Fury seemed to envelope Richter. He exploded from his seat. "Master plan!" he roared. "While I was sitting in my office, shaking with anger and calling my supporters and trying to resurrect my dignity, I asked myself, 'If Dominique is not the supporter of my cause, as he represented himself to be, then what is he?' And I realized that he is a beekeeper. He is raising us here in Germany and America and Britain to buzz through the corridors of power to sting, to distract, to disorient. Why? So that the backbone of each nation, its business and industry, invests its capital and future in the only stable site in the west: France." Richter calmed, but his eyes remained fierce. "I believe that Dominique wants to create an industrial oligarchy with himself at its head."

Jean-Michel said, "M. Dominique wants to expand his industrial power base, yes. But he doesn't want it for himself or even for France. He wants it for Europe."

Richter snickered. "Lass mich in Ruhe," he said dismissively. He sat back with the guns close by. Then he reached over to the bar between the seats, drank from a bottle of sparkling water, and shut his eyes.

Leave him alone, Jean-Michel thought. This was insane. Richter was insane. There were two bodies in the car, the world was about to be disordered and reconfigured, and this madman was taking a nap.

"Herr Richter," Jean-Michel implored, "I urge you to cooperate with M. Dominique. He can and he will help you, I promise."

Without opening his eyes, the German said, "M. Horne, I don't care to listen to anymore. It's been a long and stressful day and it will be two hours, at least, before we reach our destination. Some of the country roads are a bit shabby. You might want to close your eyes as well. You look a little peaked."

"Herr Richter, please," Jean-Michel persisted. "If you'd only listen."

Richter shook his head. "No. We'll be silent now, and later, you will listen. And then you will report to Dominique. Or perhaps you will elect to remain here. Because you will see why I am confident that Felix Richter and not Gerard Dominique will be the next Führer of Europe."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Thursday, 5:47 P.M.,

Hamburg, Germany

The Ambassador Hotel was located on Heidenkampsweg, on the other side of Hamburg. Hood was barely aware of being driven through the crowded streets or over the crisscrossing beauty of the narrow canals and basins. When the car pulled up, Hood bolted out and ran to the house telephones. He asked the operator for Ms. Bosworth. An awful silence followed, as he waited to be told that she had checked out or that she had lied to him about where she was staying and there was no one here by that name.

"Hold on, please," the operator said in English, "and I will ring that room for you."