Hausen replied, “I believe we should do both. Crush them where we see them, then use laws to fumigate those who crawl under rocks.” “And you think this Karin Doring, or whoever, wanted the memorabilia for Chaos Days?” Herbert asked.
“Passing out those mementoes would tie recipients directly to the Reich,” Hausen said, thinking aloud. “Imagine how that would motivate each and every one of them.” “For what?” Herbert asked. “More attacks?” “That,” Hausen replied, “or perhaps nothing more than a year of loyalty. With seventy or eighty groups vying for members, loyalty is important.” Lang said, “Or the theft might swell the hearts of those who read about it in the newspapers. Men and women who, as Richard says, still privately revere Hitler.” Herbert asked, “What’s the scoop on the American girl?” Hausen said, “She’s an intern on the film. She was last seen inside the trailer. The police believe she may have been abducted along with it.” Herbert gave Hood a look. Hood thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Excuse me,” Herbert said. He wheeled himself from the table and patted the telephone on his armrest. “I’m going to find myself a nice, quiet corner and make some calls. Maybe we can add a little something to the intelligence pool.” Lang rose and thanked him, then apologized again.
Herbert assured him that there was nothing to apologize for.
“I lost my wife and my legs to terrorists in Beirut,” he said. “Each time they show their sick faces, it gives me a chance to hunt more of ’em down.” He looked at Hausen.
“These bastards are my toothache, Herr Hausen, and I live to drill the bastards.” Herbert swung himself around and wheeled his way through the tables. With his departure, Hausen sat and tried to collect himself. Hood looked at him. Liz was right: something else was going on here.
“We’ve been fighting this battle for over fifty years,” Hausen said gravely. “You can inoculate against disease and seek shelter from a storm. But how do you protect yourself from this? How do you fight hate? And it’s a growth business, Herr Hood. Every year there are more groups with more members. God help us if they ever unite.” Hood said, “My deputy director at Op-Center once said you fight an idea with a better idea. I’d like to believe that’s true. If not”— he cocked a thumb at Herbert, who was making his way onto a deck overlooking the river— “I’m with my intelligence chief over there. We hunt them down.” “They’re very well hidden,” Hausen said, “extremely well armed, and quite impossible to infiltrate because they accept only very young new members. We rarely know in advance what they are planning.” “Only for now,” Matt told him.
Lang looked at him. “What do you mean, Herr Stoll?” “You know that backpack I left in the car?” Hausen and Lang both nodded. Stop smiled. “Well, if we can all get together on this ROC thing, we’re going to blow a lot of rotten slices right out of the bread box.”
CHAPTER NINE Thursday, 11:42 A.M., Wunstorf, Germany
When Jody Thompson heard the shouts outside the trailer, she thought Hollis Arlenna was calling for her.
Standing in the bathroom, she flipped even faster through the garments, cursing the prop people who had labeled them in German and Arlenna for being such a dork.
Then she heard the gunfire. She knew it wasn’t a scene from the movie. She had all the guns in here, and Mr. Buba was the only one with a key. And then she heard the cries of pain and fear, and knew that something terrible was going on. She stopped checking the garment bags and leaned an ear close to the door.
When the trailer engine first roared, Jody thought that someone was trying to get it away from whatever was happening on the set. Then the door slammed and she heard someone moving around inside. The person didn’t speak, which she knew was a bad sign. If it were a guard, he’d be on his walkie-talkie.
Suddenly, the bathroom seemed very warm and close.
Noticing that the door wasn’t locked, she gingerly lifted the bolt and threw it. Then she squatted between the garment bags, holding on to them so she didn’t fall over. She was going to stay put until someone came to get her.
She listened intently. Jody hadn’t worn her watch, and her only sense of time passing was through sound. The intruder looking through the daggers on the far left table.
Footsteps moving around the table filled with medals. Chests opening and closing.
Then, over the drone of the ceiling fan, Jody heard the intruder rattle the closet door, on the other side of the trailer. A moment later there were four loud pops.
Jody squeezed the garment bags so tightly that her nails went through one of them. What the hell was going on out there? She backed against the wall, away from the door.
Her heart was punching up against her jaw.
She heard the closet door bang open as the trailer turned a corner. A table leg scraped the floor as the person moved around it— not gingerly, as Jody had before, but roughly, impatiently.
The intruder was coming toward the bathroom door.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem like such a good idea to be in here.
Jody looked up, around, behind her. She saw the frosted glass of the window. But because of the metal bars, no one could get in. Or now, out.
Jody ducked down as the bathroom door handle jiggled. She hunkered down low behind the gently swaying clothes, then crept back beside the toilet. The tiny shower stall was to her rear and she leaned against the glass door.
Her heart beat a heavy crunch, crunch, crunch in her ears.
She started to whimper and bit the side of her thumb to keep from being heard.
A burst of gunfire drowned out the sound of her heart, of her whimpering. She screamed into her thumb as wood and plastic chips flew from the door, pelting the floor and garment bags. Then the door squeaked outward and a gun barrel pushed through the neat row of German uniforms. It pushed them to the side and a face peered down at her. A woman’s face.
Jody looked from the compact machine-gun-like weapon to the coldness in the woman’s liquid gold eyes. The girl was still biting on her thumb.
The woman motioned up with the gun and Jody stood.
Her hands dropped to her sides and perspiration poured down her thighs.
The woman said something in German.
“I— don’t understand,” Jody said.
“I said pick up your hands and turn around,” the woman barked in thickly accented English.
Jody raised her hands face-high, then hesitated. She had read, in one of her classes, about how hostages were often shot in the back of the head.
“Please,” she said, “I’m an intern. I was assigned to this movie a few—” “Turn!” the woman snapped.
“Please don’t!” Jody said, even as she did what she was told.
When she was facing the window, Jody heard the uniforms being moved aside and felt the warm metal of the gun against the top of her neck.
“Please…” she sobbed.
Jody started as the woman patted her left side from breast to thigh, and then her right. The woman reached in front and felt along her waistband. Then she turned Jody around. The gun was pointing toward her mouth.
“I don’t know what this is about,” Jody said. She was crying now. “And I wouldn’t tell anyone anything—” “Quiet,” the woman said.
Jody obeyed. She knew that she would do anything this woman told her. It was frightening to discover how completely her will could be suppressed by a gun and a person who was willing to use it.
The van stopped suddenly and Jody stumbled toward the sink. She hurried back to her feet, hands raised. The woman hadn’t moved, didn’t look as if her thoughts had been disturbed.
The trailer door opened and a young man walked over.
He stood behind Karin and looked into the bathroom. He had a pale complexion and a swastika carved in his head.
Without taking her eyes off Jody, Karin turned slightly toward the young man and said, “Begin.” The man clicked the heels of his boots, turned, and started loading the relics into the trunks.
Karin continued to stare at Jody. “I don’t like killing women,” the woman said at last, “but I cannot take hostages. They slow me down.” That was it. Jody was going to die. She went numb.
She began to sob. She had a flashback to being a little girl, to wetting her pants in first grade when the teacher had yelled at her, to crying and not being able to stop, to the other children laughing at her. Every scrap of confidence and accomplishment and dignity flooded away.