Games Of State (1996)
Page 34
Suddenly, three shots flashed in the trees. Karin lurched but remained standing as they struck her in succession. She looked up as Bob Herbert stirred in the lower branches. Karin dropped to her knees, blood oozing from the wounds.
Herbert dropped his gun to the ground, then lowered himself from the branch. He hung there from his powerful arms. "Right about now I'll bet she's glad she's not you, Karin."
Karin struggled to keep her eyes open. She was shaking her head slowly, trying to raise the gun. It dropped to the ground. A moment later, she followed it.
Jody refused to look at Karin. She kicked away the body of the dead policeman they'd placed in the wheelchair. Then she ran over to Herbert. He dropped into the seat. Jody leaned against the tree.
"You had to do it and you did it like a pro," Herbert said. "I'm proud of you." Herbert started to reach for the gun he'd dropped. "Let's get the hell--"
Before he could finish, a hulking figure screamed and charged at him from the dark. His knife raised high, the enraged Manfred Piper brought the knife down hard toward Herbert's chest.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Thursday, 10:06 P.M., Toulouse, France
After putting the phone back in his jacket, Hood made his way back up the grassy slope. Though the group was still standing beside the trees, Stoll had moved a few yards away, toward the bridge. There, he had an unobstructed view of the river and the opposite bank.
As Hood approached, he heard Ballon talking to Nancy.
"... if they do see us, they can go to Hell. I don't care. It was the same when I walked in on my former wife and her lover. Not liking what you see won't make it go away."
"That wasn't what I asked," Nancy said. "I asked if you hope that someone from Demain sees us. And if they do, what you think will happen."
"We're on public land," Ballon said. "If they see us, they can do nothing. In any case, I don't think Dominique will pick a fight. Certainly not now, with his games downloading."
Hood stopped beside Hausen. He was about to take him aside when Ballon walked over.
"Is everything all right?" the Colonel asked.
"I'm not sure," Hood said. "Matt, have you got everything under control?"
"More or less," Stoll said. He was sitting with his legs straight out. The computer was resting on his knees and he was leaning into it, typing furiously. "What's the word for anal?"
Ballon answered, "Fidele is retentive--"
"I'll accept that," Stoll said. "Our boy is certainly fidele. The first game came on promptly at ten. And I mean promptly: 10:00:00. I saved it on the hard drive. I've got the T-Bird covering about thirty-eight degrees with each picture, so I should have a complete sweep in about ten minutes."
"And then?" Hood asked.
Stoll said. "I have to start playing the game and get to different screens, different landscapes."
"Why don't you download it to Op-Center?"
"Because what I'm doing is just what they'd do," he said. "I'm writing a small modification to the MatchBook program so it can read images from the T-Bird. Then it's in the lap of the gods. If I don't screw up too much, the background images will keep scrolling along. I'll get a ping when there's a match." Stoll finished typing, then sucked down a deep, deep breath. He booted the game. "I can't say I'm going to enjoy this thing. It's a lynch mob."
Nancy had walked over while he was speaking. She knelt behind him and gently put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll help you, Matt," she said. "I'm pretty good at these."
Hood regarded them for a moment. The way she'd touched Matt made him jealous. The way her hands floated down and came to rest like falling flower petals filled him with longing. And the way he was feeling filled him with disgust.
Then, with perfect timing, Nancy turned slowly and looked at Hood. She moved slowly enough so that he could have looked away if he'd wanted. But he didn't. Their eyes hooked and he tumbled right into them.
It took the thought of Hausen to snap Hood from Nancy's spell. His unfinished business with the German was more pressing.
"Herr Hausen," Hood said, "I'd like to talk to you."
Hausen looked at Hood expectantly, almost eagerly. "Of course," he said. The German was obviously excited by what was happening, but for which side?
Hood put his hand on the German's shoulder and led him toward the river. Ballon followed several steps behind. But that was all right: this involved him too.
"That call I just had," Hood said. "It was from Op-Center. There's no delicate way to ask this, so I'll ask it directly. Why didn't you tell us your father worked for Dupre?"
