Games of State o-3 Read online

  Hood took the phone from his pocket. He punched in a telephone number. John Benn answered.

  "John," Hood said, "I want to know when Maximillian Hausen died." "The suddenly ubiquitous Nazi," Benn said. "That'll take a minute or two. Do you want to hold on?" "I do," said Hood.

  Benn put him on hold. Hood regarded Hausen. "I'm sorry," Hood said, "but I owe this to Matt and Nancy." "I would do the same," said Hausen. "But I tell you again, I despise Gerard Dominique and the New Jacobins and the neo-Nazis and everything they represent. If it hadn't smacked of Nazism itself, I might have turned in my own father." "You've had some difficult choices to make," Hood said.

  "That I have," said Hausen. "You see, Gerard was wrong. It takes a coward to operate outside the law." John Benn came back on. "Paul? Hausen the Elder died two years ago next month. There was a short obituary in a Bonn newspaper— ex-Luftwaffe pilot, private pilot, etcetera." "Thanks," Hood said. "Thanks very much." He hung up.

  "Again, Herr Hausen, I'm sorry." "Again, Mr. Hood," said Hausen, "there's no need to—" "Paul!" Hood and Hausen looked at Stoll. Ballon was already running over.

  "What've you got?" Hood asked as they followed Ballon.

  "Bupkis, " he said. "I mean, however I poke and prod it, my machine isn't fast enough to do an analysis before 2010. I was about to call Op-Center for help when Nancy found something better." She rose and said to Ballon, "In other Demain games you can skip to the next level by pausing the game and pushing the arrows on the keypad in a certain sequence— down, up, up, down, left, right, left, right." "And?" "And we're already on level two of this game," she said, "without having played level one." "Would Dominique really have been stupid enough to put the same cheat codes in one of these games?" Hood asked.

  "That's just it," Nancy said. "It's already in the computer. It has to be removed, not put in. Somewhere along the line somebody forgot to delete it." Ballon was standing very tall and looking toward the factory.

  "How about it?" Hood asked the Colonel. "Is that good enough for you?" Ballon snatched the radio from his belt. He looked at Matt. "Did you save the game on your computer?" "The jump from level one to level two has been copied and stored," he said.

  Ballon turned on his radio and put it to his mouth.

  "Sergeant Ste. Marie?" he said. "Allons!"

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Thursday, 10:12 P.M., Wunstorf, Germany

  Manfred attacked with the knife stabbing down toward Bob Herbert in his wheelchair.

  For someone who can stand up, defending against a knife attack is relatively simple. You think of your forearm as a two-by-four. You extend it downward or upward and catch the attacker's forearm with your forearm. Then you pinwheel that two-by-four of yours, use it to redirect the attacker's momentum up and away, in and away, or down and away.

  At the same time you step out of the way. This enables you to prepare for the next slash or stab. Or better still, since you've probably exposed their side or back by maneuvering them away, you have the chance to beat the hell out of your opponent.

  If you're in close or underneath your attacker, you still use your forearm for defense. Only now you bend your arm at the elbow first. Forming a "V," you catch the attacking arm firmly with your forearm. Retaining forearm-to-forearm contact you redirect the arm up, down, or to the side, just as you did with a straight-arm defense. The only difference is that you must block closer to your wrist than to your elbow. Otherwise the knife may slide down your forearm, slip under the elbow, and stab you.

  Because Manfred was bringing his arm down, with his full weight behind the knife, Bob Herbert had to bend his elbow to stop him. He raised his left arm up, his forearm across his upturned forehead, his fist tight to strengthen the arm. As he met and stopped the attacking arm, he hit Manfred's exposed jaw with a hard right jab. The raging German barely seemed affected by the blow. He drew his blocked arm back, cocked it to his right, and slashed toward the left, toward Herbert's chest.

  Herbert dropped his left forearm, made a "V," and blocked again. Somewhere behind him he heard Jody scream. But Herbert was too focused, too determined to keep the brute away to tell her to run. More soldiers died in hand-to-hand combat because they were distracted than because they didn't know what to do.

