by Greg Iles
rising from the grave, Aaron Haber lurched up from the narrow space
between the bed and the bathroom wall. Natterman's heart leaped with
joy and astonishment. Dark blood covered the young commando's neck and
chest, but his eyes burned wildly. Swaying like a drunken madman, he
steadied his .22 automatic and fired four shots in rapid succession.
Swallow was so desperate to reach the safety of the foyer that she
actually leaped into Aaron's bullets. Two slugs slammed into her left
shoulder, but the others went wild. She staggered into the foyer, spun
around and collapsed. Hoping that the impact of the fall had cleared
her weapon, she scrambled to her knees, @st her Ingrain around the
corner and pulled the trigger.
Aaron fired the instant he saw the gun barrel appear. His bullet tore
the gun from Swallow's hand. It spun through the air and landed against
the wall, too far away for either of them to reach. All Aaron had to do
was step around the corner to finish the woman off. He started forward,
then wobbled to a standstill. Bright blood pumped through his shirt.
Why doesn't she just run? Natterman thought angrily. She has the
information she wantedt And then he knew. Swallow meant to leave no
witnesses behind.
A horrible coughing spasm racked Aaron Haber's body.
He lunged forward, gurgled something in Hebrew, then dropped his pistol
and collapsed at the mouth of the foyer.
Natterman peered around the edge of the bed. The Israeli lay on his
stomach with his head pointed toward the door. Swallow's Ingrain lay at
his feet. Natterman's heart sank. The gun might as well have been ten
kilometers away. But as he jerked his head back behind the bed, he saw
something that stopped the breath in his lungs-Hans's crossbow, loaded
and lying beneath the bed. Yuri Borodin's gorillas had missed it during
their sweep. Natterman lay flat and stretched his arm to its limit ...
Swallow glided soundlessly out of the foyer and bobbed over the wounded
Israeli. A knife flashed in the air. Swallow reached for Aaron's hair,
meaning to jerk up his head and slash his throat, but at the last moment
she leaned toward his feet and grabbed for the Ingrain.
The decision cost her her life. The instant she moved, Aaron flipped
over onto his back and grabbed her by the waist. Unable to reach the
Ingrain, Swallow twisted in his arms and brought the knife down into his
chest. She raised it again for the deathblow, but Natterman struggled
up over the bed, steadied the crossbow, and fired.
The razor-tipped bolt speared through Swallow's breastbone with a
sickening crunch. Sucking for air she no longer needed, she pawed the
air in maniacal fury. Her last cry carried all the atrophied rage and
pain of her unfulfilled quest for vengeance: "Sterrm!"
Swallow collapsed on top of Aaron, preceding the young commando into
death by only seconds. Natterman stumbled over to the gasping Israeli
and with painful effort shoved Swallow's corpse off his blood-soaked
chest. Aaron strained to raise his head, then fell back and reached up
to Natterman for succor. Natterman knelt over him.
"Lie back," he said.
"You're safe now."
A froth of blood bubbled from Aaron's mouth. 'Did I stop her?"
he asked softly. "She wanted ... Stern."
Natterman looked over at Swallow. Lying dead with the arrow buried in
her chest, she looked like a locust husk spiked to a display board.
Natterman smiled at the young Israeli. "You stopped her."
"Tell ... tell Gadi ... did my duty." Aaron coughed once more; then he
closed his eyes.
Natterman swallowed hard. This young soldier had given his life for
Jonas Stern. Filled with a gudden rage, Natterman lurched to his feet
and scrambled back to the telephone.
"Who is this?" he shouted. "Speak!"
"Who is this?" came the wary reply, the British accent clear.
Natterman felt his hands shaking. "Your assassin is dead!"
he yelled. "Your secret will be secret no more!"
He threw down the telephone. Moaning in pain, he stripped off his
shirt, picked up Aaron's first-aid bag, and began rummaging through the
drug bottles. He wanted lo anesthetic. He needed to dull the fire of
his wounds, but he could not risk losing consciousness. He had to be
able to board an airplane under his own power. He hated the idea of
leaving Ilse and the others behind, but he suspected that if he did not
get out of South Africa today, he might not get out at all.
7.01 A.Al- Mi-5 Headquailers: Ch8rigPs Street, London Sir Neville Shaw
dropped the phone, his face ashen. Deputy Director Wilson faced him
from the doorway.
"It's over," Shaw said quietly. "After all this time, it's over."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Swallow's dead. There's no stopping the secret now.
We've fired our last shell. From Churchill down to me, and all for
nothing."
"Churchill, Sir Neville? I don't understand."
"Don't you? Haven't you got it yet, man? Horn is Hess, Hess is Horn.
The great bloody secret. Ever since Churchill, it's been our sacred
charge."
"Sacred charge?"
"This service, Wilson. My office, particularly. It was mI-5
who ran the original Hess double-cross in 1941. We intercepted the
first letter from Hess to the Duke of Hamilton."
