He was halfway to the foyer when Hauer barked, “Wait!”
Hans whirled. “Wait? Have you lost your mind?”
Hauer’s voice went flat. “You won’t get far without keys.”
Hans groped in his pockets. “Give them to me,” he said quietly.
“I can’t, Hans. You’re making a mistake.”
Hans took a step forward. “Give me my keys.”
Hauer shook his head. “You don’t know they have Ilse. You didn’t actually speak to her.”
“Give me my goddamn keys!” Hans sprang forward, ready to thrash Hauer until he gave up the keys. But when he raised his hands to Hauer’s neck, he felt something hard pressing into his stomach. When he looked down, he saw a 9mm Walther PI pistol, standard issue for the West Berlin police.
“Now,” said Hauer, “you’re going to sit there quietly while I make a phone call. Then we’ll decide what to do about Ilse.”
“Don’t you understand?” Hans pleaded. “They have my wife! I have to go! You … you …”—his voice changed suddenly—“you don’t understand, do you? You never had a wife. You ran out on the one woman who loved you! My mother!”
“That’s a lie,” Hauer whispered.
Hans’s face burned with emotion. “It isn’t! You ran out on her when she was pregnant! Pregnant with me! Give me those keys, you son of a bitch!”
Hauer had gone very still. His big fists were clenched, one around the
butt of the Walther. “You think you know something about me,” he said. “You don’t know anything. A file isn’t a man, Hans. Yes, I know you went through my personnel file.” He worked his left fist angrily. “I don’t know if you deserve the truth, but the truth is that I didn’t know I had a son until you were twelve years old.”
“You’re lying!” Hans insisted. But something about that age had sparked a strange light behind his eyes.
“I’m not,” Hauer said softly. “Think back. You were twelve years old.”
Hans felt his chest tightening. The pain in his eyes told Hauer that he had remembered. “I knew you couldn’t have forgotten that,” Hauer said. “It was bad. Munich, the day after the Olympic massacre. Did you ever make that connection?”
Hans looked away.
Hauer spoke quickly, as if the words burned his mouth passing through it. “It was the lowest point in my life. Those Jewish athletes died for nothing, Hans. Because of German arrogance and stupidity. Just like in the war. And I was a part of it. I’d been flown into Munich as a sharpshooter …” Hauer seemed about to continue the story—then he stopped, realizing that one more telling wouldn’t change anything. “After the slaughter was over,” he murmured, “I went crazy. Went off on my own. I needed something—a human touch, a lifeline. And there I was in the city my old lover had run off to, totally by chance. After a dozen schnapps, though, I started thinking maybe it wasn’t by chance. So I went looking for your mother.”
“You found her.”
“I found you. You were the last thing in the world I expected. Your mother called the Munich police on me, of course. My showing up after all those years was her worst nightmare. But the moment I saw you, Hans, I knew you were mine. I knew it. She didn’t even try to deny it.”
Hauer’s eyes focussed on the kitchen floor. “But she had me over a barrel, Hans. Somehow they’d fixed it—her and her rich husband —so that he’d legally adopted you. I paid a lawyer two months’ salary to look into it, but in the end he told me to forget it. Your mother had already poisoned you against me, anyway—she let me know that before anything else.” Hauer looked up into Hans’s eyes. “What did she tell you about that day?”
Hans shrugged. “She told me who you were. That you were my real father. But she said you’d only come back to ask for money. To beg for a loan.”
Hauer looked stunned.
“I don’t think I believed her, though,” Hans said softly, “even then. Not deep down. You know what I remember about that day?”
Hauer shook his head. “Your uniform. A perfect green uniform with medals on the chest. I never forgot that. And when the police showed up to take you away, you showed them your badge and they went away instead.”
Hauer swallowed hard. “Is that why you became a policeman?”
“Partly, I guess. I really became a cop because it was absolutely the worst thing I could do in Mother’s eyes. She’d spent twenty years trying to mould me into a banker, like her first husband. And I guess he wasn’t so bad, really, looking back, But when she married that goddamn lawyer, I started to hate her. She was so transparent … always trying to buy respect. And I hated her more because I knew that in some twisted way she was doing it all for me. After she married the lawyer, I wanted to hurt her as much as she’d hurt me. And the best way to do that was to become everything she had run away from when she was young. To become a working-class slave, just like you.” Hans laughed. “Then I found out I liked the job. What would Freud say about that, I wonder?”
Hauer forced a smile.
“I believe what you’ve told me,” Hans said. “But when I showed up in Berlin wearing this uniform, why didn’t you tell me your side of it?”
“That was ten years after Munich,” Hauer explained. “Long before then I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to live the rest of my life without you, or any family. When you came marching up to me outside that police station, with a hundred-pound chip on your shoulder and reciting that stupid agreement you’d worked out, I didn’t know what to think. You’d already come that far back to me on your own … I wasn’t going to rush anything.”
Hans nodded. “I wanted to make it on my own. I didn’t want an help from you. And no matter how much I hated Mother then, I wasn’t ready to find out the truth about you. Not if the truth was that you really had run out on us.”
