Games of State - Tom Clancy [84]
"I didn't ask you to," Nancy said. "Coffee isn't betrayal."
"It is the way we used to drink it," Hood said.
Nancy smiled. She looked down. "I understand. I'm sorry-- for everything-- sorrier than I can say, and I'm sad. But I do understand" She faced him. "I'm staying at the Ambassador and I'll be here until this evening. If you change your mind, leave a message."
"I won't change my mind," Hood said. He looked at her. "As much as I'd like to."
Nancy squeezed his hand. He felt the charge again.
"So politics didn't corrupt you," she said "I'm not surprised. Just a little disappointed."
"You'll get over it," Hood said. "After all, you got over me."
Nancy's expression changed. For the first time Hood saw the sadness that had been hidden beneath her smile and the longing in her eyes.
"Do you believe that?" she asked.
"Yes. Otherwise, you couldn't have stayed away."
She said, "Men really don't understand love, do they? Not on my best day, with the closest pretender to the Paul Hood throne, did I ever meet anyone as, bright or as compassionate or as gentle as you." She leaned over and kissed him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry I disturbed you by coming back into your life, but I wanted you to know that I never got over you, Paul, and I never will."
Nancy didn't look at him as she walked back toward the edge of the park. But he looked at her. And once again Paul Hood was standing alone, two movie tickets in his wallet, suffering the absence of a woman he loved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Thursday, 4:35 P.M.,
Hanover, Germany
As soon as he saw the gun, Bob Herbert threw his car into reverse and crushed the hand controlled gas pedal down. The sudden backward acceleration threw him hard against his shoulder harness, and he cried out as it snapped tight against his chest. But the bullets from the van missed the driver's seat, pelting the hood and the front fender as the car rocketed away. Herbert continued moving away, even after his vehicle's right rear side struck a street light and caromed off, skidding onto the road. Oncoming cars braked fast or swerved to avoid him. The drivers shouted and blasted their horns.
Herbert ignored them. He looked ahead and saw the front-seat passenger of the van lean out the window. The man trained the gun on Herbert.
"Sons of bitches don't give up!"! Herbert yelled. Slowed because he had to do everything by hand, Herbert slammed the gas pedal down and spun the steering wheel to the left. Then he braced himself against the wheel with his left arm. Racing ahead, he quickly covered the fifteen feet which separated him from the van. He rammed the van's left rear fender. Metal twisted and screamed as they collided, the van was thrown forward, and Herbert swung his Mercedes into the street. Still pressing hard on the gas, he raced past the driver's side and sped ahead.
Traffic had now stopped well behind them and pedestrians were running away in all directions.
Then Herbert remembered the cellular phone. He scooped it up. "Mike, are you still there?"
"Christ, didn't you hear me shouting?"
"No. Jesus, now I got two continents mad at me!"
"Bob, what's--"
Herbert didn't hear the rest. He dropped the phone in his lap and swore as a tram turned onto the street in front of him. Speeding up, he swept around it, putting the tram between him and the van. He hoped the gunman didn't shoot the tram out of frustration and sheer cussedness.
Herbert retrieved the phone. "Sorry, General, I didn't hear that."
"I said what's going on?"
"Mike, I've got these lunatics with guns who decided we had to have our own private Grand Prix in Hanover!"
"Do you know where you are?" Rodgers asked.
Herbert glanced in his rearview mirror as the van screeched around the tram. "Hold on," he said to Rodgers.
He set the phone down on the passenger's seat and put both hands on the wheel as the van shot onto the road. As it raced after him, Herbert looked forward. Hanover was a blur as he raced onto Lange Laube, made a few quick turns, and was on Goethe Strasse. Fortunately, he realized,