“Stop!” Rosenlocher said.
The driver touched the brakes and pulled over as Rosenlocher picked up his radio. The other cars also slowed.
“Two and Three,” he said to the other cars, “you see them?” “We see them in Two.” “We’ve got them in Three.” The Hauptmann said, “Two, you cover the south flank.
Three, you pull up and take the north. I’ll bring them in.” The three cars stopped twenty meters apart on the side of the road. The drivers remained behind the wheels as the police officers emerged on the passengers’ sides. In the event of casualties, they would race to the hospital in Hanover. The officers in Two and Three moved south and north. In the dark, they set up a skirmish line behind the railing at the side of the road. If they or the Americans were fired upon, their orders were to shoot to kill.
Rosenlocher was the first one over the guardrail. He was less than thirty meters from the edge of the woods, where Bob Herbert and Jody Thompson were rushing to outrace their pursuers.
Rosenlocher raised the shotgun. He aimed at the area behind the woman where he saw movement.
“Come!” he called to Herbert.
Jody continued to push. She was panting and stumbling but she wasn’t stopping.
Rosenlocher watched the others. He saw faces in the headlights as traffic passed. Young faces. Some were angry, some were frightened. He knew that all it took was one misstep, for whatever reason, to cause this situation to get out of hand. He hoped that self-preservation would win out and no one would lose his cool.
He could see the Americans’ faces clearly now. Herbert was intense as he turned his wheels. Jody was sobbing as she half-pushed, half-leaned on the chair.
Rosenlocher concentrated his aim on a clutch of young men who had emerged from the woods. Bold men, obviously, willing to sacrifice their lives to make a statement. After a moment, however, he knew that they weren’t going to attack. Rosenlocher didn’t see Karin or Manfred. He didn’t know why they weren’t here, but he did know that without the head the body wasn’t going to think.
And without the heart it wasn’t going to act. Whatever these ruffians were capable of doing to lone adversaries, they weren’t willing to take on a trained force.
Herbert and Jody reached his side. As instructed earlier, the drivers of Two and Three got out to help Herbert over the fence. There was no sense of urgency, no panic.
Just a workman-like efficiency which was a hallmark of Rosenlocher’s squad.
As the police officers remained at their posts, the drivers helped Herbert and Jody into the first car. When they were safely inside, the men at the rail peeled off from the outside, one at a time. They went back to the passengers’ sides of the cars, where they covered the other men as they returned to the cars.
When everyone was safely away from the guardrail, Rosenlocher turned his back on the woods and walked to the car. He half-expected to die. There was always one coward in every crowd of terrorists or thugs. He kept his head erect.
Cowards were intimidated by men who refused to be. By men who didn’t fear. As he walked, he was completely aware of every sound, every step, knowing that each could be the last he enjoyed.
When he reached the car he walked to the passenger’s side and quietly instructed his men to get inside.
They drove off without incident.
Rosenlocher instructed his driver to go directly to the hospital. The man punched on the siren.
Sitting in the backseat of the police car, Jody fell against Herbert’s shoulder. She began crying big, heaving sobs.
“My arm hurts,” she cried.
“Hush,” Herbert said.
“Everything hurts. Everything.” Herbert cradled her head. “We’re going to get you taken care of,” he said softly. “You’re going to be okay.
You’re safe. You performed like a real hero.” She clutched him around the shoulder. Jody’s breath and her tears were warm against his neck. He held her even tighter, so proud of her that his own eyes misted over.
Rosenlocher said softly, “Are you all right, Herr Herbert?” “Yes,” Herbert said. “Very.” “Your friend the General was correct,” Rosenlocher said. “He told me all I had to do was buy you a few minutes.
‘Loosen the noose and Bob will slip out.’ ” “Sure,” Herbert said, “slip right from the gallows into quicksand. Thanks for hauling us out, Hauptmann. You’re gonna be on my Christmas card list for a long time.” Rosenlocher smiled. He turned around, picked up his car phone, and asked his dispatcher to put him through to General Rodgers in Washington.
