Until now.
Because he didn’t want anyone in the camp to know he was coming, he wasn’t able to use the small, powerful headlights Op-Center’s Chief Electrician Einar Kinlock had built into his wheelchair. The ground was uneven and rough.
Sometimes it sloped sharply, other times it ended in sheer drops. In the dark, the chair was constantly getting caught in the undergrowth. Herbert had to push hard to escape, and twice he ended up on the ground. Righting the chair and climbing back in were the toughest things he’d ever had to do, and getting up the second time left him drained. As he settled into the leather seat, his shirt was wet with cold perspiration and he was so tired he was shaking.
He wanted to stop and call for help. But he reminded himself that he couldn’t be sure of anyone. That fear was more like the old Nazi Germany than anything he had encountered.
He continually checked the phosphorescent pocket compass he carried. But after more than an hour of pushing himself, he saw headlights about an eighth of a mile to the southwest. He stopped and watched carefully where the vehicle went. It was moving slowly along the rough road Alberto had told him about, and he waited as it passed.
Though the brake lights were dim, he saw them flash in the distance. The interior lights went on, dark figures moved away from him, and then there was blackness again, and silence.
Obviously, that was where he needed to be.
Herbert moved over the lumpy ground toward the car.
He avoided the road in case anyone else was coming, his arms nearly numb with the effort of crossing this last stretch of woods. He only hoped that Jody didn’t take him for a neo- Nazi and drop from a tree.
Upon reaching the car, a limousine, he edged forward.
The Skorpion was still in his lap, so he tucked it under his leg where it wouldn’t be seen. He could still grab it quickly if he had to. As he neared, he saw the tops of tents with smoke from campfires rising beyond them. He saw young men standing between the tents, looking toward the fires.
And then he saw at least two or three hundred people facing a clear spot by the lake, a spot where a man and a woman stood alone.
The man was speaking. Herbert wheeled himself behind a tree and listened, able to understand most of the German.
“…that this day ends an era of struggling at cross purposes. From tonight forward, our two groups will work together, united by a common goal and a single name: Das National Feuer.” The man shouted the name not just for effect but to be heard. Herbert felt his strength return as well as his anger rise as the crowd cheered. They whooped and raised both arms high as if their team had just won the World Cup.
Herbert wasn’t surprised that these people eschewed the Nazi salute and cries of Sieg Heil! Though they surely wished for salvation and victory, and though they had ruffians and killers among them, they were not the Nazis of Adolf Hitler.
They were far more dangerous: they had the advantage of having learned from his mistakes. However, almost everyone was holding something aloft, either a dagger or a medal or even a pair of boots. They were probably the artifacts stolen from the movie trailer. So Hitler wasn’t entirely unrepresented in this new Nuremberg rally.
Herbert turned from the fires so his eyes would again adjust to the darkness, and peered around for Jody.
When the cheering died, he heard a voice whisper behind him, “I waited for you.” Herbert turned and saw Jody. She looked nervous.
“You should’ve waited for me back there,” Herbert whispered, pointing the way he’d come. “I could’ve used some help.” He took her hand. “Jody, let’s go back. Please.
This is insane.” She gently tugged her hand away. “I’m scared, but now more than ever I have to fight it.” “You’re scared,” Herbert whispered, “and you’re also obsessing. You’re fixated on a goal which has taken on a life of its own. Believe me, Jody, going over to them isn’t as big as you’re making it.” Herbert’s voice was drowned out as the speaker continued. Herbert wished he didn’t have to hear him, his voice carrying clearly, forcefully, without a megaphone.
Herbert tugged at Jody. She refused to budge.
The German said, “The woman beside me, my coleader Karin Doring…” Applause rolled from the mob spontaneously, and the man waited. The woman bowed her head but didn’t speak.
“Karin has sent emissaries to Hanover,” the man shouted as the applause quieted. “In just a few minutes we will all go to the city, to the Beer-Hall, to announce our new union to the world. We will invite our brothers there to join the movement and together we will show civilization its future. A future where sweat and industry will be rewarded…” There was more applause and cheering.
“…where perverse cultures and faiths and peoples will be segregated from the heart’s blood of society…” The applause and cheering built. It remained strong.
“…where spotlights will play across our symbols, our accomplishments.” The applause grew to a torrent and Herbert used the cover of the din to yell at Jody.
“Come on,” he said, pulling at her hand again. “These people will fall on you like dingoes.” Jody looked out at them. Herbert couldn’t make out her expression in the dark. He had the urge to shoot her in the foot, throw her across his lap, and start wheeling back.
The speaker yelled, “And if the authorities in Hanover turn on us, let them! Let them! For over a year I have been personally harassed by Hauptmann Rosenlocher of the Hamburg police. If I drive too quickly he is there. If I play music too loudly he is there. If I meet with my colleagues, he is there. But he will not beat me. Let them target us individually or together! They’ll see that our movement is organized, that our will is strong.” Jody stared out at the rally. “I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to live pathetically.” “Jody, you won’t—” She wrenched her hand from Herbert. He didn’t try to get it back. He wheeled after her, cursing the stubbornness which had stopped him from getting a goddamned motor.
Then he cursed this kid who he understood and had to respect even though she didn’t listen to reason. Any more than he did.
As the applause died, Jody’s footsteps seemed quite loud to Herbert. Also, apparently, to the sentry nearest them, who turned. He saw them in the light of the files and shouted to the young men and women who were standing nearest to him. A moment later the sentry was moving forward and the others were forming a line behind him with the clear intention of letting Jody and Herbert nowhere near the front of the crowd or Karin Doring or Jody’s goal.
Herbert stopped. Jody did not. With a snort of disgust, Herbert wheeled after her.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT Thursday, 8:36 P.M., Southwest of Vichy, France
“There was never any question that I would know how to fly.” Paul Hood stood behind Richard Hausen as he piloted the Learjet through the skies over France. He was speaking, loudly to be heard over the two powerful turbofan engines.
Lang’s full-time pilot, Elisabeth Stroh, sat beside him. She was a handsome young brunette about twenty-seven, whose French and English were impeccable. Lang’s instructions to her had been to fly in with them, wait with the jet, and fly out with them again. Her conversation had been limited to communication with the tower in Hamburg and now in Toulouse, and remarks to the passengers about their flight plan. If she was interested in what Hausen was saying, she didn’t show it.
Hood had been sitting in the cabin with Stoll and Nancy. After nearly ninety minutes in the air, he needed to get away from them both: Stop because he hadn’t stopped talking, and Nancy because she didn’t want to start.
Seated in one of the plush sofas which lined the walls of the cabin, Stoll had been saying that he never thought of himself as a team player. He went to work for Op-Center, because he was a loner, because they needed a self-starter who liked to sit at a desk and write software and troubleshoot hardware. He pointed out that he wasn’t a Striker and was not obligated to go into the field. He was doing this out of respect for Hood, not courage. The rest of the time he spent complaining about possible glitches in the T-Ray. He said he wasn’t offering any guarantees. Hood told him he understood.
Nancy, on the other hand, sat looking out the window for most of the time. Hood asked what she was thinking about, but she wouldn’t say. He could guess, of course. He wished that he could comfort her.