Games of State

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

The police car raced along the Autobahn at over one hundred miles an hour. Hauptmann Rosenlocher was looking to his left, past the driver, watching for any sign of activity.

He was running without a siren, the driver flashing his toplights briefly at anyone who happened to get in the way.

One man sat silently in the backseat. He wore the blue uniform of the Landespolizei. Along with his commander, he was watching the road.

Behind Rosenlocher's car were two other cars, designated Two and Three. Each one carried six men of his fifteen-man tactical force. Five of the men were armed with.30 M1 carbine rifles used for sniping. Five had HK 53 submachine guns. All.carried long-barrelled Walther P1 pistols. All were watching for the young woman and the man in the wheelchair.

The silver-haired, craggy-faced officer wondered if Richter had bought the bluff. Rosenlocher himself didn't have any experience in these PSYOPS, psychological operations. His expertise was in riot control and undercover operations. But General Rodgers assured him it had worked for one of his colleagues in a situation in 1976 involving the Croatian hijackers of a TWA jet over Paris. And what General Rodgers had said made sense. Most revolutionaries, especially new and insecure ones, could be convinced that there were traitors in their midst. Often, there were.

The officer's phone rang. "Ja?" "Hauptmann Rosenlocher, it's Rodgers. We've finally got all of you on satellite. Bob and the girl are about three kilometers north of you, headed toward the Autobahn. The neo-Nazis were stopped but now they're moving again. It'll be close as to who reaches them first." The Hauptmann checked the odometer, then leaned toward his driver. "Go faster," he said softly.

The baby-faced driver grunted.

"Thank you, General," said Rosenlocher. "I'll call back the moment I have something to report." "Good luck," said Rodgers.

Rosenlocher thanked him again, then peered ahead.

The shotgun was in a rack on the back of his seat. He reached around and grabbed it. His palms were as sweaty as always before he went into action. Though unlike most situations, he ached for this one to develop into "a shooting war." He cherished any excuse to strike at the brutes who wanted to destroy his country.

"A little bit faster," he said to the driver.

The driver pursed his lips and leaned into the gas pedal.

The night sped by. The other cars sped up. And then he saw two pale figures amidst the dark foliage on the left side of the road. They ducked back quickly.

"That was one arm of Richter's team," the Hauptmann said. "I can smell those bastards at one hundred twenty miles an hour. Slow down." The driver obliged. Seconds later, two people struggled from the woods. A man in a wheelchair with a young woman behind him.

"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 Fhrer 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.