his sunburned nose, Ilse noticed something she saw all too often at
parties in Berlin, the gleam of clear mucus that often betrayed the
recent use of cocaine.
"You're late," Horn complained.
"Sorry," said the young man without a trace of apology.
"There's a late rerun of the Open on the telly." He appraised Ilse with
undisguised relish. "Who's this little plum, Alfred?"
"Frau Apfel," said Horn, annoyed, "may I introduce Lord Grenville9
He's English, if you haven't surmised that already."
"How do you do, milady?" the young man asked too courteously, and
offered his hand.
Ilse ignored it, keeping her eyes fixed on the white-haired man at the
head of the table.
Horn's eyes twinkled. "Frau Apfel is not favorably impressed," he
observed. Noticing Ilse's look of uneasiness, he softened his tone.
"Linah-the Bantu woman behind youremains only to bring us anything we
require from the kitchen. Ask for whatever you like."
Ilse swallowed. "Do you mean I'm free to leave if I wish?"
Horn looked uncomfortable. "Not exactly, no. But you do have the run
of the house and grounds-with certain restrictions. I think you'll find
that out here on the veld, there isn't much of anywhere to go.
Not without an airplane, in any case."
While Ilse pondered the word veld, Horn began to eat his salad.
Linah lifted the covers off large dishes of split-pea soup, red cabbage,
and dark pumpernickel bread-all classic German fare. A huge roast ham
sat at center-table, but Horn ignored it. He talked between healthy
bites @f the cabbage, acting more like a patriarch presiding over a
gathering of distant relatives than a kidnapper toying with his hostage.
"You know," he said, his mouth full, "I've tried to adapt myself to
African cuisine-if one ventures to call it suchbut it simply doesn't
compare to German food. Robust enough, of course, but terribly bland.
Pieter loves the stuff.
But then, he was raised on, it."
Africa ... ? Fighting the urge to bolt from the table, Ilse remembered
her vow to behave as unprovocatively as possible. "So you're originally
from Germany, then?" she stammered.
"Yes," Horn replied. "I'm something of an expatriate."
"Do you go back often?"
Horn stiffened for an instant, then resumed eating. "No," he said
finally. "Never."
My God, she thought, her face hot. Africa! No wonder it feels so warm
here. As Horn glanced around the table, Ilse realized that only one of
the old man's eyes moved. The other remained fixed in whatever
direction Horn's head faced. As she stared, she noticed faint scarring
around the eye, stippled skin shaped in a rough five-pointed star.
With a chill she forced herself to look away, but not before Horn caught
her staring. He smiled understandingly.
"An old battle wound," he explained.
Lord Granville forked a huge slab of ham onto his plate.
"And what does a beautiful woman like you do in the Rhineland?"
he asked, grinning.
"I believe the young lady works for a brokerage firm," Horn INTERJECTED.
Suddenly the double doors behind Horn bumped open. A young black man
entered with a wheeled cart and took away the used dishes. A servant
girl followed with another cart that bore an antique Russian samovar
filled with steaming tea. She poured a brimming cup for Horn; Smuts,
Granville, and Ilse declined.
"I suppose you're wondering exactly where you are," Horn said.
"You are now in the Republic of South Africa, and unless you neither
watch television nor read the newspapers, I'm sure you know where that
is."
Ilse clutched the tablecloth as her stomach rolled. "As a matter of
fact," she said hoarsely, "my company maintained close ties with a
South- African FIRM before we ceased speculation in the Rand."
"You know something about our country, then?" Smuts asked.
"A little. What one sees on the news paints a pretty bleak picture."
"For some," Smuts said. "Not half as bad as they make out, though."
"I think what Pieter means," Horn said smoothly, "is that ... racial
problems in any society are always more complex than they appear to an
outsider. Look at the Asian question the White Russians must soon face.
In twenty years the Soviet Union will be over forty percent Islam. Think
of it! Look at America. For all their bluster about equality, the
Americans have seen abuses as bad as those anywhere. In South Africa,
Frau Apfel, prejudice does not wear a mask.
And no one will forgive us for that. Because South Africa admits
something that the rest of the world would prefer to hide, the world
hates us."
"Do you think that's an excuse?"
"We're not looking for excuses," Smuts muttered.
"Simply an observation," Horn said, glaring at Smuts.
"Isn't this bloody marvelous," Lord Granville crowed.
"Two Germans and a bloody Afrikaner debating the finer points of race
relations! It's really too much." He poured himself a second brandy
from a bottle he had claimed as his own.
"You think England's any better?'-, Smuts snapped. "All you've ever
seen of it is public schools and polo fields, you@' "Pieter," Horn cut
in. He turned to Ilse. "Herr Smuts is what the Americans call a
self-made man, my dear. He views the aristocracy as something of an
obsolete class."
"That's one view I sympathize with."