The shotgun was between his legs. As he waited, Rosenlocher felt the weight of it against his right knee. It had taken a war to bring Hitler down. Once the police had transported Herbert and the girl to safety, they would return and track down the rest of these thugs. It would be ironic after all these years of chasing Felix Richter, after training for assaults and firefights, if the new Fhrer fell without a shot being fired.
Ironic but fitting, Rosenlocher thought. Perhaps we have learned something after all. If you confront tyrants early enough you’ll find that all of them are dressed in the Emperor’s New Clothes.
Rosenlocher savored that thought as he had the pleasure of passing the telephone back to Bob Herbert so he could tell his superior that the mission had been accomplished.
It had indeed.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE Firday, 12:16 A.M., Wunstorf, Germany
Felix Richter watched the members of his hunting party straggle back.
“Where are the Americans?” he demanded.
Rolf was among the first people to return. He looked at the bodies of Karin and Manfred. Their heads and shoulders had been covered by windbreakers. They reminded him of dogs which had been run over in traffic. He looked away.
Richter walked up to him. “What happened?” “The police were waiting,” he said. “There was nothing to do.” Richter screamed, “Is that what Karin Doring would have said? That there was nothing to do?” “Karin would have been there doing it,” someone yelled back, “not waiting for us to come back. Karin wasn’t a talker.” “I never said I was Karin Doring—” “No,” said Rolf, “you’re not. And I’m leaving.” Richter stepped in front of him. “Listen to me. All of you. You can’t let the legacy die because of a setback. We owe it to those who came before us to fight on.” Several people stopped to pick up the bodies. Others waited for them.
“Don’t let this end!” Richter said.
The men moved past him to join those who were still waiting at the camp. Rolf followed the flashlight beams which carved through the dark. Were these meager things the spotlights Richter had spoken of, the ones which were supposed to shine across their symbols and accomplishments?
“This is a setback, not a defeat,” Richter said. “Don’t let them stop us!” The men continued to walk.
Richter repeated the lines verbatim, his voice rising as he tried to reignite the fervor of the rally.
Jean-Michel said from behind, “They don’t care about your distinctions, Herr Richter. They only know that they’ve lost their heart. If you’re clever and determined, perhaps you’ll get some of them back. But now it is time to go home.” Jean-Michel looked toward the beams of light and followed, leaving Richter alone in the dark.
CHAPTER SEVENTY Friday, 12:17 A.M., Toulouse, France
The Osprey hung over the field like a storm cloud, dark and rumbling, its navigation lights flashing lightning.
Colonel August stood in the cockpit, behind the pilot, as the craft rose to one thousand feet.
The LongRanger was nearly three miles downriver, moving southeast. The helicopter still lurched and rollercoastered now and then, though less frequently now. It was like a bronco resigning itself to being broken. Only August didn’t want it resigning itself too fast. Legally, he suspected, he wouldn’t be able to justify what they were about to do unless the chopper was out of control and a threat to people on the ground.
“Approximate speed one-two-five miles an hour,” the pilot said as they watched the LongRanger recede.
The Osprey nosed down slightly, the props tilting forward as it moved ahead. At speeds of up to 345 miles an hour, the VTOL would overtake it quickly. However, the crew chief wasn’t ready yet. He and his three-man team were in the cargo bay readying a two-thousand-pound hoist with a two hundred-foot cable. The cable was used to pick up or deposit cargo in areas where the Osprey couldn’t land.
August had told them to get the hoist ready. When he told them why, Manigot and Boisard jokingly requested that they please be court-martialed and jump right to the execution instead. The end result would be the same.
But August didn’t believe that. He told them what he told everyone in his command. If a job is planned correctly and executed by professionals, it should go as smoothly as getting out of bed in the morning. And while there were always intangibles, that was what made the job exciting.