by Greg Iles
Natterman tried without success to ignore the acid stomach he had
developed during the flight from Hamburg. Combined with the stinging
pain radiating from his ripped pected delay almost nostril, the
indigestion made the unex unbearable. "Do you think they've arrived in
Pretoria yet?"
he asked.
Stern looked at his watch. "If they took the first flight out of
Frankfurt, they should be landing in Johannesburg right about now."
"God help them."
Stern grunted skeptically.
"I've been thinking about what you told me back in Frankfurt," Natterman
said. "About that Lord Granville character. The one who owns the
corporation called Phoenix AG. If Granville is English, and his company
is based in South Africa, why did you come to Berlin at all?"
"That's a good question, Professor. But the answer is complicated, and
for now at least, private' "
"If you're not going to tell me anything," Natterman grumbled, "why did
you bring me along in the first place?
A man like you doesn't do things without a very good reason."
"That's true, Professor," Stern said. "I brought you with me for two
reasons. One is that you may be able to provide historical information
that might help me. I know you're bursting at the seams to tell me your
theories about Rudolf Hess, and there is some of it I need to hear. But
first, let me explain how this is going to work. You want information
about what I think is going on in South Africa. Fair enough.
But you are going to have to earn it. You will answer my questions
about the Hess case now; then I will decide how much information to give
you in return. If you tell me things I do not already know, I'll reward
you in kind. But this is the only time we will discuss Rudolf Hess. Do
you agree?"
Natterman sat without speaking for nearly a minute. Then he cleared his
throat and said, "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about Hess and the British. Was there a pro-Nazi clique high
in the British government in 1941?"
Natterman folded his hands together on his lap. "It's very complicated,
Stern."
"I think I can stay with you, Herr Einstein."
"All right, then. Yes, there was a group of Nazi appeasers-very highly
placed-who wanted to make a deal with Hitler. That's been proved. Or
at least it's being proved, by an Oxford academic. The question is, was
that group sincere? Do you follow me, Stern? Were the members of this
group English fascists who loved the swastika? Or simply war profiteers
out for all the gold they could get? Were they paranoid anticommunists
who wanted peace at any price so that Hitler would be free to crush
Russia? Or d here's the rub-were they patriotic Englishmen leading
Hitler by the nose until it was too late for him to invade England?
Do you see my point about complexity?"
Stern waved his hand.
"And if they were genuinely pro-Nazi," Natterman went on, "were they
truly operating in secret? Or was British Intelligerice aware of them
all along? After all, what better stalling ploy could mI-5 have come up
with than to a real traitors to lead Hitler on-letting him think he
could neutralize England without an invasion-until he could no longer
wait to attack Russia? Remember, these 'traitors' weren't the class of
people one likes to arrest for treasonWe're talking about the backbone
of British government and industry. What if mI-5 decided to use these
blue-blooded turncoats while they could, and then slap them on their
noble wrists when it was all over? Are you with me, Stern?"
"I'm ahead of you, ProfessOr- What if the top officers Of British
Intelligence-expecting a few closet Reds from Oxford-were virulent
anticommunists? Brothers-in-spirit with your alleged aristocratic,
pro-Hitler clique? What if for strictly pragmatic reasons British
Intelligence wanted to do a deal with Hitler, thereby freeing him to
crush Stalin? Or ... British Intelligence could have been ordered to
explore such a deal. In that case the impetus to make peace with Hitler
would have originated at the highest level of British government.
And I mean the very top. Excluding Churchill, Of course. But including
the- monarchy." Stern winked at Natterman. "Are you with me,
Professor?"
Natterman gave him a black look. "You should have been a historian,
damn you. You've struck the main pillar of my thesis-the Duke of
Windsor British Intelligence has been helping to conceal Windsor's
shadowy past for years. All records of the duke's wartime activities
are sealed forever by order of Her Majesty's government.
Yet in spite of that, there's a growing body of hard evidence linking
Windsor to the Nazis. It's almost certain that in 1940 the duke met
Hess secretly in Lisbon to try to reach an acconunodation with Hitler
that would put him back on the throne. Windsor was the archetype of the
privileged, Russophobic, Jew-hating British admirer of Hitler. And I'm
sure you're aware of the fact that many informed sources believe British
Intelligence murdered Number Seven in Spandau last month."
"Yes. But I have my doubts about that. I'm not sure that in this day
and age the British would kill over the reputation of the royal family.
it's tarnished enough already."
"If Windsor were merely the tip of an iceberg," Natterman mused, "they
might. Many historians believe that Lord Halifax, the British foreign
secretary during the war, and possibly as many as forty ranking members
of Parliament continued to try to make a deal with Hitler long after
Churchill declared: 'We shall never surrender!' I doubt if the most
revered families in England would care to have their names linked to
Adolf Hitler after all these years. And no Englishman in his right mind
wants Churchill's 'their finest hour' myth stained. Think about it,
Stern. Neville Chamberlain is excoriated today, and he was merely an
appeaser.
