"It says in James 2:10, 'For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become guilty of all of it.' " Hausen removed his hand. "I believe in the Bible, but I believe in that above all."

"Gentlemen… meine Herren," Stoll sail. "Come hither, please."

Hood was more curious than ever about Hausen, but he recognized that familiar something's-wrong urgency in Stoll's voice. And he saw Lang with his hand over his mouth, as if he'd just witnessed a car crash.

Hood gave the stoic Hausen a reassuring pat on the back of the shoulder, then turned and hurried to the computer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Thursday, 9:50 A.M.,

Washington, D.C.

"I thank you, General. I thank you very sincerely. But the answer is no."

Sitting in his office, leaning back in his chair, Mike Rodgers knew very well that the voice on the other end of the secure telephone was sincere. He also knew that once the owner of that strong voice said something, he seldom retracted it. Brett August had been that way since he was six.

But Rodgers was also sincere-- sincere in his desire to land the Colonel for Striker. And Rodgers was not a man who gave up on anything, especially when he knew the subject's weaknesses as well as his strong points.

A ten-year veteran of the Air Force's Special Operations Command, August was a childhood friend of Rodgers who loved airplanes even more than Rodgers loved action movies. On weekends, the two young boys used to bicycle five miles along Route 22 out to Bradley Field in Hartford, Connecticut. Then they'd just sit in an empty field and watch the planes take off and land. They were old enough to remember when prop planes gave way to the jet planes, and Rodgers vividly remembered getting juiced up whenever one of the new 707s would roar overhead. August used to go berserk.

After school each day, the boys would do their homework together, each taking alternate math problems or science questions so they could get done faster. Then they would build model airplanes, taking care that the paint jobs were accurate and that the decals were put in exactly the right place. In fact, the only fistfight they'd ever had was arguing about just where the white star went on the FH-1 Phantom. The box art had it right under the tail assembly, but Rodgers thought that was wrong. After the fight, they limped to the library to find out who was right. Rodgers was. It was halfway between the fin and the wing. August had manfully apologized.