“She never told me she was pregnant, Hans. It’s an old story. I was good enough to fall in love with, but not to marry. It’s sad, really. She hadn’t grown up any better than I had, but she’d set her sights on marrying rich. Fear of poverty, I guess. She did love me, I still believe that. But there was no way her kid was going to be raised by a cop. She wanted it all for you, Hans, gymnasium, university—”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Hans cut in. “I know it all by heart.”
“But what I can’t forgive is her putting it all on me. Making me out to be … Christ, I don’t know.”
“It’s okay. It is. How could she tell me it was her fault I didn’t have a father?” Hans’s eyes fell on the face of his watch. He looked up quickly. Hauer was still pointing the Walther at him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Hauer said. “Don’t try it. Look, if whoever was in your apartment really had Ilse, they would have put her on the phone. They’d have made her draw you. It’s you they want—what you found.”
“But you can’t know that. What if she’s hurt? What if she couldn’t speak? What if she’s dead”
Hauer lowered the pistol a few centimetres. “I concede those possibilities. But we’re not going to charge into a situation we know nothing about to die like romantic fools. First we must know if we are being hunted officially.” He picked up the telephone with his left hand and punched in a number. “I want you to think of any possible places Ilse might have run to, or even gone innocently. And Hans, think like a policeman, not a husband. That, if anything, will save your wife.” With a last look at Hans, he stuck the Walther into his belt.
Hans felt his fists quivering. A wild voice told him to bash Hauer’s skull and take the car keys, that quick action was Ilse’s only chance. But his police experience told him that Hauer—that his father—was right.
“Communications desk,” Hauer said curtly.
“Who’s calling?”
“Telefon. There’s a line problem.”
“Hold, bitte.”
Hauer put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Pray Steuben’s still on duty,” he whispered.
“This is Sergeant Steuben,”
said a deep voice. “We have no line problem.”
“Steuben—”
“Dieter? My God! Where are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m still under my own recognizance.”
Steuben’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re damned lucky. Funk has an army out looking for you and that young sergeant. They’re watching all the checkpoints everywhere.”
“I knew they’d come after us, but I didn’t think they’d make such a fuss about it. Shine too much light on us, and some inevitably shines on them.”
“No, Dieter, listen. They’re saying that you and—”
“Apfel.”
“Yes, they’re saying that you and Apfel killed Erhard Weiss. They’re playing it like a simple murder. They brought Weiss’s body up from the basement and paraded a few lieutenants and pressmen through. I’ll tell you, Dieter, some of the boys were pretty upset. The story is that you and Apfel were tied into organized crime and Weiss found out. Most don’t quite believe you did it, but everyone’s damned angry. You’d better walk softly if you come up on any old friends.”
“I understand, Josef. What about that other matter?”
“Another call went out from an empty office about 16:30 this afternoon—same destination.”
“Pretoria?”
“Right.” Steuben’s voice dropped lower. “Dieter,” he said hesitantly, “you didn’t really kill young Weiss, did you?”
“My God, Josef, you know better than that!”
Steuben hesitated. “What about Apfel? I don’t know him.”
“He tried to save the boy! They were comrades. Think, Josef. Weiss was Jewish—that doesn’t lead you anywhere?”
Steuben’s reply was almost inaudible. “Phoenix.”
“Yes. I’ve got to go now. I want you to stay on duty as long as you can, Josef. You’re my last link to that place. Someone’s got to watch them. And watch yourself, too. Now that I’ve shown my true colours, they’ll start looking for others. They know we were friends. I’ll use the same story when I call back. Telefon.”
“Don’t worry,” Steuben whispered. “I’m here for the duration. But … I’m worried about my family, Dieter. My wife, my little girls. Did you cover them?”
“Just as I promised. There are two men with them now, good friends of mine. GSG-9 veterans. No worries there. Funk couldn’t get into your house with anything less than a full-scale military assault.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Josef.”
Before Hauer could set the phone in its cradle, Hans broke the connection and punched in a new number.
“Who are you calling?” Hauer asked.
“None of your goddamn business,” Hans snapped. “You can cover your friends with GSG-9 men, but you can’t take twenty minutes to save Ilse?”
“Hans, you don’t understand—”
“Eva?” he said loudly.
“Hans!”
“Yes. Eva, I want you to look outside your door and—”
“Listen to me, Hans! Someone is tearing your apartment to pieces right now! That tells me they haven’t found her yet!”
“What? You’ve seen Ilse?”
“Seen her? I sneaked her out of the apartment tonight just before the stinking Russians got her! What the hell have you done?”
“Russians!” Hans’s exclamation brought Hauer out of his chair like a cannon shot. “Tell me, Eva, hurry!”
Eva related the story of their escape from Kosov’s team, ending with Ilse fleeing into the dark alley. Hans slammed his fist against the table. “But you don’t know where she is now?”
“No, but she told me to give you a message.”
“What message?”
“Mittelland.”
“That’s it? One word?”
“That’s it. Mittelland, like the canal. I guess she didn’t want me to know anything.”
Hans shook his fist in exultation. “Eva, that’s it! I know where she’s gone.”
“So get her, you damned fool! And you’d better get some serious help. I don’t think your Polizei friends are up to it.”