Men who sought to accommodate Hitler after the Battle of Britain would
be branded collaborators." Natterman looked thoughtful. "You know, I'd
be surprised if some of those noble English family trees haven't spread
quite a few branches into South Africa."
"Branches," Stern muttered. "It's roots I'm interested in, Professor.
And not the roots of the past, either. I mean the roots of conspiracy
in the present. The here and now. That's where the threat to Israel
is."
Natterman's eyelids lowered in meditation. "I don't know about any
threat to Israel," he said, "but I think I've earned some information,
Stern."
The Israeli shook his head slowly. "Professor, what you have told me
thus far is available in libraries. I want your analysis. Amaze me
with the fruits of your years of scholarship!"
Natterman looked up at Stern, his lips pale with anger. "If you know so
much, why don't you finish this conversation alone?"
When Stern didn't respond, Natterman said, "All right, I'll give you
something. But you'd better be prepared to pay me back in kind."
"Ask and it shall be given, Profess
or."
"That's the New Testament, Stern."
"You were saying?"
Natterman actually blushed as he whispered his next words. "What I am
about to tell you, Stern, I learned by ...
by rather dubious means."
Stern's eyes flickered interest.
"As I told you, several historians are currently working on the Hess
mystery. Two of them are at Oxford University.
You may not know this, Stern, but history is a very competitive field.
In the top rank anyway. And it pays to know all you can about your
competition."
"Are you telling me that you have your own spies, Professor?"
A
SPANDAU PHOENIX Natterman averted his eyes. "I prefer to call them 'g4
friends.' The Israeli chuckled. "Naturally."
"One of these friends," said Natterman, "managed to get a very close
look at the Hess research going on at Oxford.
It seems that there's a very mysterious fellow who figures in the Hess
case. A heretofore unheard of fellow, who seems to have done some
particularly nasty mischief on the night of May tenth 1941. In the
Oxford draft papers he is referred to as Helmut, but@' "Another German
in England on "Helmut?" Stern sat uP.
that night?" Natterman smiled cagily. "The Oxford draft research
indicates that. However, I belive that 'Helmut' is simply a code
name-a, device that the Oxford historians are using to mask this
person's real identity. Never in my own research have I found anyone
named Helmut associated with the Hess case in any way."
"You're not telling me you think 'Helmut' is a code name for the real
Hess?"
Natterman smiled triumphantly. "In the Oxford papers 'Helmut' is
referred to as having had one particularly distinguishing
characteristic, Stern. I think it will interest YOU."
"Well?"
"He had only one eye."
Stern looked surprised, then thoughtful. "That might tie in with our
tattoo," he allowed. "But I shouldn't think you'd be too happy about
it, since Rudolf Hess had two perfectly good eyes."
Natterman raised a long forefinger. "He did as of May tenth 1941.
But if Hess survived that night-as I believe he did-he had plenty of
time left to lose an eye. He might even have lost it on the very night
of his flight!"
"You should be writing movies, Professor. Do you know how many men lost
eyes in the Second world War? Do you plan to scour all Africa for a
one-eyed man, in the hope he will lead you to your fantasy Nazi?"
"We'll see how fanciful I am," Natterman muttered.
"Why couldn't there have been a German named Helmut in England on that
night in May?" asked Stern.
"There could have been," Natterman admitted. "But there wasn't.
So-have I earned your half of the story?"
"Yes, Professor, I think you have. Just one more question, though. Were
there any Russians involved in the Hess case, as far as you know?"
"Russians?" Natterman was silent. "In Hess's original mission?
None that I know of. But I'll certainly think about it."
"Please do that. And please remember our deal when we get on the
ground. No fairy stories about Rudolf Hess in front of anyone. Talk
like that can make some Jews very upset."
Natterman nodded solemnly.
"Attention ladies and gentlemen, " demanded the loudspeaker.
"Please take your seats. We have been cleared for approach to
Ben-Gurion Airport."
A collective sigh of relief went up throughout the plane.
Stern chuckled and touched Natterman's sleeve. "I'm afraid my
contribution to this epic will have to wait for the second leg of our
journey."
Natterman studied the Israeli's tanned, angular face. "You said
information was the first reason you brought me with you, Stern. What
was the secondt' Stern looked away from the professor. When he looked
back, his eyes were dark and hara. "Phoenix kidnapped your
granddaughter, Professor. You are her closest blood relative.
That makes you my direct line into Phoenix. I'm not sure how yet, but I
think you might just be my best weapon against them."