Shaw lifted two sheets of Paper from his desk. "Why don't you read
this, old man?, It's a memo to the prime MiniSterTyped it myself while
you were getting tea."
Wilson stepped forward uncertainly and took the proffered pages.
His eyes widened as they flew over phrases that made his blood run cold.
Dear Mrs. Prime Minister:
In May 1941, Rudolf Hess, Deputy Fuhrer of the German Reich, flew to
this country to assist in a coup d'etat aimed at the government of Prime
Minister Winston Churchill and King George VI.
mI-5 was aware of this plot almost from its inception, and used it to
buy time to forestall the German invasion of this country [Operation Sea
Lion].
Regrettably, the success of the coup hinged on the participation of
numerous ranking members of the wartime Parliament and the nobility, as
well as a second accession of the Duke of Windsor to the throne. On
11May 1941, Prime Minister Winston Churchill instructed this office
[Secret Finding 5731 to conceal all evidence of this AngloNazi
collusion, on the grounds that exposure of such high-ranking treason
might bring down the government and possibly even prevent American entry
into the war.
Events of the past five days have made the continued suppression of this
information highly unlikely. I must inform you that Rudolf Hess is
alive as of this writing, and is a citizen of the Republic of South
Africa [living under the alias "Alfred Horn"]. Hess may soon reveal
this fact himself, or certain papers unearthed at Spandau Prison may do
so. My best efforts to silence Hess and to destroy the papers have
failed. Hess's current activities fall into the realm of the criminal,
and, if exposed, could put at risk a significant number o
f British
nationals. The family of Lord Granville, particularly, may soon be made
public in this connection, as it has owned and operated Phoenix AG [a
multinational defense contractor] at the bidding of "Alfred Horn" since
1947. Other families of the peerage [one of whom boasts a member of
your cabinet] have lent their names to similar enterprises in exchange
for large cash payments, and possibly for ideological reasons as well.
I'm afraid issuing a D-notice at this time would be counterproductive,
however, as it would tend to indicate prior knowledge by your office of
these activities.
The suppression of the Hess information to date has only been possible
thanks to the nerve and foresight of Prime Minister Churchill.
In October 1944, Churchill flew to Moscow for a meeting with Joseph
Stalin. With him he carried copies of assassination orders that were,
to all appearances, signed by Stalin himself. These orders were
actually forgeries fabricated by Reinhard Heydrich's SD.
They were brought into this country by a German-trained White Russian
agent named Zinoviev, and recovered by mI-5 on 11 May 1941.
In Moscow, Churchill warned Stalin that he would inform the world press
that Stalin had ordered the murders of Churchill and King George VI, if
Stalin did not cease making accusations about Anglo-Nazi collusion in
the Hess affair.
Five weeks ago, on the strength of Secret Finding 573, I ordered the
liquidation of Hess's double [the real Alfred Horn] in Spandau Prison.
On my order the Foreign Office file on Hess has been sanitized. I have
placed in my personal safe papers which washed ashore in Scotland on 11
May 1941, which were thought to have been ditched from Hess's plane.
These papers contain the names of many of the British coup conspirators.
The War Office file on Hess contains damaging information on the Duke of
Windsor [which the Royal Family is frightfully anxious to keep buried],
but that file is sealed until 2050. The F.O. file is sealed until 2016.
We should meet as soon as possible: Sir Neville Shaw Director General,
mI-5
P.S. This unfortunate situation has been complicated by the arrest
yesterday of an mI-6
intelligence analyst@who for seven years made available to agents of
"Alfred Horn" some of our most sensitive intelligence secrets, including
copies of American satellite photography. 'three weeks ago, this man
inferred [from information which had been requested by Phoenix AGI that
some type of attack [possibly nuclear] was imminent against the State of
Israel. In a belated fit of conscience, he sent an anonymous warning to
the Israeli Embassy in London. We cannot discount the possibility that
my efforts to liquidate Hess prompted him to attempt some desperate
action against Israel, but I consider this scenario unlikely. "Alfred
Horn" does have significant uranium holdings in South Africa, but the
possibility that he has acquired a nuclear device is infinitesimally
small.
Deputy Director Wilson looked up at Shaw with horror on his face. "You
don't really mean to send this?"
Shaw raised his eyebrows. "of course I do. As far as I'm concerned,
the Hess secret is blown. I'll be sacked tomorrow, so what do I care?
I'm tired of protecting traitors, Wilson. It's time the world learned
what a heroic mission this service performed in 1941. We saved
Churchill and the dnd! I should write it up for the King, man.
We saved England's bloody 7-imesP' The blood drained from Wilson's
cheeks.
"Surely you're joking, Sir Neville. You're overwrought."
"But I'm deadly serious."
The deputy director glanced behind him to the closed office door.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said soffly. He pulled a revolver from his
coat pocket.
Shaw studied the gun. "A bit noisy for murder, don't you think?
Too many people around."
Wilson gave his superior a wintry smile. "Not murder, Sir Neville.
Suicide."