  This time, Manfred refused to be stopped. Though his arm was blocked, he bent his wrist. His hand moved as if it were independent of the rest of him. He pointed the blade toward Herbert, the knife-edge pressing against his flesh.

  Herbert was one second away from having his wrist slashed.

  He bought himself another second by pushing his left arm toward Manfred to relieve the pressure. While Manfred adjusted to put the knife back in position, Herbert reached his free right hand over his blocking left. Grabbing the knife hand, he dug his thumb between Manfred's tight thumb and index finger and wrapped the rest of his fingers around Manfred's fist. Dropping his blocking forearm to get it out of the way, he twisted Manfred's fist clockwise, hard and fast.

  Manfred's wrist snapped audibly and the knife dropped to the ground. But the relentless Manfred was on it in an instant. Holding it in his left hand and howling with anger, he surprised Herbert by driving his knee into his gut.

  Herbert doubled over in his wheelchair and Manfred fell on top of him. Pinning Herbert back with his body, the German leaned over him, raised the knife, and plunged it into the back of the chair. The blade tore audibly through the leather as Jody screamed at the German to stop.

  Manfred stabbed again, snarling ferociously. Then again. Then there was a loud pop and he stopped stabbing.

  He reached for his throat.

  There was a hole in his flesh, a hole put there by a bullet fired by Jody from Karin's gun. Blood leaked from the two branches of his common carotid artery, just below the jawline. The knife fell from Manfred's hand and then Manfred fell from the wheelchair. He twitched for a moment and then was still.

  Herbert turned and looked at the young woman's dark silhouette against the darker sky.

  "Oh, God," she said. "Oh, God." "Are you all right?" Herbert asked.

  "I killed someone," Jody said.

  "You had no choice." She began to whimper. "I killed a man. I killed someone." "No," Herbert said. He wheeled around and headed toward her. "You saved someone's life. Mine." "But I… I shot him." "You had to, just like other people have had to kill in wars." "A war?" "That's exactly what this is," Herbert said. "Look, he didn't give you any choice. You hear me, Jody? You didn't do anything wrong. Nothing." Jody stood there sobbing.

  "Jody?" "I'm sorry," she said to the body. "I'm sorry." "Jody," Herbert said, "first of all, would you please do me a favor?" "What?" she said numbly.

  "Would you point the gun to the side?" She did, slowly. Then she opened her hand and dropped it. Then she looked at Herbert as though she were noticing him for the first time. "You're not hurt," she murmured. "How did he miss?" "I never go anywhere without my Kevlar-lining," he said. "Multi-layered bullet-proofing in the back and seat. I got the idea from the President. The chair in the Oval Office is lined with it too." Jody didn't seem to hear. She wavered for a moment, then followed the gun to the ground. Herbert rolled to her side. He took her hand and gave it a gentle tug. She looked up at him.

  "You've been through a lot, Jody." He helped her to her knees. Then he pulled a little harder and she started to get back on her feet. "But you're almost at the finish line. The home stretch, from here to the Autobahn, is a little over a mile. All we have to do…" Herbert stopped speaking. He heard footsteps in the distance.

  Jody looked at him. "What's wrong?" Herbert listened a moment longer. "Shit!" he said. "Get up. Now." She responded to the urgency in his voice. "What is it?" "You've got to get out of here." "Why?" "They're coming— probably to check on the others." He pushed her. "Go!" "What about you?" "I'll get out of here too," he said, "but right now someone has to cover the retreat." "No! I won't go alone!" "Honey, this kind of stuff is what I'm paid to do. You're not. Think about your parents.
Anyhow, I'd just slow you down. I'm better off digging in and defending us from here." "No!" she yelled. "I'm not going alone." Herbert realized that there was no point arguing with the young woman. Jody was scared, exhausted, and probably as hungry as he was.

