The stretch limousine arrived at Jean-Michel's hotel promptly on the half hour.
The afternoon news had been full of the St. Pauli fire along with condemnation for the club's owner. Feminists were glad and Communists were glad and the press behaved as though they had been vindicated. It seemed to Jean- Michel that Richter was as widely castigated for his career in the escort and social club trade as he was for his political beliefs. Old tape was run of Richter defending himself, claiming that he was in the 'peace of mind' business. The company of females put men at ease so that they could meet great challenges. His businesses made this possible.
And Richter is no fool, Jean-Michel had thought as he watched the broadcasts. Condemnation by feminists, Communists, and the press— none of whom were much liked by the average German— only served to drive those men closer to Richter's 21st National Socialist Party.
Jean-Michel had gone outside the hotel at 5:25.
Waiting under the awning, he had not been sure that Richter would come. Or if he did show up, that he wouldn't arrive with a truck filled with militiamen to exact vengeance for the fire.
But that wasn't Richter's style. From what they'd heard, it was Karin Doring's. Richter had pride, and after the limousine stopped and the doorman opened the door, Jean- Michel looked to his left. He nodded. M. Dominique had insisted that Henri and Yves go with him, and they climbed in with Jean Michel between them. They faced the rear of the car with their backs to the partition that separated them from the driver. Yves shut the door. Each man was an unhealthy gray in the dim light which passed through the dark-tinted windows.
Jean-Michel was not surprised to find Richter considerably more subdued than before. The German was sitting alone in the backseat, across from them. He sat quite still, looking at them but not speaking. Even when Jean- Michel greeted him, Richter nodded once but said nothing.
Once they were under way, the German didn't take his eyes off Jean-Michel and his bodyguards. He watched them from the shadows, his hands in the lap of his fawn-colored suit pants, his shoulders erect.
Jean-Michel didn't expect him to be talkative. However, as Don Quixote had said, it was the responsibility of the victor to minister to the wounds of the vanquished. And there were things which needed to be said.
'Herr Richter,' he said softly, 'it was not M.
Dominique's wish for things to escalate as they did.' Richter's eyes had been on Henri. They shifted to Jean- Michel, moving like tiny gears.
'Is that an apology?' the German asked.
Jean-Michel shook his head. 'Consider it an olive branch,' he said. 'One which I hope you'll accept.' Richter replied unemotionally, 'I spit on it and you.' Jean-Michel seemed slightly taken aback., Henri grumbled restlessly.
'Herr Richter,' said Jean-Michel, 'you must realize that you cannot beat us.' Richter smiled. 'Those are the same words Hauptmann Rosenlocher of the Hamburg police has used for years. Yet I'm still here. And thank you for the fire, by the way. The Hauptmann is so busy trying to figure out who wanted me dead that he and his overworked staff of uncorruptibles have allowed me to slip away.' Jean-Michel said, 'M. Dominique is not a policeman. He has been a very generous benefactor. Your political offices were untouched and M. Dominique has made money available to you so that you can reestablish yourself professionally.' 'At what price?' Richter asked.
'Mutual respect.' 'Respect?' Richter snapped. 'It's subservience! If I do what Dominique wishes he'll allow me to survive.' 'You don't understand,' Jean-Michel insisted.
'Don't I?' Richter replied.
The German reached into his jacket pocket, and both Henri and Yves started forward. Richter ignored them. He withdrew a cigarette case, put a cigarette in his mouth, and replaced the case. He froze, looking at Jean- Michel.
'I understand you very well,' Richter said. 'I've been thinking all afternoon, trying to understand why it was so important to keep me down.' He withdrew his hand, and before Jean-Michel saw that he was not holding a cigarette lighter, it was too late. The compact FN Model Baby Browning pistol spit twice, once to the left of Jean-Michel, once to the right. The bang was loud, drowning out the distinctive thunk as the bullet passed through the forehead of each bodyguard.
