Ballon said, 'It's probably worth a try. The danger is that they may use you as hostages. Shoot you one by one until I come out.' 'How do we prevent that?' Nancy asked.
'If that happens,' Ballon said, 'I'll signal my men by radio. They're trained for situations like that.' 'But there are still no guarantees,' Hood said.
The New Jacobin shouted again. He said he would send his people in if everyone else didn't come out.
'No,' Ballon agreed, 'there are no guarantees. But if that happens, they'll have to put each hostage in the doorway so I can see. And if I can see, I can shoot. And if I shoot, whoever is holding the hostage will go down. Then you had all better run.' Hood envied the Frenchman his gall. From Mike Rodgers, he had learned that that was what it took to run an operation like this. He himself wasn't so confident right now.
His thoughts were with his wife and children. He was thinking about how much they needed him and how dearly he cherished them. How it all could end here because of one wrong word or a misstep.
He looked over at Nancy, who was wearing a sad halfsmile.
He wished he could make it all up to her, his part in the turns her life had taken. But there wasn't much he could do right now, and he wasn't sure there would be a later. So he just smiled at her warmly and her own smile broadened.
For now, that would have to do.
'All right,' Ballon said to the others. 'I want you to get up and walk slowly toward the door.' They hesitated.
'My legs aren't moving,' Stoll said.
'Make them,' Hood said as he rose, followed by Nancy and very reluctantly by Stoll.
'Here I thought we were the good guys,' Stoll said. 'Do we raise our hands or just walk? What do we do?' 'Try and calm down,' Hood said as they made their way between the banks of computers.
'Why do people always say that?' Stoll asked. 'If I could, I would.' Nancy said, 'Matt, now you're getting on my nerves.
Can it.' He did, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.
Hood watched the New Jacobin who had spoken, the man closest to the door. He had a thick black beard and mustache and was dressed in a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. An assault rifle was tucked under his arm. He looked like he wouldn't hesitate to use it.
The three were quiet until they walked through the doorway. Hood saw Hausen facing a brick wall, his hands pressed against it, his legs spread. One of the men was pointing a pistol up against the base of his skull.
'Oh, shit,' Stoll said as he entered the small, dark corridor.
The three Americans were grabbed by two men each and pushed against the wall. Guns were placed against the backs of their heads. Hood moved his head slightly so he could see the man in charge. The New Jacobin was cool, standing sideways so he could see his prisoners and also look into the room.
Beside him, Nancy was trembling slightly. To her right, Stoll was trembling even more. He was looking down the corridor as though weighing an escape.
'We have a search warrant,' Stoll said softly. 'I thought this was all legal.' The leader barked, 'Tais-toi.' 'I'm not a commando,' Stoll said. 'None of us is. I'm just a computer guy!' 'Quiet!' Stoll's mouth closed audibly.
The New Jacobin leader studied them for a moment and then turned back to the doorway. He shouted for the last man to come out.
Ballon yelled back in French, 'When you let the others go, I'll come out.' 'No,' said the New Jacobin. 'You come out first.' Ballon didn't answer this time. Clearly, he intended to leave the next move up to the enemy. And the next move was for the leader to nod toward Hausen. The New Jacobin standing behind the German grabbed his hair. Nancy screamed as the man walked him toward the door. Hood wondered if they were even going to give Ballon the chance to come out, or if they were just going to shoot the German and throw his body in and threaten to throw someone else in text.
A gunshot popped from somewhere in the darkness, toward the door which led to the main corridor. It took a moment of searching before Hood could see that with all the shouting and shuffling, no one had heard Ballon's men remove the ornate knob from the door. They had a clear shot at everyone in this corridor.
The man holding Hausen had fallen. He was squeezing his right thigh and crying. Hausen seized on the moment of confusion to run toward the door, in the direction from which the shot had come. None of the New Jacobins fired.
Obviously, they feared being cut down if they did.
Hausen opened the door and disappeared. There was no one on the other side. They must have seen him coming and taken cover.
Hood didn't move. Though the man behind him was looking away, he still felt the pressure of the front sight and muzzle on the top of his neck.
Perspiration trickled down his armpits and along the sides of his chest. His palms grew clammy against the cold brick wall and he promised himself that if he survived this he'd not only hug each member of his family for a good long time, but also Mike Rodgers. The man had spent his life surviving situations like these. Hood's respect for him suddenly grew very, very deep.
As he was thinking that, his hands began to vibrate.
No, Hood thought. Not just my hands. The old bricks themselves were beginning to tremble. Then the sky outside the barred windows brightened. The air itself seemed to rattle. And the New Jacobin leader shouted for his men to finish the job and leave.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The footsteps were gaining on them. But as Herbert wheeled himself through the woods, he wasn't thinking about them. He wasn't thinking about anything except what he had overlooked in the pressure of escaping from the camp. The key to survival, to victory.
What the hell was that name?
Jody grunted as they moved slowly through the dark.
Herbert almost asked her to get behind him and kick him.
I can't remember.
He would. He had to. He couldn't let Mike Rodgers win this one. Rodgers and Herbert were both fans of military history, and they had debated the point many times over. If you had a choice, they had asked each other, would you rather go into battle with a small band of dedicated soldiers or an overwhelming force of conscripts.
Rodgers invariably favored greater numbers, and there were strong arguments for both points of view. Herbert pointed out that Samson beat back the Philistines using only the jawbone of an ass. In the thirteenth century, Alexander Nevsky and his poorly armed Russian peasants repulsed the heavily armored Teutonic knights. In the fifteenth century, the small band of Englishmen who fought beside Henry V at Agincourt defeated vastly superior numbers of Frenchmen.
But Rodgers had his examples as well. The brave band of Spartans were defeated by the Persians at Thermopylae in 480 B.C.; the Alamo fell to Santa Anna; and then there was the British 27th Lancers cavalry, the 'Light Brigade' which was cut down in its self-defeating charge during the Crimean War.
Add to the list of the doomed Robert West Herbert, he thought as he listened to the footfalls and cracking twigs.
The guy who didn't have the goddamn brains enough to write down the name that could have saved them. At least he would die in good company. King Leonidas. Jim Bowie.
Errol Flynn.
Thinking about Flynn helped him stay loose as he psyched himself up to make a stand against all these enemies. He only hoped that Jody would run. The thought of fighting to save her gave him extra adrenaline.
And then, because he wasn't thinking about it, the name he'd been trying to remember came back to him.
'Jody, push me,' he said.
