I'm having an affair with the owner of this flat?"
"It's an empty bed, not even slept in-"
"We had a lovers' quarrel. He drank too much and we fought."
Karin was within arm's reach of her weapon, and neither of the Nazis had bothered to un holster his.
"You've never had such fights with your women? If not, you're children!" She lunged for the gun, grabbed it, and fired into the first neo as the stunned second unstrapped his holster.
"Stop or you're dead!" said De Vries.
As she spoke, the steel-plated bedroom door swung open, crashing into the wall.
"Oh, my God!" roared Witkowski, snapping on the light.
"She's got a live one."
"I thought it took a truck or a battering ram to get in here," said Karin, visibly shaken.
"Not if you've got grandchildren who visit you in Paris; they can get real playful. There's a concealed button in the frame." It was as far as the colonel got. An ear-shattering siren erupted, so loud that within seconds lights were turned on in the nearby buildings.
"They're coming to stop you from leaving!" cried De Vries.
"Let's welcome them, youngster," said Witkowski. He and Latham ran through the living room to the front door. The colonel opened it, he and Drew standing concealed behind the door itself.
Two men rushed in, their automatic weapons on rapid fire, blowing up whatever was in their paths. The colonel and Drew took aim, and shooting three rounds apiece, shattered the arms and hands of the killers. They collapsed, writhing and moaning.
"Cover them!"
shouted Witkowski, racing into the kitchen. Seconds later the siren stopped and the hallway lights were out. The colonel returned, giving his orders rapidly as clamoring footsteps, growing fainter, could be heard running down the hallway steps.
"Tie, these sons of bitches up and throw them into the guest bathroom along with the live one in my bedroom. We'll give the gendarmes the bastard Karin sent to Valhalla'
"The police will want to know what happened, Stan."
"Until tomorrow-this morning-that's their problem. I just want to pull some diplomatic strings and get these scum on one of our supersonics to Washington. With no announcement except to
Suddenly a scream came from the bedroom; it was Karin. Drew raced through the door and saw her, weapon hanging at her side, staring at the still, wide-eyed figure across the bed.
"What baPPened?"
"I'm not sure. He reacfied for his collar and bit into it. Seconds later he collapsed."
"Cyanide." Latham felt the young neo's throat for a pulse.
"Deutschland fiber Alles, " he said softly.
"I wonder if this kid's mother and father will be proud. Christ, I hope not."
heir hands and forearms bandaged, their shirt collars ripped off, Zero Five, Paris, sat with Paris Two Tin the cramped quarters of the jet flying across the Atlantic to Washington. It was unlikely they would be executed, thought Five; the Americans were weak in that area, especially if a prisoner appeared irrational and repentant. He nudged the scholarly Zero Two, who was dozing.
"Wake up," he said in German.
"Was ist?"
"What should we do when we get there? Have you any ideas?"
"A couple," replied Two, yawning.
"Let's hear them."
"The Americans are, by nature, given to violence, although their leaders pontificate otherwise. Equally ingrained is a proclivity for seeking out conspiracies, no matter how remote they may be. Our leaders have their mistresses, who cares? Their leaders enjoy a whore, and suddenly they're tied to the overlords of crime. Do such men really need criminals to provide such women for them? It's ludicrous, but the Americans accept it; their hypocritical puritanism rejects natural law. A life of monogamy is simply not the nature of the male animal."
"What the hell are you saying? You're not answering me."
"Certainly I am. When we get there we feed both their hypocrisy and their need for conspiracy."
"How?"
"They believe, or surely must believe by now, that we're an elite branch of the Broderschaft, and in a way we are, although not in the way they think. What we must do is to pretend we really are important. That we have ties to the zealots in Bonn who see us as the true storm troopers, who confide in us because they need us."
"But they don't. We have no names, only codes that change twice weekly. The Americans will put us under drugs and learn this."
"These days the truth serums are no more reliable than hypnosis in sophisticated circles; one can usually be programmed to resist them. U.S. intelligence knows that."
"We haven't been programmed."
"Why should we be? As you say, we have no names, only