As the car turned left, both bodies slumped toward the driver's side. His ears buzzing, Jean Michel made a long, frightened face as Henri flopped against him. Brownish-red blood pooled in the small, neat wound and spilled over. It streamed down the bridge of the dead man's nose. Half screaming, half-moaning, Jean-Michel used a shoulder to nudge the body against the door. Then he looked at the dead Yves, whose bloody trickle had broken into spidery red lines on his face. Finally, Jean-Michel turned terror-wide eyes on Richter.
'I'll have them buried in the woods when we arrive,' said Richter. He spat the cigarette to the floor. 'By the way, I don't smoke.' Still holding the gun, the German leaned forward. He removed the pistols in Yves's and Henri's shoulder holsters and placed one of the guns on the seat to his right. He examined the other.
'An F1 Target Pistol,' Richter said. 'Army issue. Were these former army men?' Jean-Michel nodded.
'That would explain their incredibly poor reflexes,' Richter said. 'The French military never did know how to train soldiers to fight. Not like the German military.' He set the guns down, patted Jean-Michel's chest and pockets to make sure he had no weapons, then sat back. He crossed his legs and put his hands on his knee.
'Details,' Ricther said. 'If you see them, smell them, hear them, remember them, then at worst you will survive and at best you will succeed. And trust,' he said darkly, 'is something you should never give. I made the mistake of being honest with you, and I paid for it.' 'You tortured me!' Jean-Michel practically screamed.
Jean-Michel was unnerved by the presence of the dead men, but he was rattled even more by the cavalier way with which Richter had dispatched them. The Frenchman fought the impulse to throw himself from the door of the limousine. He was M. Dominique's representative. He must try to maintain his composure, his dignity.
'Do you really think that's why Dominique attacked me?' Richter asked. He smiled for the first time, seemed almost paternal now. 'Be wise. Dominique attacked me to put me in my place. And he has. He reminded me that I belong on top of the ladder, not in the middle.' 'On top?' Jean-Michel said. The man's gall was astounding. Indignation helped Jean-Michel forget his fear, his vulnerability. 'You are on top of nothing but two corpses' — he shook his hands toward either side— 'for which you will be made to account.' 'You are wrong,' the German replied evenly. 'I still have my fortune, and I'm on top of the largest group of neo- Nazis on earth.' 'That's a lie. Your group is not—' 'What it was,' Richter interrupted. He smiled mysteriously.
Jean-Michel was confused. Confused and still very frightened.
Richter settled back into the thick leather seat. 'This afternoon was quite an epiphany, M. Horne. You see, we all get caught up in business and objects and trappings. And we lose sight of our own strengths. Stripped of my livelihood, I was forced to ask myself, 'What are my strengths? What are my goals?' I realized I was losing sight of those. I did not spend the remainder of the afternoon mourning what happened today. I telephoned my supporters and asked them to come to Hanover this evening at eight o'clock. I told them I'll have an announcement to make. One that will change the tenor of politics in Germany— in all of Europe.' Jean-Michel watched him, waiting.
Richter went on. 'Two hours ago, Karin and I agreed to merge Feuer and the 21 st Century National Socialists. We will announce the union in Hanover tonight.' Jean-Michel sat forward abruptly. 'The two of you? But this morning you said she wasn't a leader, she—' 'I said she wasn't a visionary,' Richter pointed out.
'That's why I will lead the new union and she'll be my field commander. Our party will be known as Das National Feuer- The National Fire. Karin and I will be meeting at her camp. We'll lead her people to Hanover and there, with my followers, as well as the thousand or so believers who are already present, nearly three thousand of us will create an impromptu march the likes of which Germany hasn't seen for years. And the authorities will do nothing to stop us.
Even if they suspect Karin of today's attack on the movie set, they won't have the courage to arrest her. Tonight, M.
Horne— tonight you will see the birth of a new force in Germany, led by the man you sought to humble this afternoon.' As Jean-Michel listened, he was struck with the numbing realization of what he had wrought, how he had let M. Dominique down. For a moment, the Frenchman forgot his fear.
Jean-Michel said quietly, 'Herr Richter. M. Dominique has plans of his own. Grand plans, better financed and farther along than yours. If he can throw the United States into turmoil— and he can, and will— he can certainly fight you.' 'I expect him to try,' said Richter. 'But he won't take Germany from me. What will he use? Money? Some