Hausen stopped walking. "How do you know that?"
"I had my people look into German tax records. He worked as a pilot for Pierre Dupre from 1966 to 1979."
Hausen waited a long time before answering. "It's true," he said. "And it was one of the things Gerard and I argued about that night in Paris. My father taught him how to fly, treated him like a son, helped teach him to hate. "
Ballon stopped beside the men. His face was just inches from Hausen.
"Your father worked for this monster?" the Colonel said. "Where is your father now?"
"He died two years ago," Hausen said.
"There's more, though," Hood said. "Tell us about your father's political affiliations."
Hausen took a long breath. "They were corrupt," he said. "He was one of the White Wolves, a group which kept Nazi ideals alive after the war. He met with other men regularly. He ..." Hausen stopped.
"He what?" demanded Ballon.
Hausen composed himself. "He believed in Hitler and the goals of the Reich. He viewed the end of the war as a setback, not a defeat, and continued it in his own way. When I was eleven"--he breathed deeply again before continuing--"my father and two of his friends were coming home from the movies when they attacked a rabbi's son on his way home from synagogue. Afterwards, my mother sent me to boarding school in Berlin. I didn't see my father until years later, after Gerard befriended me at the Sorbonne."
"Are you trying to tell me that Gerard went to the Sorbonne just to become your friend and bring you back?" Hood asked.
"You must understand," Hausen said, "I was a force to be reckoned with from an early age. What my father had done revolted me. I can still hear him calling me to join them, as though it were a carnival sideshow I mustn't miss. I can hear the young man's moans, his attackers's blows, the way their shoes scraped against the pavement as they moved around him. It was disgusting. My mother loved my father and sent me away that night to keep us from destroying one another. I went to live with a cousin in Berlin.
"While I was in Berlin I formed an anti-Nazi group. I had my own radio program when I was sixteen and police protection a month later. One of the reasons I left the country to go to school was to get away from the death threats. I was never insincere about my convictions." He glared at Ballon. "Never, do you understand?"
"What about Gerard?" Hood asked.
"It isn't much different from what I told you earlier," Hausen said. "Gerard was a rich, spoiled young man who learned about me from my father. He viewed me as a challenge, I think. The White Wolves had failed to stop me through intimidation. Gerard wanted to stop me through argument and intellect. The night he killed those girls he was trying to show me that only sheep and cowards live inside the law. Even as we fled he said that the people who change the world operate by their own rules and make others live by them."
Hausen looked down. Hood glanced at Ballon. The Frenchman was angry.
"You were involved in those killings," said the Colonel, "yet you did nothing except to run and hide. Whose side are you on, Herr Hausen?"
"I was wrong," Hausen said, "and I've been paying for it ever since. I would give anything to go back to that night and turn Gerard in. But I didn't. I was scared and confused and I ran. I've been atoning, M. Ballon. Every day and night, I atone."
Hood interjected, "Tell me about your father."
Hausen said, "I saw my father twice after the night
he attacked the Jewish boy. Once was at the Dupre estate when Gerard and I fled there. He asked me to join them and said it was the only way I could save myself. He called me a traitor when I refused. The second time was the night my father died. I went to his side in Bonn and with his dying breath he called me a traitor again. Even on his deathbed I wouldn't give him the acquiescence he sought. My mother was there. If you'd like, you can call her on Mr. Hood's telephone to confirm it."
Ballon looked at Hood. Hood continued to look at Hausen. He felt the same way he did on the jet. He wanted to believe in this man's sincerity. But there were lives at risk and despite everything Hausen had said, there was still the hint of a doubt.
Hood took the phone from his pocket. He punched in a telephone number. John Benn answered.
"John," Hood said, "I want to know when Maximillian Hausen died."
"The suddenly ubiquitous Nazi," Benn said. "That'll take a minute or two. Do you want to hold on?"
"I do," said Hood.
Benn put him on hold. Hood regarded Hausen. "I'm sorry," Hood said, "but I owe this to Matt and Nancy."
