Spandau Phoenix by Greg Iles Read Free Book Online Page A

get it on. No thanks.”
    When the sergeant saw Hans’s expression, he said, “Hey, sorry ’bout that, man. Guess you know more about it than you ever wanted to.” He raised his rifle again, sighting in on yet another invisible target.
“Bang,”
he said, and lowered the weapon. “We’d better keep moving, Boris.” He disappeared into the shadows, taking the scope with him.
    For the next six hours, Hans moved through the darkness without speaking to anyone, except to answer the challenges of the Russians. They seemed to be taking the operation much more seriously than anyone else, he noticed. Almost personally.
    About four A.M. he decided to have a second look at his map. He approached the command trailer obliquely, walking backward to read by the glow of the single floodlamp. Suddenly he heard voices. Peering around the trailer, he saw the French and British sergeants sitting together on the make-shift steps. The Frenchman was very young, like most of the twenty-seven hundred conscripts who comprised the French garrison in Berlin. The Brit was older, a veteran of England’s professional army. He did most of the talking; the Frenchman smoked and listened in silence. Now and then the wind carried distinct words to Hans. “Hess” was one—“
lef
enant” and “bloody Russians” were others. Suddenly the Frenchman stood, flicked his cigarette butt into the darkness, and strode out of the white pool of light. The Englishman followed close on his heels.
    Hans turned to go, then froze. One meter behind him stood the imposing silhouette of Captain Dieter Hauer. The Fiery eye of a cigar blazed orange in the darkness.
    “Hello, Hans,” said the deep, burnished voice.
    Hans said nothing.
    “Damned cold for this time of year, eh?”
    “Why am I here?” Hans asked. “You broke our agreement.”
    “No, I didn’t. This was bound to happen sooner or later, even with a twenty-thousand-man police force.”
    Hans considered this. “I suppose you’re right,” he said at length. “It doesn’t matter. Just another assignment, right?”
    Hauer nodded. “You’ve been doing a hell of a job, I hear. Youngest sergeant in Berlin.”
    Hans flushed a little, shrugged.
    “I lied, Hans,” Hauer said suddenly. “I did break our agreement. I requested you for this detail.”
    Hans’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
    “Because it was busy work. Killing time. I thought we might get a chance to talk.”
    Hans studied the slushy ground. “So talk.”
    Hauer seemed to search for words. “There’s a lot that needs saying.”
    “Or nothing.”
    Hauer sighed deeply. “I’d really like to know why you came to Berlin. Three years now. You must have wanted some kind of reconciliation…or answers, or something.”
    Hans stiffened. “So why are you asking the questions?”
    Hauer looked hard into Hans’s eyes. “All right,” he said softly. “We’ll wait until you’re ready.”
    Before Hans could reply, Hauer vanished into the darkness. Even the glow of his cigar had disappeared. Hans stood still for some moments; then, shaking his head angrily, he hurried into the shadows and resumed his patrol.
    Time passed quickly now, the silence broken only by an occasional siren or the roar of a jet from the British military airport at Gatow. With the snow soaking into his uniform, Hans walked faster to take his mind off the cold. He hoped he would be lucky enough to get home before his wife, Ilse, left for work. Sometimes after a particularly rough night shift, she would cook him a breakfast of
Weisswurst
and buns, even if she was in a hurry.
    He checked his watch. Almost 6:00 A.M. It would be dawn soon. He felt better as the end of his shift neared. What he really wanted was to get out of the weather for a while and have a smoke. A mountain of shattered concrete near the rear of the lot looked as though it might afford good shelter, so he made for it. The nearest soldier was Russian, but hestood at least thirty meters from the pile. Hans