Shaw smiled appreciatively. "Ah. I'm about to crack under the strain
of a failed operation, eh? You'll 'discover' me with my head bleeding
over the Hess file, the mandarins will cover it up 'for the good of the
service,' and you'll take my chair as director general. Is that it?"
Wilson nodded. "I've been laying the groundwork ever since you locked
yourself in here like a hermit. The secretaries are already whispering
about you."
Shaw sighed. "You were Horn's man all along, weren't you? As long as
my efforts went toward keeping the secret, you went right along.
But you and your bloody uncle-Lord Amersham, isn't it?-you didn't know
that some of the conspirator families had asked me to liquidate both
Hess and Number Seven, did you? Gutless bastards. They claimed Horn
had gone senile, that he had too much power. I saw the truth, though.
Glasnost had those blue-blooded cowards pissing their beds at night.
Gorbachev's whole program was openness, sweeping out the past.
Couldn't have that, could we? Our brave peers were scared silly that
the Russians might not veto Number Seven's release next time around."
Shaw raised a forefinger. "And they were right, you know? ; Two days
ago I learned that Gorbachev had recently indicated to Hess's son that
he was on the verge of releasing Prisoner Number Seven."
Wilson kept his pistol pointed at Shaw's chest. "How did you kill
Number Seven without my knowledge?" Shaw shrugged. "Easily. I used a
retired SAS man Michael Burton. The whole Hess business has always been
run outside official channels. That's why you knew nothin about the
Casilda. But you found out in time, didn't YOU?
Wilson's face reddened. "I warned Horn."
You warned Hess about the raid."
"My God," muttered Shaw. "You didn't even know who you were working
for, did you? Just like that idiot in MI-6.
At least his mother was South African."
The revolver shook in Wilson's hand. "Why was Hess allowed to live? Why
did we let him out of England at all?"
Shaw smiled humorlessly. "We never had Hess, Wilson.
We only caught Ho e double Heydrich sent to confuse us. We never found
out how Hess escaped, if he came here at all. mI-6 finally located him
in Paraguay in 1958. The Israelis and other Nazi-hunters never found
him because they weren't looking. As far as they knew, Rudolf Hess was
locked inside Spandau Prison."
"Why didn't you kill Hess in Paraguay?"
Shaw snorted. "You think your friends are afraid of the Spandau papers?
Hess knew the name of every bloody British traitor involved in the coup
attempt. He claimed he had taken steps that would make those names
public in the event of his untimely death, and we believed him."
"But why kill number Seven after all this time? He'd held his silence
for decades. Why should he break it?"
"Because his wife and daughter were dead," Shaw explained. "Had been
for years. We kept Number Seven quiet by threatening his family, just
as Hess must have. If Number Seven had been released from Spandau, he
-might have discovered they we
re dead. And we would have lost our
leverage. If the Russians hadn't vetoed his early release every year,
we would have had to kill him years ago."
Sir Neville Shaw steepled his fingers. "Tell me one thing, Wilson. How
much have you told Hess's people about Jonas SternT' "Nothing, until
today. I assumed Swallow would kill Stern before he became a threat,
and I didn't want to risk further direct contact.
Stern must have blown his cover himself Two hours ago Horn's security
chief called me and asked if I knew anything about a Jew who had come
after Horn."
Shaw nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you intend to burn my memo?"
"Yes, actually."
Shaw reached out his hand. "Here. Let me shred it for YOU."
Puzzled, Wilson handed Shaw the letter, then watched incredulously as
the mI-5 chief fed both pages into his highspeed shredder. "But .
.. why? What are you doing?"
Shaw smiled. "Don't worry, there's a copy in my safe.
But things haven't quite reached the stage where I feel compelled to
send it." Shaw looked over Wilson's shoulder to a dark corner of the
large office. "Sergeant," he said crisply, "please arrest Mr.
Wilson. The charge is treason."
Like a thousand fools before him, Wilson whirled to face an imaginary
threat. When he looked back at Shaw, there was a silenced Browning
Hi-Power pistol in the old knight's hand.
"Sorry, old boy," Shaw said, but he had already pulled the trigger.
Wilson's astonished eyes went blank as the bullet tore through his
heart. He dropped dead on the floor without a sound.
Shaw calmly lifted his telephone and punched in a number. The call was
answered immediately.
"Rose here," said a gruff voice with a Texas twang.
"Good morning, Colonel," said Shaw. "I am authorized to agree to your
terms-if you believe the Hess secret can still be kept."
"As if you had any choice," Rose growled.
"About Jonas Stern," Shaw said dill-;dently. "Her Majesty's government
doesn't want the Israelis getting hold of this story."
"I figure Stern's dead by now," Rose said. "Sir Neville."
Shaw sighed with forbearance. "Is there any further word from South
Africa?"
"Negative. Your precious secret's in Captain Hauer's hands now.
Who knows what a friggin' Kraut'll do?" Rose laughed away from the
phone. "Hey, Shaw, I've got a guy here, name of Schneider. He says