"I would do the same," said Hausen. "But I tell you again, I despise Gerard Dominique and the New Jacobins and the neo-Nazis and everything they represent. If it hadn't smacked of Nazism itself, I might have turned in my own father."
"You've had some difficult choices to make," Hood said.
"That I have," said Hausen. "You see, Gerard was wrong. It takes a coward to operate outside the law."
John Benn came back on. "Paul? Hausen the Elder died two years ago next month. There was a short obituary in a Bonn newspaper--ex-Luftwaffe pilot, private pilot, etcetera."
"Thanks," Hood said. "Thanks very much." He hung up. "Again, Herr Hausen, I'm sorry."
"Again, Mr. Hood," said Hausen, "there's no need to--"
"Paul!"
Hood and Hausen looked at Stoll. Ballon was already running over.
"What've you got?" Hood asked as they followed Ballon.
"Bupkis," he said. "I mean, however I poke and prod it, my machine isn't fast enough to do an analysis before 2010. I was about to call Op-Center for help when Nancy found something better."
She rose and said to Ballon, "In other Demain games you can skip to the next level by pausing the game and pushing the arrows on the keypad in a certain sequence--down, up, up, down, left, right, left, right."
"And?"
"And we're already on level two of this game," she said, "without having played level one."
"Would Dominique really have been stupid enough to put the same cheat codes in one of these games?" Hood asked.
"That's just it," Nancy said. "It's already in the computer. It has to be removed, not put in. Somewhere along the line somebody forgot to delete it."
Ballon was standing very tall and looking toward the factory.
"How about it?" Hood asked the Colonel. "Is that good enough for you?"
Ballon snatched the radio from his belt. He looked at Matt. "Did you save the game on your computer?"
"The jump from level one to level two has been copied and stored," he said.
Ballon turned on his radio and put it to his mouth. "Sergeant Ste. Marie?" he said. "Allons!"
FIFTY-EIGHT
Thursday, 10:12 P.M., Wunstorf, Germany
Manfred attacked with the knife stabbing down toward Bob Herbert in his wheelchair.
For someone who can stand up, defending against a knife attack is relatively simple. You think of your forearm as a two-by-four. You extend it downward or upward and catch the attacker's forearm with your forearm. Then you pinwheel that two-by-four of yours, use it to redirect the attacker's momentum up and away, in and away, or down and away. At the same time you step out of the way. This enables you to prepare for the next slash or stab. Or better still, since you've probably exposed their side or back by maneuvering them away, you have the chance to beat the hell out of your opponent.
If you're in close or underneath your attacker, you still use your forearm for defense. Only now you bend your arm at the elbow first. Forming a "V," you catch the attacking arm firmly with your forearm. Retaining forearm-to-forearm contact you redirect the arm up, down, or to the side, just as you did with a straight-arm defense. The only difference is that you must block closer to your wrist than to your elbow. Otherwise the knife may slide down your forearm, slip under the elbow, and stab you.
Because Manfred was bringing his arm down, with his full weight behind the knife, Bob Herbert had to bend his elbow to stop him. He raised his left arm up, his forearm across his upturned forehead, his fist tight to strengthen the arm. As he met and stopped the attacking arm, he hit Manfred's exposed jaw with a hard right jab. The raging German barely seemed affected by the blow. He drew his blocked arm back, cocked it to his right, and slashed toward the left, toward Herbert's chest.
Herbert dropped his left forearm, made a "V," and blocked again. Somewhere behind him he heard Jody scream. But Herbert was too focused, too determined to keep the brute away to tell her to run. More soldiers died in hand-to-hand combat because they were distracted than because they didn't know what to do.
This time, Manfred refused to be stopped. Though his arm was blocked, he bent his wrist. His hand moved as if it were independent of the rest of him. He pointed the blade toward Herbert, the knife-edge pressing against his flesh. Herbert was one second away from having his wrist slashed.
