Games of State - Tom Clancy [94]
He withdrew his hand, and before Jean-Michel saw that he was not holding a cigarette lighter, it was too late. The compact FN Model Baby Browning pistol spit twice, once to the left of Jean-Michel, once to the right. The bang was loud, drowning out the distinctive thunk as the bullet passed through the forehead of each bodyguard.
As the car turned left, both bodies slumped toward the driver's side. His ears buzzing, Jean Michel made a long, frightened face as Henri flopped against him. Brownish-red blood pooled in the small, neat wound and spilled over. It streamed down the bridge of the dead man's nose. Half screaming, half-moaning, Jean-Michel used a shoulder to nudge the body against the door. Then he looked at the dead Yves, whose bloody trickle had broken into spidery red lines on his face. Finally, Jean-Michel turned terror-wide eyes on Richter.
"I'll have them buried in the woods when we arrive," said Richter. He spat the cigarette to the floor. "By the way, I don't smoke."
Still holding the gun, the German leaned forward. He removed the pistols in Yves's and Henri's shoulder holsters and placed one of the guns on the seat to his right. He examined the other.
"An F1 Target Pistol," Richter said. "Army issue. Were these former army men?"
Jean-Michel nodded.
"That would explain their incredibly poor reflexes," Richter said. "The French military never did know how to train soldiers to fight. Not like the German military."
He set the guns down, patted Jean-Michel's chest and pockets to make sure he had no weapons, then sat back. He crossed his legs and put his hands on his knee.
"Details," Ricther said. "If you see them, smell them, hear them, remember them, then at worst you will survive and at best you will succeed. And trust," he said darkly, "is something you should never give. I made the mistake of being honest with you, and I paid for it."
"You tortured me!" Jean-Michel practically screamed. Jean-Michel was unnerved by the presence of the dead men, but he was rattled even more by the cavalier way with which Richter had dispatched them. The Frenchman fought the impulse to throw himself from the door of the limousine. He was M. Dominique's representative. He must try to maintain his composure, his dignity.
"Do you really think that's why Dominique attacked me?" Richter asked. He smiled for the first time, seemed almost paternal now. "Be wise. Dominique attacked me to put me in my place. And he has. He reminded me that I belong on top of the ladder, not in the middle."
"On top?" Jean-Michel said. The man's gall was astounding. Indignation helped Jean-Michel forget his fear, his vulnerability. "You are on top of nothing but two corpses"-- he shook his hands toward either side-- "for which you will be made to account."
"You are wrong," the German replied evenly. "I still have my fortune, and I'm on top of the largest group of neo-Nazis on earth."
"That's a lie. Your group is not--"
"What it was," Richter interrupted. He smiled mysteriously.
Jean-Michel was confused. Confused and still very frightened.
Richter settled back into the thick leather seat. "This afternoon was quite an epiphany, M. Horne. You see, we all get caught up in business and objects and trappings. And we lose sight of our own strengths. Stripped of my livelihood, I was forced to ask myself, 'What are my strengths? What are my goals?' I realized I was losing sight of those. I did not spend the remainder of the afternoon mourning what happened today. I telephoned my supporters and asked them to come to Hanover this evening at eight o'clock. I told them I'll have an announcement to make. One that will change the tenor of politics in Germany-- in all of Europe."
Jean-Michel watched him, waiting.
Richter went on. "Two hours ago, Karin and I agreed to merge Feuer and the 21 st Century National Socialists. We will announce the union in Hanover tonight."
Jean-Michel sat forward abruptly. "The two of you? But this morning you said she wasn't a leader, she--"
"I said she wasn't a visionary," Richter