Spandau Phoenix by Greg Iles Read Free Book Online Page A

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 he stood at least thirty meters from the pile. Hans slipped through a narrow opening when the sentry wasn't looking.
     
    He found himself in a comfortable little nook that shielded him completely from the wind. He wiped off a slab of concrete, sat down, and warmed his face by breathing into his cupped gloves. Nestled in this dark burrow, he was invisible to the patrolling soldiers, yet he still commanded a surprisingly wide view of the prison grounds. The snow had finally stopped, and even the wind had fallen off a bit. In the predawn silence, the demolished prison looked like pictures of bombed-out Dresden he had seen as a schoolboy: motionless sentries standing tall against bleak destruction, watching over nothing.
     
    Hans took out his cigarettes. He was trying to quit, but he still carried a pack whenever he went into a potentially stressful situation.
     
    Just the knowledge that he could light up sometimes calmed his nerves.
     
    But not tonight. Removing one glove with his teeth, he fumbled in his jacket for matches. He leaned as far away as he could from the opening to his little cave, scraped a match across the striking pad, then cupped it in his palm to conceal the light. He held it to his cigarette, drawing deeply. His shivering hand made the job difficult, but he soon steadied it and was rewarded with a jagged rush of smoke.
     
    As the match flame neared his fingers, a glint of white flashed against the blackness of the chamber. When he flicked the match away, the glimmer vanished. Probably only a bit of snow, he thought. But boredom made him curious. Gauging the risk of discovery by the Russian, he lit a second match. There. Near the floor of his cubbyhole he could see the object clearly now-not glass but paper-a small wad stuck to a long narrow brick. He hunched over and held the match nearer.
     
    In the close light he could see that rather than being stuck to the brick as he had first thought, the paper actually protruded from the brick itself. He grasped the folded wad and tugged it gently from its receptacle. The paper made a dry, scraping sound. Hans inserted his index finger into the brick.
     
    He couldn't feel the bottom. The second match died. He lit another.
    Quickly spreading open the crinkled wad of onionskin, he surveyed his find in the flickering light. It seemed to be a