost twenty hours, but his stomach
came up anyway. He bolted for the door, tripped over the dead
Afrikaner, and fell retching on the floor. Hauer tensed himself against
the smell, hoping Hans would feel better after relieving his nausea. He
didn't. He rose slowly, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and
stepped toward Natterman, his hand outstretched.
Natterman looked down at the foil packet, backed away a little.
Hauer edged closer. He had seen the flash of hysteria behind Hans's
eyes, and he knew that at this moment Hans was capable of anything.
He had moved just in time.
'Give me those papers!' Hans screamed. He lunged at the professor with
both hands extended, his eyes white with fury. Hauer hesitated, timing
his blow. As Hans's head surged past, he fired off a right jab that
caught him on the point of the chin, spinning him round.
Hauer grabbed him as he fell, easing him stomach-down onto the floor.
Before Natterman could speak, Hauer had handcuffed Hans and sat him up
against the bedroom wall.
'He went mad!' cried Natterman, his eyes wide. 'He'd have killed me
for those papers!'
'Do you blame him?' Hauer asked, breathing heavily. He touched Hans's
bruised chin softly. Hauer felt a strange tightening in his throat.
'He'll come to in a minute, ' he said, and he coughed to cover the catch
in his voice. 'Just lay the papers on his lap. You won't have to worry
after that.'
Natterman obeyed, but he looked unconvinced. 'Where did you get those
handcuffs?'
'I always keep them with me. They're the most underrated tool in the
police arsenal.' Hauer looked Natterman dead in the eye. 'Now, I'd
like you to leave me alone with my son, please.'
The professor retreated into the bedroom without a word.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
2.-07 A.M. Soviet Sector East Berlin, DDR Harry Richardson woke to the
sound of men shouting. His head still throbbed from the Russian's
pistol blow. Most of the duct tape had been removed from his body, but
his hands and mouth were still bound. Unsure of the position of his
captors, he kept his eyes closed. He soon realized that the voices were
coming from an adjacent room. There seemed to be three men arguing,
possibly four. He opened his eyes.
Nothing. Then he discerned a thin horizontal line of dim light-beneath
a door, he supposed. He recognized none of the voices, but they all
spoke Russian. One man seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty
speaking it.
'He can't stay here any longer,' said the man with a heavy German
accent. 'Not an American. And certainly not this one. I know him.
He's one of Rose's agents.'
'Relax, Goltz,' said a Russian voice. 'This is the East, isn't it?
Ost-the heart of friendly territory. What can happen?'
Goltz. Hariy recognized the name. Axel Goltz, East German Stasi ...
'If you consider East Berlin friendly territory,' Goltz said, you should
spend a day on the street here. The people hate us even more than they
hate you.'
'You and your Stasi sisters have been letting things slide for too long
over here,' Rykov said with contempt. 'You don't have the balls for
anything rougher than blackmail.'
'You are a fool,' Goltz -said with surprising venom. 'I command here-in
this house at least-and I say the American goes. Take him to Moscow. if
you wish, just get him out of Berlin. There are too many sharp eyes
here for him to stay invisible.'
Rykov, thought Harry, finally making the connection.
Rykov was the Russian captain from Klaus's house. Suddenly the night's
events came rushing back to him. Klaus's suicide, the silenced bullets
thwacking into the wall beside the door, the argument between the young
KGB officers about what to do with himA door hzid slammed in the next
room. The squabble ended instantly. 'Where is the American?'
asked a gruff voice.
'In the next room, Comrade Colonel. He's unconscious.'
'Bring him in.'
Behind the wall, Harry tensed. Colonel, he thought. Which colonel? But
as soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer.
Who but Ivan Kosov-the colonel he'd seen early this morning at Abschnitt
53? A bright vertical bar of light stabbed his eyes.
'Wake up, Major!'
Harry got to his knees, then made an effort to stand.
Rykov helped him.
'You hit me anyway, you bastard,' Harry muttered.
'Nothing personal. Just easier.'
Rykov seemed to be having difficulty walking. When Harry's eyes sought
the floor for balance, he spied a bloody tear below the knee of Rykov's
trousers, his souvenir from the checkpoint crossing.
Harry looked up as he passed into the next room, and he immediately
recognized four of the five men who awaited him. The gruff-voiced
colonel was Kosov. He lounged in a comfortable chair opposite a
portable television. Between Kosov and a door that Harry hoped led to
the street stood a hard-looking young man dressed from head to toe in
black.
Axel Goltz, the Stasi agent, sat behind a deal table next to Andrei