  "All right," he said. "We'll go together." Herbert told Jody to retrieve the gun he'd used up in the tree. While she did, he wheeled over to Karin's body. He picked up her gun, then used his flashlight to search for the SA dagger she'd been holding. He slid it under his left leg, where it would be handy, then checked Karin's gun to make sure it still had a few rounds left. Then he went over to Manfred's body. He took the German's knife and felt for other weapons. There weren't any. He took a moment to examine the contents of Manfred's windbreaker pockets under his flashlight. Then he rejoined Jody, who was waiting several yards from the bodies.

  Most of the time Bob Herbert felt like someone from Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch, a cartoon show he used to watch when he was in the rehab center. It was about a freewheeling hero in a souped-up stunt racer. Now, for the first time since he lost the use of his legs, Herbert felt like Rambo. A single-minded man with a mission and the will to enforce it.

  Over a half-century before, a black man, Jesse Owens, had embarrassed Hitler by outracing his Aryan athletes in the Olympics. Tonight, Karin's angry pursuit had shown just how much Jody's survival had undermined her authority.

  Now, if a man in a wheelchair managed to escape these tough guys, it could very well end the myth of the Nazi superman. Certainly among this group.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Thursday, 10:41 P.M., Toulouse, France

  Hood didn't know what to expect as they marched toward the fortress which had become a factory. As his own small group crossed the ancient walkway behind Ballon and his men, he wondered how many besieging armies had come this way over the centuries. How many of them had enjoyed success and how many had met with disastrous failure.

  There was very little discussion of what they would do once they got inside. Ballon said that his intention had always been to find evidence tying Dominique to the New Jacobins, then arrest him. His men had been trained to do that. However, Hausen and Hood had persuaded him to let Matt and Nancy take a look in the computers to see what they could find there. Lists of New Jacobin members or sympathizers perhaps, or maybe more evidence linking Demain to the hate games. Either one would help to bring Dominique down.

  There was also very little discussion about what Dominique might do to prevent all this from occurring. The man not only commanded a terrorist army, he himself had killed. He would probably go to any lengths to protect his empire.

  Why not? Hood asked himself as they neared the main entrance. Dominique would probably find himself above the law. Since the crippling rail strike of 1995, France had been reeling from public sector labor disputes and crippling unemployment. Who would dare take on a big employer like Dominique? Especially if he claimed that he was being harassed. Even Ballon's superiors would have to acknowledge that their man was a fanatic. And that was if they were inclined to be charitable, thought Hood.

  An iron gate had been added to the perimeter of the bastide. The only concession to the modern day were small, black video cameras which looked out from the tops of the arabesque designs on top. There was a large red brick booth behind the gate, designed in the style of the edifice. As the group approached, two men emerged. One was a uniformed guard, the other a young man in a business suit. Neither seemed surprised by the arrival of Ballon's party.

  "Colonel Bernard Benjamin Ballon of Le Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale," Ballon said in French as he reached the gate. He withdrew a leather wallet, unfolded a document, and held it open on his side of the gate. "This is a search warrant, executed by Judge Christophe Labique in Paris and countersigned by my commander, General Francois Charrier." The man in the business suit extended a manicured hand through the gate. "I am M. Vaudran of the law firm Vaudran, Vaudran, and Boisnard. We represent Demain.

  Show me your warrant." "You understand that I'm only required to present the document and explain the purpose of my visit," Ballon said.

  "I will take it and read it and only then will you be admitted." "The law says you can read it while we search," Ballon informed him. "You are familiar with the law? You may have it as a keepsake once we're inside." Vaudran said, "I must show it to my client before I can admit you." Ballon glared at him for a moment; then held the document up to the camera on top of the gate. "Your client sees it," he said. "This is a warrant, not a request. Open the gate." "I'm sorry," the attorney said, "but you need more than a piece of paper. You need cause." "We have that," Bailon said. "Proprietary elements have appeared in both Demain computer games and a hate game on the Internet called Hangin' with the Crowd." "What kind of elements?" "A level-select code. We have it on computer. You are entitled to see it before a trial, not before a search. It's all in the warrant. Now, M. Vaudran, open the gate." The attorney regarded Ballon for a moment, then signaled his associate to return to the booth. The guard shut the wooden door and picked up a telephone.

