Karin turned. She looked through the flames. "I have no right to lead anyone while those two live. I stood by Richter and watched as my people, my soldiers, did nothing." She spotted a pathway through the shrinking fires and picked her way through the thinning smoke. Manfred lumbered after her.

"You can't chase a car," Manfred said.

"He's driving without headlights on a dirt road," she said. She broke into a slow jog. "I'll catch him or I'll track him. It won't be difficult."

Manfred trotted after her. "You're not thinking," he said. "How do you know he's not waiting for you?"

"I don't."

"What will I do without you?" Manfred yelled.

"Join up with Richter, as you said."

"That isn't what I mean," he said. "Karin, let's at least talk--"

She began to run.

"Karin!" he yelled.

She enjoyed the explosion of energy and the breathless dodging as she moved through the trees arid across the uneven terrain.

"Karin!"

She didn't want to hear anything else. She wasn't sure how much her supporters had failed her and how much she had failed them. All she knew was that to atone for her role in the debacle, to feel clean again, she had to wash her hands in blood.

And she would. One way or another, tonight or tomorrow, in Germany or in America, she would.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Thursday, 9:32 P.M.,

Toulouse, France

Hood was looking out the window as Hausen guided the jet to a careful, easy landing. Hood had no doubt about where they were headed. A bright spotlight mounted high on the small terminal shone down on a band of eleven men clad in jeans and workshirts. A twelfth man was dressed in a business suit. As he watched the young fellow check his watch repeatedly or brush down his hair, Hood could tell he wasn't a lawman. He didn't have the patience for it. Hood also knew right off which man was Ballon. He was the one with the bulldog expression who looked as though he wanted to bite someone.

Ballon walked over before the plane had come to a complete stop. The man in the business suit scurried after him.

"We didn't even get bags of peanuts," Matt Stoll said as he undid his seatbelt and drummed his knees.

Hood watched as Ballon-- and it was the bulldog he'd picked out-- ordered his men to roll the stairway toward the jet. When the copilot finally opened the door, it was waiting.

Hood ducked through the door. He was followed by Nancy, Stoll, and Hausen. Ballon glanced at them all, but his gaze lingered harshly on Hausen. It snapped back to Hood when he reached the tarmac.

"Good evening," Hood said. He held out his hand. "I'm Paul Hood."