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."