He bought himself another second by pushing his left arm toward Manfred to relieve the pressure. While Manfred adjusted to put the knife back in position, Herbert reached his free right hand over his blocking left. Grabbing the knife hand, he dug his thumb between Manfred's tight thumb and index finger and wrapped the rest of his fingers around Manfred's fist. Dropping his blocking forearm to get it out of the way, he twisted Manfred's fist clockwise, hard and fast.
Manfred's wrist snapped audibly and the knife dropped to the ground. But the relentless Manfred was on it in an instant. Holding it in his left hand and howling with anger, he surprised Herbert by driving his knee into his gut. Herbert doubled over in his wheelchair and Manfred fell on top of him. Pinning Herbert back with his body, the German leaned over him, raised the knife, and plunged it into the back of the chair. The blade tore audibly through the leather as Jody screamed at the German to stop.
Manfred stabbed again, snarling ferociously. Then again. Then there was a loud pop and he stopped stabbing. He reached for his throat.
There was a hole in his flesh, a hole put there by a bullet fired by Jody from Karin's gun. Blood leaked from the two branches of his common carotid artery, just below the jawline. The knife fell from Manfred's hand and then Manfred fell from the wheelchair. He twitched for a moment and then was still.
Herbert turned and looked at the young woman's dark silhouette against the darker sky.
"Oh, God," she said. "Oh, God."
"Are you all right?" Herbert asked.
"I killed someone," Jody said.
"You had no choice."
She began to whimper. "I killed a man. I killed someone."
"No," Herbert said. He wheeled around and headed toward her. "You saved someone's life. Mine."
"But I ... I shot him."
"You had to, just like other people have had to kill in wars."
"A war?"
"That's exactly what this is," Herbert said. "Look, he didn't give you any choice. You hear me, Jody? You didn't do anything wrong. Nothing."
Jody stood there sobbing.
"Jody?"
"I'm sorry," she said to the body. "I'm sorry."
"Jody," Herbert said, "first of all, would you please do me a favor?"
"What?" she said numbly.
"Would you point the gun to the side?"
She did, slowly. Then she opened her hand and dropped it. Then she looked at Herbert as though she were noticing him for the first time. "You're not hurt," she murmured. "How did he miss?"
"I never go anywhere without my Kevlar-lining," he s
aid. "Multi-layered bullet-proofing in the back and seat. I got the idea from the President. The chair in the Oval Office is lined with it too."
Jody didn't seem to hear. She wavered for a moment, then followed the gun to the ground. Herbert rolled to her side. He took her hand and gave it a gentle tug. She looked up at him.
"You've been through a lot, Jody." He helped her to her knees. Then he pulled a little harder and she started to get back on her feet. "But you're almost at the finish line. The home stretch, from here to the Autobahn, is a little over a mile. All we have to do ..."
Herbert stopped speaking. He heard footsteps in the distance.
Jody looked at him. "What's wrong?"
Herbert listened a moment longer. "Shit!" he said. "Get up. Now."
She responded to the urgency in his voice. "What is it?"
"You've got to get out of here."
"Why?"
"They're coming--probably to check on the others." He pushed her. "Go!"
"What about you?"
"I'll get out of here too," he said, "but right now someone has to cover the retreat."
"No! I won't go alone!"
"Honey, this kind of stuff is what I'm paid to do. You're not. Think about your parents. Anyhow, I'd just slow you down. I'm better off digging in and defending us from here."
"No!" she yelled. "I'm not going alone."
Herbert realized that there was no point arguing with the young woman. Jody was scared, exhausted, and probably as hungry as he was.
"All right," he said. "We'll go together."
Herbert told Jody to retrieve the gun he'd used up in the tree. While she did, he wheeled over to Karin's body. He picked up her gun, then used his flashlight to search for the SA dagger she'd been holding. He slid it under his left leg, where it would be handy, then checked Karin's gun to make sure it still had a few rounds left. Then he went over to Manfred's body. He took the German's knife and felt for other weapons. There weren't any. He took a moment to examine the contents of Manfred's windbreaker pockets under his flashlight. Then he rejoined Jody, who was waiting several yards from the bodies.