Free Spandau Phoenix by Greg Iles

end. The strange, staring eye hovered in his mind, taunting him.
     
    After breakfast, he decided, he would take a shower and then have another go at the papers.
     
    He never made it off the bed. Exhaustion and the warm air overcame him even before he finished the sausage. He slid down the duvet, the unfinished plate balanced precariously on his lap, the Spandau papers hidden just beneath his feet.
     
    10.15 A.m. French Sector. West Berlin
    Ilse hated these visits. No matter how many times she saw her Gynakologe, she never got used to it. Ever. The astringent smell of alcohol, the gleaming stainless steel, the cold table, palpating fingers, the overly solicitous voice of the physician, who sometimes peered directly into her eyes from between her upraised legs: all these combined to produce a primal anxiety that solidified like ice in the hollow of her chest. Ilse knew about the necessity of annual checkups, but until she and Hans had begun trying to have a child, she'd skipped more exams than she would care to admit.
     
    All that had changed eighteen months ago. She had been up in the stirrups so many times now that the stress of the ordeal had almost diminished to that of a visit to the dentist-but not quite. Unlike many German women, Ilse possessed an extreme sense of modesty about her body.
    She suspected it was because she had never known her mother, but whatever the reason, being forced to expose herself to a stranger, albeit a doctor, for her required a considerable act of will. Only her strong desire to have children allowed her to endure the interminable series of examinations and therapies designed to enhance fertility.
     
    "All done, Frau Apfel," Doctor Grauber said. He handed a slide to his waiting nurse. Ilse heard that hard snap as he stripped off his surgical gloves and raised the lid of the waste bin with his foot. It crashed down, sending gooseflesh racing across her neck and shoulders.
     
    "I'll see you in my office after you've dressed."
     
    Ilse heard the door open and close. The nurse started to help her out of the stirrups, but she quickly raised herself and reached for her clothes.
     
    Dr. Grauber's office was messy but well-appointed, full of books and old medical instruments and framed degrees and the smell of cigars.
     
    Ilse noticed none of this. She was here for one thing-an answer.
     
    Was she pregnant or was she sick? The two possibilities wrestled in her mind. Her instinct said pregnant. She and Hans had been trying for so long now, and the other option was too unnatural to think about.
     
    Her body was strong and supple, lean and hard. Like the flanks of a lioness, Hans said once (as if he knew what a lioness felt like).
     
    How could she be sick? She felt so well.
     
    But she knew. Exterior health was no guarantee of immunity. Ilse had seen two friends younger than she stricken with cancer. One had died, the other had lost a breast. She wondered how Hans would react to something like that. Disfigurement. He would never admit to revulsion, of course, but it would matter. Hans loved her body-worshipped it, really. Ever since their first night together, he had slowly encouraged her until she felt comfortable before him naked.
     
    Now she could turn gracefully about the room like a ballerina, or sometimes just stand silently, still as alabaster.
     
    "That was quick!" Dr. Grauber boomed, striding in and taking a seat behind his chaotic desk.
     
    Ilse pressed her back into the tufted leather sofa. She wanted to be ready, no matter what the diagnosis. As she met the doctor's eyes, a nurse stepped into the office.
     
    She handed him a slip of paper and went out. Grauber glanced at it, sighed, then looked up.
     
    What he saw startled him. The poise and concentration with which Ilse watched him made him forget the slip of paper in his hand. Her blue eyes shone with frank and disarming curiosity, her skin with luminous vitality. She wore little or no makeup-the luxury of youth, Grauber