She paused. “And if you come up on a young fellow called Misha…”.
‘“Yes?”
“Kill the bastard. Send him to hell. He cut my face.”
Hans felt his heart thump. “What happened?”
“Just find Ilse, Hans. If anything happens to that girl, you’re going to answer to me. And stay the hell away from here. Your apartment sounds like a Bremen bar fight.” Eva hung up.
Hauer grabbed Hans’s shoulder. “You said Russians.”
“Eva said Russians came to the apartment looking for me.”
“How does she know they were Russian?”
Hans shrugged. “She’s been around, you know? She’s an old barmaid who turns a few tricks for rent money. She got Ilse out of the building, but that’s all she could tell me.”
“It must be Kosov,” Hauer muttered. “The quiet colonel from Funk’s polygraph session. He knew that test was rigged from the start. Did Ilse have the papers with her?”
“I don’t know.”
“For God’s sake, Hans, you’ve got to start thinking like a policeman.”
“I don’t give a damn about those papers!”
“Quiet! You’ll bring OCAS in here. And you’d better give a damn about those papers. They may be the only thing that can keep us or Ilse alive now.” He held up a forefinger. “You said you knew where Ilse had gone. Where?”
Hans’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Christ, you might have brought me here just to find out where she is. Where the papers are! God, you might—”
Hauer slapped him, hard. “Get hold of yourself, Hans! You brought me here, remember? You’ve got to trust somebody, and I’m all you have.”
Hans scowled. “Wolfsburg,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“Ilse’s grandfather has a small cabin on the Mittelland Canal, near Wolfsburg. It’s an old family retreat. The professor must have been working there and Ilse found out. God, I hope she’s made it.” His face clouded. “But how could she? I’ve got the car!”
“Train?” Hauer suggested.
“She didn’t have any money at home.”
“All women have money at home, Hans, believe me. They hide it for emergencies we never think about.”
“Captain, I’ve got to get to Wolfsburg!”
“I agree. But before I give you the keys, you’re going to listen to me for ten minutes. Then I’ll figure out a way for us to get out of Berlin. You know you’d never make it without my help.”
Hans knew Hauer was right. He could never evade Funk’s dragnet on his own. “Ten minutes,” he agreed.
Hauer sat down and leaned forward. “You’ve got to understand something, Hans. Early this morning you stumbled into a case that I’ve been working on for over a year. That’s what I meant about Steuben. There’s more that needs protecting at his house than his wife and children. There’s a fireproof safe full of evidence that he and I have compiled over the past year. Until a couple of hours ago, I had no idea that Spandau Prison had anything to do with this case, but now I’m almost certain that it does.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Those papers you found at Spandau aren’t just some relic from the past, Hans. The Russians haven’t gone crazy searching for a museum piece. Those papers pose a very serious threat to someone now—in the present.” Hauer took a cigar from his pocket and bit off the tip. “Before I tell you anything else, you must understand some thing very important. Right now, as we speak, Germany—the two Germanies—are very close to reunification.”
“What? “
“I don’t mean it’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week. But six months from now … a year … maybe.”
“Are you mad?”
Hauer paused to light his cigar. “Most Germans would say so,” he said. “And they would be as wron
g as you are. Tell me, as you grew up, didn’t you notice all the societies who clamour for the reunification of the Fatherland? I don’t mean administrative committees plodding through mountains of paper; I mean the hard-core groups, the ones that exist only to restore Germany’s lost might.”
Hans shrugged. “Sure. So what? What’s wrong with working to make Germany strong? I agree with them. Not some of the crazier factions, maybe, but I want Germany to be united again. One nation, without the Wall.”
Hauer raised an eyebrow.
Hans coloured. “It’s my country, isn’t it? I want it to be strong!”
“Of course you do, boy. So do I. But there are different kinds of strength. Some of these groups have some very strange ideals. Old ideals. Old agendas.”
“What do you mean? How do you know?”
Hauer studied his cigar. “Because we’ve been to their meetings. Steuben and I stumbled into this whole thing by accident. About two years ago, I got drawn into a Special Tasks drug case. The money trail led me to two police officers. In short order I became aware that quite a few cops were involved in the drug traffic flowing into and through Germany. And in spite of orders to the contrary, I began to compile evidence on these officers. Steuben helped me all the way. It didn’t take us long to realize that their drug operation extended into the highest ranks of the force.”
“Prefect Funk?”
“Excellent example. But then things got strange. Pretty soon we discerned a pattern. Every officer involved in the drug traffic was also a member of a semi-secret society called Der Bruderschaft.”
“The Brotherhood? I’ve heard of that.”
Hauer exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. “I’m not surprised. I joined it myself last year. That’s what the tattoo is about. The eye is their symbol. Ever see a policeman with a bandage behind his right ear? That means he’s gotten the mark. They wear the bandage till the hair grows back. I don’t know what the eye means, but I was only a month away from getting it myself. You get marked after a year in the group.” Hauer stood up and flicked some cigar ash into OCAS’s sink. “The real name of the organization is not Der Bruderschaft, however; it’s Bruderschaft der Phoenix. Have you heard of that?”