Herbert obeyed. He lifted them slowly, face-high. As he did so, the man walked toward him through the darkness. As he approached the wheelchair, fell within the glow of the flashlights; Herbert could see that the man was a police officer. But he wasn't dressed like any of the officers at the van. This man was wearing what looked like a police-issue blue overcoat and a cap.

And then it hit him. The siren. The sudden termination of the chase. The drive out here. The whole thing had been a setup.

"Nice," Herbert said.

The police officer stopped a few feet away-- too far to reach even if Herbert could snatch his stick from under the armrest. The man stood with his legs shoulder-width, his expression hidden in the shadows under the brim Of his cap. Through the open front of his coat, Herbert saw a cellular phone hooked to his black leather belt.

The intelligence chief just looked up at him and said, "They called you from the van when they were still in the city, didn't they? They pretended to run from your siren, knew I'd follow them, and then you followed me."

The officer did not appear to understand. Not that it mattered. Herbert was disgusted with himself. It would have been easy for the police to find out who had rented the car. He'd made it even worse for himself by using. his corporate damn charge card. National Crisis Management Center, U.S.A., the official name of Op-Center. That, coupled with his dramatic appearance in Hanover, told them he was probably looking for something. After calling Jody's name, they knew exactly what. The only way he could have made this any easier for them was by handing out copies of the NRO photographs.

He was glad, at least, that that hadn't been Jody the satellite saw in the tree. If she'd been here, she'd be seconds from death, along with him.

Herbert wasn't going to ask the man for his life. He didn't want to die, but he couldn't live with himself knowing he'd asked a dirtbag like this for anything. He'd gotten sloppy, and this was the price. At least, he told himself, he wouldn't have to schlep all the way back to the car.

I wonder if I'll hear the crack of the gun before the bullet hits, he thought. He was near enough. It would be close.

"Auf Wiedersehen, " the German said to him.

CHAPTER FORTY

Thursday, 6:26 P.M.,

Toulouse, France