August ran toward the stairs which led to the cockpit. "Somebody wants that chopper to land and somebody else doesn't," he said. "If we don't get aboard it's going to do neither."

"Get aboard?" Hood shouted.

But the two NATO commandos arrived quickly and climbed on board, and the thunder of the powerful engines precluded an answer. Stoll jumped out of the Osprey's cabin. Hood and Nancy backed away, and less than two minutes after the helicopter had first been sighted the huge VTOL was airborne.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Friday, 12:04 A.M.,

Wunstorf, Germany

The police car raced along the Autobahn at over one hundred miles an hour. Hauptmann Rosenlocher was looking to his left, past the driver, watching for any sign of activity. He was running without a siren, the driver flashing his toplights briefly at anyone who happened to get in the way. One man sat silently in the backseat. He wore the blue uniform of the Landespolizei. Along with his commander, he was watching the road.

Behind Rosenlocher's car were two other cars, designated Two and Three. Each one carried six men of his fifteen-man tactical force. Five of the men were armed with.30 M1 carbine rifles used for sniping. Five had HK 53 submachine guns. All.carried long-barrelled Walther P1 pistols. All were watching for the young woman and the man in the wheelchair.

The silver-haired, craggy-faced officer wondered if Richter had bought the bluff. Rosenlocher himself didn't have any experience in these PSYOPS, psychological operations. His expertise was in riot control and undercover operations. But General Rodgers assured him it had worked for one of his colleagues in a situation in 1976 involving the Croatian hijackers of a TWA jet over Paris. And what General Rodgers had said made sense. Most revolutionaries, especially new and insecure ones, could be convinced that there were traitors in their midst. Often, there were.

The officer's phone rang. "Ja?"

"Hauptmann Rosenlocher, it's Rodgers. We've finally got all of you on satellite. Bob and the girl are about three kilometers north of you, headed toward the Autobahn. The neo-Nazis were stopped but now they're moving again. It'll be close as to who reaches them first."

The Hauptmann checked the odometer, then leaned toward his driver. "Go faster," he said softly.

The baby-faced driver grunted.

"Thank you, General," said Rosenlocher. "I'll call back the moment I have something to report."

"Good luck," said Rodgers.

Rosenlocher thanked him again, then peered ahead. The shotgun was in a rack on the back of his seat. He reached around and grabbed it. His palms were as sweaty as always before he went into action. Though unlike most situations, he ached for this one to develop into "a shooting war." He cherished any excuse to strike at the brutes who wanted to destroy his country.

"A little bit faster," he said to the driver.

The driver pursed his lips and leaned into the gas pedal.