The Afrikaner inclined his head respectfully, his smoking gaze still on
the Englishman.
"Actually," said Horn, "even the South Africans shrink from truly
effective measures in the race question."
"Effective measures?"
"State-sponsored sterilization, my dear. It's the only answer.
We can't expect kaffirs or Mohammedan savages to regulate their own.
breeding habits. One might as well expect the same of cattle.
No, the government health services should simply sterilize each black
female after the birth of her first child. An entire spectrum of
problems would disappear within a single generation."
While Ilse stared in astonishment; Horn signaled to the stone-faced
Linah, who brought him a thick Upmann cigar, clipped and ready to light.
He did so without asking if anyone minded, took several puffs, then
exhaled the smoke in deep blue clouds that wafted gently above the
table.
"Well," he said finally, "I'm sure you have many questions. I'll try to
answer what I can."
Ilse had not even touched her salad. Now she set her quivering hands
flat on the table and took a deep breath. "Why am I here?" she asked
softly.
"Quite simply," Horn replied, "because of your husband.
I'm afraid your Hans stumbled upon a document that belonged to a man I
knew well-a document he should have turned over to the proper
authorities, but did not. Pieter decided that the most expeditious
method of recovering the property was through you. That is why you are
here. As soon as your husband arrives, the matter will be resolved."
Ilse felt a flutter of hope. "Hans is coming here?"
H
orn glanced at his watch. "He should be on his way now."
"Does he know I'm safe?"
Smuts answered. "He heard the tape you made."
Ilse shivered, recalling the gun held to her head by the wild-eyed
Lieutenant Luhr.
Horn blew a smoke ring. "I assure you that such unpleasantness will not
be repeated. The man who drugged you on the plane is now in a cell a
hundred meters beneath your feet." Horn smiled. "Now, if I may, I'd
like to ask your opinion of the document your husband discovered in
Spandau Prison."
Ilse studied her hands. "What about it? It looked like a hoax to me.
Things like that have come up a dozen times since the war@' "Please,"
Horn interrupted, his tone harder, "do not try my patience.
Your discussion with Prefect Funk indicated that you well understood the
importance of the papers."
"I only thought that they might be dangerous! I knew that because Hans
found them in Spandau they'd probably been written by a war criminal.
Because of that-"
"Excuse me, Frau Apfel." Horn's gingle eye settled on Ilse's face. "How
would you define that term-war criminal?
I'm curious."
Ilse swallowed. "Well ... I suppose it means someone who has departed
from the laws of morality so radically that it shocks the civilized
world, even in time of war."
Horn smiled sadly. "Very articulate, my dear, but completely incorrect.
A war criminal is merely a powerful man on the side that Was Caesar a
war criminal? By your definition, By mine? No. Was Alexander? Was
Stalin? In 1944, arshal Zhukov's Red Army raped, murdered, and looted
its way across Germany. Was Zhukov a war criminal? No. But Hitler? Of
course! The Anti-Christ! You see?
The label means nothing in absolute terms. It's simply a relative
description."
"That's not true. What the Nazis did in the concentration camps-"
"Maintained the German war economy and furthered medical science for the
entire world!" Horn finished. "Of course there were excesses-that's
human nature. But does anyone ever mention the advances that were
made?"
"You don't believe that. Nothing justifies such cruelty."
Horn shook his head. "I can see that the Zionists have kept a firm grip
on our country's schools since the war. DeNazification," he snorted.
"My God, you sound just like an Israeli schoolchild. Can you be so
blind? In 1945 the Allied Air Forces attacked Dresden-an open city-and
killed 135,000 German civilians, mostly women and children.
President Truman obliterated two Japanese cities. That is not
criminal?"
"Then why is hiding the Spandau diary so important to you?" Ilse
challenged. "Why not let it be known and publicly argue your case,
whatever it is?"
Horn looked at the table. "Because some chapters of history are best
left closed. The case of Rudolf Hess has had a startling long-lived
effect on relations between England, Germany, and Russia.
It's in the best interest of all concerned to let sleeping dogs lie."
"But that's what I don't understand. What does it matter what happened
fifty years ago?"
"Nations have very long memories," Horn said.
"What happened to Rudolf Hess?" Ilse suddenly asked.
,The real Hess."
"He died," Horn said. "In Resistencia, Paraguay, in 1947.
I knew him well, and he died a bitter man, less than two years after his
beloved Fuhrer."
"Beloved?" Ilse echoed, horrified. "But the man in Spandau-who was
he?"
"No one," Horn said. "Anyone. The poor fool was part of a failed
gambit in foreign policy, that's all. But the result of that failure
was that he had to remain in prisons Hess for the rest of his life.
That is all in the past.
Unfortunately, your husband reopened this sticky little case, and now it
must be closed again. For me it is a small annoyance, but one cannot
ignore details. 'For want of a nail . . .' "
" 'For want of a nail,' " Ilse said thoughtfully, " 'the kingdom was
lost.' What is the 'kingdom' in this case?"