Natterman leaned thoughtfully back in his seat as the pilot stretched
his holding pattern into a smooth approach and made a flawless landing
on the main runway. A security gate with metal-detection and X-ray
equipment awaited the deplaning passengers at the end of a long passage,
but when Stern presented his wallet to the senior security officer, he
and Natterman were waved throup-h.
"That's no small trick in this @o-untry," Natterman said.
"Is it, Stern? What exactly did you do for a living before you
retired?"
Stern didn't answer. He was searching the concourse for something or
someone he apparently expected to find waiting.
"You must be with the Mossad," Natterman guessed.
"That's it, isn't it?"
Stern kept watching the crowd. "I go back a lot further than the
Mossad, Professor. You should know that."
"Yes, but it's something similar, I'll bet. Something c unsavory."
"Gadi!" Stern cried.
Suddenly the Israeli was moving across the concourse at great speed, not
running, but taking long strides that seemed to swallow distance
effortlessly. Natterman tried to pick out Stern's objective but
couldn't, until he reappeared out of the milling crowd with one arm
draped affectionately around a dark young man of about twenty-five.
"Professor Natterman," Stern said, "meet Gadi Abrams, my great-nephew."
"My pleasure, Herr professor," said the young man graciously, extending
a sun-browned hand.
"Guten Abend, " said Natterman, turning to Stern. "Is this one of the
'packages' we stopped to pick up?"
,Yes, Professor, one of three."
Two smiling young men appeared from behind Gadi Abrams. They extended
dark-tanned hands to Natterman, nodded politely, then embraced Stern as
if they hadn't seen the older man for many months.
"Aaron," said Stern, ',yosef-this is Professor Natterman of the Free
university of Berlin."
The young men nodded courteously, but said nothing.
Both appeared to be about Gadi's age, if not younger, and both carried
canvas OVERNIGHT bags. Stern began walking down the concourse toward a
row of expensive restaurants, talking quietly to his nephew as he moved.
Natterman tried to keep close enough to the pair to overhear their
conversation. Aaron and Yosef padded along behind at a discreet
distance. Stern finally turned into a restaurant styled after a French
cafe-the only One open at this hour. He waved away a bald waiter who
started toward them with a sheaf of menus.
"What about the plane, Gadi?" he asked in Hebrew. "How long?"
"You won't believe this, Uncle, but a fliiht leaves for Johannesburg in
ninety minutes."
" 'Siz bashert, " Stern breathed. "it is meant to be. Nonstop?"
"One stopover. Athens."
"Good enough." rpri ki ht to "You don't seem su sed, Uncle. Luc ng
into a flig
South Africa on,such short notice? I couldn't believe it."
"It wasn't luck, Gadi. I called an old friend of mine i
n the air force
and requested a bit of creative rescheduling."
"You're kidding. They can do that?"
"I really wasn't sure. My faith in mankind is renewed."
Gadi laughed infectiously. "It's very good to se@ you again, Uncle.
Traveling first class, as usual?"
Professor Natterman could contain himself no longer. As far as he was
concerned, the conversation had taken a sudden turn into outer space.
"Stern, " he interrupted. "Would you please tell me why we are sitting
here in this godforsaken airport while my granddaughter is in mortal
danger in South Africa?"
Stern switched back to German. "Professor, your manners leave quite a
bit to be desired. However, I do appreciate your motive. In ninety
minutes we board an El Al flight to Johannesburg, from whence we shall
begin our search for your granddaughter. We are only one day behind
Hauer and Apfel, and we know the time and location of their rendezvous
with the kidnappers. The Burgerspark Hotel at eight tomorrow night,
remember? And remember this also: that our interests happen to coincide
is for you a lucky twist of fate.
For me that remains to be seen."
The Israeli's words infuriated Natterman, but since he imew Stern could
simply abandon him in the airport, he decided to remain silent.
"Now," said Stern, "I suggest we all have something to eat. I expect
everyone to sleep during the flight. Once we land in South Africa, we
won't have much time for it." He summoned the waiter with a flick of
his eyes. Everyone took one of the flimsy paper menus.
"Cheer up, Professor," Stern said. "You and Gadi should have quite a
lot to talk about. He took his degree in history just last year."
"Really?" said Natterman. "He looks more like a soldier than a scholar
to me."
Gadi stiffened.
"You have a good eye, Professor," Stern said, gending his nephew with a
quick glance. "You may prove to be more Of an asset than I thought."
Four tables away sat an expensively dressed woman with blue-rinsed hair.
She looked dun for her age-which could have been anywhere between fifty
and sixty-and she was obviously not an Israeli. A Louis Vuitton handbag
lay or table.
Beside it stood a glass -of orange juice. When the waiter inquired if
the woman would like to order some food, she politely declined. Her
voice was pitched low, but the waiter thought it very pleasant. In the
babel of the Mideast, there was nothing like a crisp British accent to