“Frankly, it didn’t occur to me until now,” she snapped., “I didn’t think of somebody sneaking hate games into the world through role-playing programs. Why didn’t Matt think of it? He’s your computer maven!” “She’s right,” Stoll said. “I should’ve. Like the old joke says, you go hunting for elephant, sometimes you forget to look in the refrigerator.” Hood didn’t remember the old joke, and didn’t care right now. He said; “So the hate games are hidden. Where do we look for them?” “And even if we find them,” Hausen asked, “can we trace them back to Demain?” “It’s tough to say where to look for them,” Stoll said.
“He could have had the program passed around like a football— The Scorpion Strikes to The Phoenix from Space to Claws of the Tiger-Man.” “Would the hate game program have to come to rest in a Demain game?” Hood asked.
“No,” said Stoll. “Once it was planted, it’s like a virus.
Timed to go off at will.” “So there’s no smoking gun,” Hood said.
“Right,” said Stoll. “Even if you could stop the program from being launched, which is debatable since he’d probably have a backup somewhere, there wouldn’t be any fingerprints on it.” Ballon said disgustedly, “That doesn’t help me. Not a bit.” Hood looked at his watch. “He’s going on-line now,” he said. “Nancy, are you sure you don’t know anything more about this? About his M.O. or about the programmers and how they work?” “If I did, Paul, I’d have told you.” “I know. I was just thinking maybe something slipped your mind.” “It didn’t. Besides, I don’t do the finishes on these programs. I write the parameters, the outlines, and other people color them in here. Paid big bucks and sequestered and loyal to the boss. When we do things like the extra game in the credits, that’s more or less an afterthought. This is way out of my area.” Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Stoll clapped his hands once and dropped to the grass. “I know how to do it. I know how to get that bastard!” Ballon crouched beside him. “How?” The others moved around them as Stoll unwrapped the cables for his portable computer. He attached the machine to the T-Bird. “The programmers work like painters. Like we saw in Mr. Hausen’s office, they take stuff from the landscape around them and use it in the games. It’s dark now, so we’d have a problem eyeballing scenery. But if I take terahertz pictures of the trees and the hills and everything else, the chemical compounds appear as visual data. That’ll give us the shape of things down to leaves and boulders. If we feed those into the computer—” “You can run a video comparison program to see if any of the images match up,” Nancy said. “Matt, that’s brilliant!” “Damn right,” he said. “With any luck, I can handle the whole thing here. If I need more juice, I can download to Op-Center.” As Stoll worked Hood watched, confused but trusting his associate. And as he stood there, his phone beeped. He stepped toward the river to answer.
“Yes?” “Paul?” said the caller. “It’s John Benn. Can you speak?” Hood said that he could.
“I have a full report for you, but here is the gist.
Maximillian Hausen, father of Richard Hausen, worked for Pierre Dupre from 1966 to 1979. His title was Pilot and then Senior Pilot.” “You said 1966?” Hood said.
“I did.” That was before Richard Hausen and Gerard Dupre went to school together. In which case, it was not likely that they met at the Sorbonne, as Hausen had said. They almost certainly knew each other before that. Hood glanced back at Hausen, who was watching Stoll. The question which bothered Hood was not so much when they met but whether they were still in contact now. Not as enemies, but as allies.
“There’s more,” Bern said. “Apparently, Hausen the Elder was a loyal Nazi who continued to meet in secret with other ex-Nazis after the war. They belonged to the White Wolves, a group which plotted the creation of the Fourth Reich.” Hood turned his back on the group. He asked quietly, “Was Richard a member?” “There’s no evidence one way or the other,” Benn said.
Hood was glad to hear that, at least. “Anything else, John?” “Not at present.” “Thank you,” Hood said. “This is all very helpful.” “You’re welcome,” Benn said, “and have a good night.” Hood clicked off, then stood for a moment looking at the dark waters of the Tarn. “I hope that’s possible,” he said under his breath as he turned and headed back to the others.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX Thursday, 10:05 P.M., Wunstorf, Germany
Jody moved as quickly as her sandbag-heavy legs and aching shoulder would permit. It was amazing, she thought, how she had always taken so many things for granted. A healthy body, for one. A walk through the woods for another. Pushing or sometimes pulling a wheelchair with someone in it made the exercise a much different proposition.
Add the fact that someone was chasing her, someone she could hear but couldn’t see, and every aspect of the experience became more vivid still.
She stumbled, got up, pushed, groaned, and leaned against the wheelchair. She relied on it nearly as much as it relied on her. And then she heard the woman’s voice shout from behind her.
“Don’t move another foot!” Jody stopped.
“Lift your arms.” Jody did.
“Take two steps to your left and remain facing away.” Jody obeyed. She listened as Karin Doring walked forward. The German was breathing heavily. Jody started as the woman put three bullets into the back of the wheelchair.
The dead body fell forward.
“God— god!” Jody gasped.
Karin circled the girl. Even in the dark the terrified young woman could see her angry expression. She also saw the SA knife.
“You dared come to my camp as you did!” Doring screamed at her. Her voice was angrier than it had been earlier in the day. She kicked the wheelchair out of her way.
“You dared to challenge me, to insult me!” “I’m sorry,” Jody said, trembling. “You— you would have done the same, wouldn’t you?” “You are not me!” Karin said. “You’ve paid no dues!” 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.
CHAPTER 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.