Horn smiled. "My company, of course. Phoenix AG."
Ilse looked thoughtful. "I don't recall seeing that name listed on any
stock exchange."
"I'm sure you don't. It's a private holding company. If I were to
furnish you with a list of my worldwide subsidiaries, however, I'm sure
you would recognize quite a few."
Smuts smiled at Horn's understatement.
Ilse was genuinely curious. "So you're multinational, then. How big
are you? Two, three hundred million in revenues?"
The young Englishman snickered.
"Three hundred million in assets," Horn corrected softly.
Ilse stared, incredulous. "But that would put your revenues at over a
billion dollars."
There was silence until Horn gracefully resumed the conversation.
"I see you have a keen interest in business. Why don't we excuse Pieter
and Lord Granville? You and I can continue our discussion without
boring them. Gentlemen?"
"But I find this discussion extremely interesting," the Englishman
protested.
"Nevertheless, " Horn said icily.
"How about some billiards, Smuts?" the Englishman asked gamely, trying
to preserve some illusion of free will.
Horn's stare commanded the reluctant Afrikaner to accept the invitation.
"Don't suppose I'd mind taking a few rand off you," Smuts said,
chuckling. He had a brittle laugh, like a man who finds humor only at
"That man seems quite devoted to you," Ilse observed.
"Herr Smuts is my chief of security. His loyalty is absolute."
"Are you in danger?"
Horn smiled. "A man in my position makes enemies, Frau Apfel."
Suddenly Ilse's eyes glistened with moisture. The plea she had pressed
down deep in her heart welled up into her throat at last. "Sir, please,
isn't there some way that you could give my husband? He meant no harm!
If you only ew him, you would see-"
"Frau Apfel! Control yourself! We will not discuss the matter again
until your husband arrives. At that time I shall decide what is to be
done-not before. Is that clear?"
Ilse wiped her eyes with her linen napkin. "Yes ... yes, I'm sorry."
"There's no need to be sorry. Women are at the mercy of their emotions;
it's their biological flaw. If it weren't for that regrettable fact,
who knows what they might have aceomplished throughout history."
Ilse remained silent. She saw nothing to be gained by antagonizing her
captor further.
"Frau Apfel," Horn said, "the reason I excused the others was to invite
you to attend a business meeting with me tomorrow evening. :rhe
gentlemen I'm meeting have a rather medieval attitude toward your sex,
I'm afraid, so you would have to pose as my secretary. But I'm certain
you would find the negotiations extremely interesting." Horn raised his
chin.
"It will be the first meeting of its kind in history."
"It sounds bmin6us," Ilse said, trying to regain her composure.
"Let us say 'momentou
s' instead. It's only business, after all.
I'm sure the experience would prove invaluable to a young woman who
plans a career in the world of finance."
In spite of her perilous situation@r perhaps because of it-Ilse accepted
the invitation.
"Linah?" Horn called.
The tall Bantu woman appeared instantly.
"Escort Frau Apfel to the billiards room."
Ilse rose to go.
"And Frau Apfel," Horn said, "would you ask Pieter to join me when he
has finished his game?"
Ilse nodded.
"You won't see me until tomorrow afternoon, possibly not until tomorrow
evening. Pieter will show you around the estate in the morning. Certain
rooms are locked, but you have the run of the house and grounds
otherwise. Please refrain from using the telephone until the matter of
the papers has been resolved."
With the touch of a button Horn wheeled his chair around the table.
"May I see your hand?"
Puzzled, Ilse slowly extended her hand. Before she knew what was
happening, the wizened old man had bent his head and lightly kissed it.
She felt a sudden chill, but whether from physical revulsion or some
deeper fear, she could not tell.
"I apologize for the young Englishman's rudeness," Horn said. "I
shouldn't tolerate it, but his grandfather and I worked together during
the war." Horn smiled wistfully.
"His grandfather was a very special man, and I feel some responsibility
for his their. Gute Nacht, my dear."
The tall Bantu housekeeper took Ilse's elbow and led her into the hall,
where she let Ilse take the lead. Ilse had the feeling that the woman's
arm was but a fraction of an inch behind her own, ready to seize her if
necessary. The long.
hall opened into a large gallery, which in turn gave onto two more
beyond, each great room joined by means of a wide arch. Ilse gasped.
As far as she could see, the walls were lined with paintings. She knew
a little about art, but the works she saw in the first room required no
training to appreciate. The strokes of the great masters speak to a
part of the psyche deeper than thought, and these were no reproductions.
Each canvas glowed with immanent passion; Ilse's eyes danced from
painting to painting in wonder.
"My God," she murmured. "Where are we?"
Linah caught hold of Ilse's arm and tugged her along like an awestruck
child. Even the marble floors bore their share of the treasure.