Dominique listened to it all without comment. When Jean-Michel was finished, he asked, “How is your eye?” “I think it will be all right,” said Jean-Michel. “I’ve arranged to see a doctor this afternoon.” “Good,” Dominique said. “You know you shouldn’t have gone without Henri and Yves. That is why I sent them.” “I know, monsieur,” Jean-Michel replied, “and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intimidate Herr Richter.” “And you didn’t,” Dominique said. His voice was tranquil and his wide mouth was relaxed. But his dark eyes were heavy with rage as he asked, “Is Henri there?” “Yes,” Jean-Michel replied.
“Put him on,” Dominique said. “And Jean-Michel? Be sure to take them with you tonight.” “I will, M. Dominique,” Jean-Michel replied.
So the little Fhrer is on the march, thought Dominique, bullying representatives. He wasn’t terribly surprised. Richter’s vanity made him ideally suited to believe his own press. That, plus the fact that he was German.
Those people did not comprehend the notion of humility.
Henri came on the line, and Dominique spoke with him for just a few seconds. When they were finished, Dominique punched off the speaker button and sat back.
Richter was as yet too weak to be a real force in Germany, but he would have to be put in his place before he became one. Firmly, and not necessarily gently. Richter was still Dominique’s first choice, but if he couldn’t have him he would have Karin Doring. She was also independent, but she also needed money. And after seeing what was going to happen to Richter, she would be reasonable.
The anger began to leave his eyes as he looked at the dark shape of the guillotine. Like Danton, who began his crusade against the monarchy as a moderate man, Dominique would become increasingly more severe.
Otherwise, his allies and enemies both would perceive him as weak.
It would be a delicate thing, making sure that Richter was disciplined without driving him away. But as Danton had said in a speech to the Legislative Committee of General Defense in 1792, “Boldness, and again boldness, and always boldness!” The boldness of the guillotine, the boldness of conviction. Then as now, that was what people required to win a revolution.
And he would win this. Then he would settle an old debt. Not with Richter but with another German. One who had betrayed him on that long-ago night. The man who had put everything in motion.
He would destroy Richard Hausen.
CHAPTER TWELVE Thursday, 11:55 A.M., Wunstorf, Germany
It was the bathroom fire alarm which stopped Jody from screaming.
Wisps of smoke seeping through the vent had triggered the alarm. The high whine pierced her panic and, brought her back to the moment, to the situation at hand. She breathed in, calmed herself, then exhaled.
They’re trying to blow the trailer up, she told herself.
As when she faced the gun, Jody knew that every second— any second— could be her last. Quickly, she went to the window and pushed her hand through the metal bars.
She threw the latch with her fingertips, put her palms to the frosted glass, and pushed up. She pressed her face to the bars and watched the twisted length of cloth as it burned. It wasn’t stuffed into the gas tank. It was just lying there, air flowing around it, providing the catalyst for the fire. She pushed her arm out the window, tried to reach the wick. She fell over a foot short.
“God, no!” She threw herself back from the bars, pushed her hair from her eyes, and looked around. There had to be something she could use to reach it. Sink. Toilet. Nothing.
The Sink— She thought of dousing the fire, but there was nothing in the bathroom to use as a bucket or ladle.
“Think!” she screamed.
She turned around slowly. She saw the shower, but there were no bath towels. She tried to pull the towel bar off the back of the stall, couldn’t, then noticed the showerhead.
It was attached to a hose.
Quickly turning on the water, she yanked the head from the hook and pulled it toward the window. It didn’t reach, short by inches.
The flame had nearly covered the mouth of the gas tank when, snarling with frustration, Jody dropped the showerhead and grabbed the hand towel. She pushed it in the toilet, then ran back to the window. Extending her hand, she swung the wet towel up and let it fall. She heard a hiss, then put her face to the window.
The upper portion of the flame had bin extinguished.
Part of the underside was still burning.
There was only the one towel, and it was gone now.
Quickly pulling off her blouse, Jody plunged it into the toilet.
This time, however, she slapped it as hard as she could against the side of the trailer. She didn’t drop it, but let the water trickle down the wall. Then she pulled in the blouse, wet it again, and slammed it even harder against the trailer.
The water ran down in a solid sheet, dousing the last of the flame and sending up a thin wall of smoke. It was the sweetest smell Jody had ever tasted.
“Screw you!” Jody shouted at the image of the woman in her mind. “I don’t like killing women,” she said. “Well you didn’t, bitch! You didn’t get me!” Jody pulled in her arm and put on the wet shirt. It was cold and felt good. She looked at the door.
“You’re next,” she said with fresh-earned confidence.
There was time, now, to work the towel bar from the shower stall. Putting her back against the front wall she kicked the bar free. Then she went to the bathroom door and put her shoulder to it. She opened it just enough to get the bar through, then used it as a lever. The door moved slowly, as Jody pulled against whatever had been pushed against it. After several minutes, she’d succeeded in opening a crack large enough for her to slip through.
She stepped over the upended table, ran to the door, and opened it.
“You didn’t get me!” she said again, her jaw outthrust and her fists raised. She turned and looked at the trailer.
A shock sizzled down her back.
What if they’re expecting to hear the explosion? she asked herself. And when they don’t, will they come back?
Exhausted, Jody ran to the other side of the trailer. She used a twig to pull the smoldering cloth from the gas tank, then climbed back into the cab. She pushed in the cigarette lighter. While she waited for it to heat up, she tore strips of cloth from the inside lid of one of the trunks in the trailer itself. When the lighter was ready, she lit one of the pieces and walked toward the gas tank.
Jody used one strip to dry off the area; then laid another strip half in and half out of the tank. She used the burning strip to ignite the one in the tank, dropped it, and ran into the woods, away from the trailer. In all her years of movie watching, she’d seen a lot of cars and trucks blow up.
But those were rigged to blow with carefully placed explosives, not a full tank of gasoline. She had no idea how big, how loud, or how destructive the blast would be.
It occurred to her to put her hands over her ears as she ran.
Only a minute or so passed when she heard the muffled timpani boom of the blast, followed by the louder rending of metal and the deafening explosion of the tires. A heartbeat later she was hit by the concussive heat wave which rolled from the blast. Jody felt the intense heat through her wet blouse and against her scalp. But she forgot about the heat as hot shards of metal rained down, along with particles of glass. She thought of the burning hail from The Ten Commandments, how when she saw the movie she remembered thinking there was no way to protect yourself from that. She dropped to the ground and covered her head with her arms, bent her chest to her knees. A large piece of fender tore through the canopy of trees and slammed to the earth just inches from her foot and she jumped.
She swung toward a tree and hugged it, kneeling, thinking that the branches might offer some protection against the larger chunks of the trailer. She held the tree tightly, sobbing again, as though all the courage had been drained out of her. She remained there even after the downpour had stopped. Her thighs were shaking wildly and she couldn’t stand. After a moment, she couldn’t even hold the tree anymore.
Letting go, Jody walked for a while. She was exhausted and lost and decided to rest. Though the soft, green grass looked inviting, she pulled herself up into a tree. Cradling herself in two closely spaced branches, she put her head on one of the branches and shut her eyes.