Add to the list of the doomed Robert West Herbert, he thought as he listened to the footfalls and cracking twigs. The guy who didn't have the goddamn brains enough to write down the name that could have saved them. At least he would die in good company. King Leonidas. Jim Bowie. Errol Flynn.

Thinking about Flynn helped him stay loose as he psyched himself up to make a stand against all these enemies. He only hoped that Jody would run. The thought of fighting to save her gave him extra adrenaline.

And then, because he wasn't thinking about it, the name he'd been trying to remember came back to him.

"Jody, push me," he said.

She had been walking beside him. She stopped and got behind him.

"C'mon, push," he said. "We're going to get out of this. But we'll need time."

Jody put her tired back and wounded shoulder into the effort. Herbert reached for his weapon.

Unlike Flynn's doomed Major Vickers, Herbert was going to hold the enemy off. Though unlike Samson, he wasn't going to use the jawbone of an ass to do it.

He was going to use a cellular phone.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Thursday, 5:15 P.M.,

Washington, D.C.

The call was put through to Rodgers as he was waiting for an update from Colonel August.

Bob Herbert was on a cellular phone. Rodgers switched on the speaker phone so Darrell, Martha, and Press Officer Ann Farris could hear.

"I'm in the middle of a dark forest somewhere between Wunstorf and a lake," Herbert said. "The good news is, I've got Jody Thompson."

Rodgers sat up straight and triumphantly drove a fist into the air. Ann jumped from her chair and clapped.

"That's fabulous!" Rodgers said. He shot McCaskey a look. "You've done it while Interpol and the FBI are still asking questions and pissing off the German authorities. How can we help you, Bob?"

"Well, the bad news is we've got a bunch of Nazi wannabes on our butts. You've got to find me a phone number."

Rodgers leaned toward the keyboard. He alerted John Benn with an F6/Enter/17. "Whose number, Bob?"

Herbert told him. Rodgers asked him to hold on as he typed Hauptmann Rosenlocher, Hamburg Landespolizei.

McCaskey had swung over to take a look. While Rodgers sent the number over to Benn, McCaskey jumped to another phone and called Interpol.

"This Rosenlocher is a burr in the fur of the head Nazi," Herbert said, "and he may be the only man you can trust. From what I overheard he's in Hanover, I think."

"We'll find him and get him over to you," Rodgers said.

"Sooner would be better than later," Herbert said. "We're pushing on, but we're losing ground to these guys. I can hear the cars. And if they find the bodies we left in our wake--"

"I read you," Rodgers said. "Can you stay on the line?"