Games of State

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Karin Doring coolly brushed away the fiery beads of gas which rained down on her. Her mind was on the cowardly behavior of her followers, but she refused to allow that to distract her. Like a fox, her eyes were on her prey.

She watched the retreating car through the flame and smoke, through the rushing, tumbling mass of her followers.

Clever man, she thought bitterly. No headlights. He was backing away, driving by the dull glow of his braking lights. And then those lights went off. The SA dagger dangled from her belt hook by its metal clasp. The gun she held would be for the man. The dagger: that was for the girl.

Manfred grasped her shoulder from behind. "Karin! We have wounded. Richter needs your help to restore—" "I want those two," she sneered. "Let Richter deal with the bedlam. He wanted to lead. Let him." "He can't lead our people," Manfred said. "They won't accept him yet." "Then you do it." Manfred said, "You know they'll only march into Hell for you." Karin rolled her shoulder to throw off Manfred's hand.

Then she turned on him, her expression feral. "Into Hell?

They scattered like cockroaches when the American turned on them. They were beaten back by one man in a wheelchair with only an hysterical girl to help him! They shamed me. I shamed myself." "All the more reason to put the incident behind us," Manfred said. "It was a fluke. We let down our guard." "I want revenge. I want blood." "No," Manfred implored. "That was the old way. The wrong way. This is a setback, not a defeat—" "Words! Bullshit words!" "Karin, listen!" Manfred said. "You can rekindle the passion another way. By helping Richter lead us all to Hanover." Karin turned. She looked through the flames. "I have no right to lead anyone while those two live. I stood by Richter and watched as my people, my soldiers, did nothing." She spotted a pathway through the shrinking fires and picked her way through the thinning smoke. Manfred lumbered after her.

"You can't chase a car," Manfred said.

"He's driving without headlights on a dirt road," she said. She broke into a slow jog. "I'll catch him or I'll track him. It won't be difficult." Manfred trotted after her. "You're not thinking," he said. "How do you know he's not waiting for you?" "I don't." "What will I do without you?" Manfred yelled.

"Join up with Richter, as you said." "That isn't what I mean," he said. "Karin, let's at least talk—" She began to run.

"Karin!" he yelled.

She enjoyed the explosion of energy and the breathless dodging as she moved through the trees arid across the uneven terrain.

"Karin!" She didn't want to hear anything else. She wasn't sure how much her supporters had failed her and how much she had failed them. All she knew was that to atone for her role in the debacle, to feel clean again, she had to wash her hands in blood.

And she would. One way or another, tonight or tomorrow, in Germany or in America, she would.