Games of State - Tom Clancy [68]
The neo-Nazis didn't move. Herbert rolled to within inches of their loafers and expensive running shoes, then stopped. In standoffs in Lebanon and other trouble spots, Herbert had always taken a low-keyed approach. There was an element of mutual assured destruction when standoffs ended prematurely: storm an airplane and you would get the hijackers but you might also lose some hostages. But no one could hold a hostage or stand in your way forever. If you waited long enough, a compromise could usually be reached.
"Excuse me," Herbert said.
One of the men glanced down at him. "No. This street is closed. It's a private party."
Herbert could smell the alcohol on his breath. He wasn't going to be able to reason with him. He looked at another man. "I've seen other people walking through. Will you excuse me?"
The first man said, "You are correct. You have seen other people walking through. But you are not walking so you may not pass."
Herbert fought the urge to run over this man's foot. All that would have done was bring a sea of steins and fists raining down on him.
"I don't want problems," Herbert said. "I'm just thirsty and I'd like to get a drink."
Several men laughed. Herbert felt like Deputy Chester Goode trying to enforce the law with Marshal Dillon out of town.
A man with a beer stein shouldered through the wall of men. He stood in front of them and held the beer straight out, over Herbert's head.
"You're thirsty?" the man said. "Would you like some of my beer?"
"Thanks," Herbert said, "but I don't drink alcoholic beverages."
"Then you are not a man!"
"Bravely spoken," Herbert said. He was listening to his own voice and was surprised at how calm it sounded. This guy was a chicken-shit with an army two or three hundred strong behind him. What Herbert really wanted to do was challenge him to a duel, like his daddy once did to someone who'd insulted him back in Mississippi.
The Germans were still looking down at him. The man with the stein was smiling but he wasn't happy. Herbert could see it in his eyes.
That's because you just realized you don't gain much by pouring it on me, Herbert thought. You've already said I'm not a man. Attacking me is beneath you. On the other hand, this man had a beery brashness about him. He might just bring the heavy bottom of the stein down on his head. The Gestapo consider Jews to be subhuman. Yet they used to stop Jewish men on the street and pull out their beards with pliers.
After a moment, the man with the stein brought it to his lips. He took a sip and held it in his cheeks for a moment as though contemplating whether or not to spit. Then he swallowed.
The man stepped next to the wheelchair, on the right side. Then he leaned heavily with one hand on the telephone armrest.
"You were told that this is very private party," the youth said. "You are not invited."
Herbert had had it. He'd come here to reconnoiter, to gather intelligence, to do his job. But these guys had presented him with the "unexpected" which was very much a part of HUMINT operations. Now he had a choice. He could leave, in which case he wouldn't be able to do his job and he would lose all self-respect. Or he could stay, in which case he would probably get beaten all to hell. But he might-- might-- convince some of these punks that the forces which had defied them once were alive and well.
He chose to stay.
Herbert looked into the man's eyes. "Y'know, if I had been invited to your party," he said, "I wouldn't attend. I enjoy socializing with leaders, not followers."
The German continued to lean on the armrest with one hand, holding his stein in the other. But looking into the German's blue-gray eyes, Herbert could see him deflating inside, his hubris leaking away like air hissing from a balloon.
Herbert knew what was coming. He slipped his right hand under the armrest.