  "You have sixty seconds," Ballon yelled to him. He looked at his watch. "Sergeant Ste. Marie?" "Yes, sir!" "You have charges to blow open the lock?" "Yes, sir." "Prepare them." "Yes, sir." The attorney said, "You realize what you're doing, I hope?" Ballon continued to look at his watch.

  "Careers have been ruined by lesser mistakes," Vaudran pointed out.

  "There's only one career at risk," Ballon said. He looked directly at the attorney. "No. Two." He looked down again.

  Hausen had translated the exchange for Hood, Stoll, and Nancy. As Hood stood watching, he wondered what they were going. to accomplish by this operation. Dominique had surely seen them outside and had concealed or destroyed anything incriminating. He was probably using these last minutes to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

  Less than a minute after leaving, the guard was punching a code into a panel in the booth. Ballon marshaled his men at the gate. A moment later the attorney had gone toward a side entrance of the main building and the French officers were inside. They marched up to a large golden door. One of the guards followed and opened the door by inputting a code in a box on the jamb. Ballon handed him the warrant before entering.

  As soon as Balloon's men were inside, they lined up at ease inside the front door. Ballon explained that if he found any material they wished to rmove, the men would be called to collect it and carry it to the van. Hood guessed that they'd done this so often in drills they could do it blindfolded. In the meantime, they were told to watch the exits and make sure no one left.

  Ballon and his party continued into the factory. They crossed a hallway which, if this were a tour and he were a tourist, would have caused him to linger and stare at the spectacular arches and intricate tableaux carved in the stone.

  Ballon's voice brought him back to the reason they were here.

  "This way," the Colonel said softly but imperatively when they reached the end of the long corridor.

  Ignoring the eyes of other guards who had also obviously been advised to let them pass, the quintet walked through a short passageway with small, barred windows to the door which led to the programming rooms of the Demain factory.

  Hood hadn't expected to see employees wandering about at night. But there weren't even cleaning crews afoot.

  Just the occasional guard, who ignored them.

  Despite the addition of lights, alarms, cameras, and modern flooring, the edifice retained its ancient character.

  That is, until a guard admitted them to the computer room.

  The former dining hall had been turned into something which resembled the National Reconnaissance Office. The walls were white and the ceiling lined with recessed fluorescent lights. There were glass tables lined with at least three dozen computer terminals. A vacuum-formed plastic chair was attached to the floor at each station. The only difference between Demain and the NRO was, again, that there were no people. Dominique wasn'
t taking any chances.

  The warrant was due to expire in just over an hour. If no one were there to answer questions, it had to slow them down.

  "This is some playroom," Stoll said as looked around.

  Ballon said to him, "Start playing." Stoll looked at Hood. Hood, nodded silently. Stoll took a breath and looked at Nancy. "Got a preference?" he asked.

  "It doesn't really matter," she said. "They're all hooked to the same master computer." Nodding, Stoll sat down at the nearest monitor, jacked his portable computer into the back of the computer, and powered up.

  "They've probably dropped inhibitors into the system," Nancy said. "How do you plan to get past those to the master system? I can probably help you with a few, but it will take time." "We don't need a lot of time," Stoll said. He slipped a diskette into his B drive and booted it. "I always carry the Bulldozer program I wrote. It starts with my fast-acting Handshake Locator, which works on finding the mathematical keys to undo encryption. It doesn't have to hit them exactly. If one-through-six and eight-through-ten don't work, it doesn't bother trying seven. Once Handshake learns some of the language, which only takes a few minutes, Bulldozer rolls in and searches for menus. Once I get those, I'm in. And while we look at the data here, I'll be dumping everything into Op-Center's computers." Ballon squeezed Stoll's shoulder, shook his head, and put a finger to his lips.