"I'm not sure," Herbert said. He looked around. "I see lime trees, a lot of gardens, a lake." A large sign flashed by. "Thank you, God. I'm at a place called Welfengarten."

"Bob," said Rodgers, "Darrell's here. He's got the phone number of the local police. Can you write it down and call?"

Herbert reached into his shirt pocket for a pen. He doodled on the dashboard to get the ink flowing. "Shoot," he said.

But before he could write it down, the van rammed his fender. As the car bolted forward, the shoulder strap of the seatbelt tore into his chest. Herbert swerved to avoid a car in front of him.

"Shit!" he yelled. He drove around the car and sped up. "Listen, General, I've got troubles."

"What?"

"These guys are ramming me. I'm going to pull over before I cream a pedestrian. Tell the Landespolizei I'm in a white Mercedes."

"No, Bob, don't stop!" Rodgers yelled. "If they get you into the van, we're screwed!"

"They're not trying to kidnap me!" Herbert shouted back. "They're trying to kill me!"

The van smashed into him again on the left rear side. The right side of the car hopped onto the sidewalk, where Herbert nearly clipped a man walking his terrier. Herbert managed to swerve back onto the road, though his right front fender clipped a parked car. The collision tore the fender down and caused it to scrape noisily against the asphalt.

He stopped. Afraid the chrome might rend his tire, Herbert threw the car into reverse to try to rip the fender free. It came loose with a slow groan and a loud squeal, then clattered to the street.

Herbert looked in his side mirror to make sure he could pull away again. The scene was surreal. Pedestrians were running and cars were now racing past. And before he could safely return to the now-disordered flow of traffic, the van pulled up beside him, on the left. The figure in the passenger's seat faced him. He stuck a submachine gun from the open window and trained it on the car.

He fired.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Thursday, 4:33 P.M.,

Hamburg, Germany

Dressed in a short black skirt and jacket, with a white blouse and pearls, Nancy looked as if she were walking from a mirage. Hazy, slow, rippling.

Or maybe she looked that way because of the tears in Hood's eyes.

He winced, shook his head, made fists, felt a thousand different emotions with every step she took.

It is you. That was the first.

It was followed by, Why did you do it, damn you?

Then, You're more breathtaking than I remembered

And, What about Sharon? I should leave, but I can't.

Finally, Go away. I don't need this