As the German neared, his right hand moved as if he were drawing a gun slowly. It slid up the leg and hip, then shot straight out. It was a curious but elegant move. The Frenchman shook the hand firmly, surprised by the strength of Richter's grip.
"It was good of you to come," Richter said. "Yet I thought that your employer would be visiting as well." "As you know, M. Dominique, prefers to conduct business from his factory," Jean-Michel said. "With the technology available to him, there's very little reason to leave." "I understand," said Richter. "Never photographed, rarely seen, appropriately mysterious." "M. Dominique is mysterious but not uninterested," Jean-Michel pointed out. "He has sent me to represent him in these discussions, and also to be his eyes and ears during Chaos Days." Richter grinned. "And to make sure that the donation he generously gave to the celebration is being well spent." Jean-Michel shook his head. "You're wrong, Herr Richter. M. Dominique is not like that. He invests in people he believes in." The Frenchman released the German's hand and Richter fell in beside him. Richter took his guest's elbow and ushered him slowly through the darkness.
"Don't feel that you have to defend Dominique to me," Richter said. "It's good business to keep an eye on what your peers are up to." Peers? Jean-Michel thought. M. Dominique owned a billion-dollar manufacturing company and controlled one of the most powerful right-wing groups in France… in the world. He recognized a very select few as his peers. Despite their parallel interests, Herr Richter was not among them.
Richter changed the subject. "The hotel room we booked for you," he said. "It's acceptable?" "Extremely pleasant," Jean-Michel replied. He was still annoyed by Richter's arrogance.
"I'm glad," Richter said. "It's one of the few old hotels left in Hamburg. During the war, the Allies bombed most of the city to dust. Hamburg's misfortune for being a port. It's ironic, though, that so many of these old, wooden buildings survived." He swept his arm as if to embrace all of St. Pauli.
"The Allies didn't attack prostitutes and drunks, only mothers and children. Yet they call us monsters for atrocities like the mythical Holocaust." Jean-Michel found himself responding to Richter's impromptu passion. Though it was illegal in Germany to deny the Holocaust, he knew that while Richter was in medical school he used to do so with regularity. Even having his full scholarship revoked for making anti-Semitic remarks did not stop him. Judicial officials were reluctant to prosecute agitators who were otherwise non-violent, though they were finally forced to go after Richter when a foreign news crew videotaped his "Jewish Lie" speech at Auschwitz and aired it. He spent two years in prison, during which time his aides ran his young operation— making sure that Richter's personal legend grew.
Because of the man's courage and his devotion to the cause, Jean-Michel decided to forget their bad start. Besides, they had business to conduct.
They reached a table and Richter switched on a lamp in the center. Beneath the translucent shade was a small white Pan playing his pipes.
Jean-Michel sat down when Richter did. The light fell just short of the German's eyes, but Jean-Michel saw them anyway. They were almost as translucent as the shade. The man had made a fortune from this club and from a hostess service he operated in Berlin, Stuttgart, Frankfurt, and Hamburg. But the Frenchman was willing to bet that Richter had been a bastard even when he was poor.
The Frenchman looked up at the second floor. It was lined with doorways. Obviously, these were rooms for members who wanted to do more than dance.
"We understand you have an apartment here, Herr Richter." "I do," Richter said, "though I only stay here one or two nights a week. I spend most of my time at the 21st Century National Socialist Party suites in Bergedorf, to the south.
That's where the real work of the movement is done. Writing speeches, telephone solicitation, transmitting E-mail, radio broadcasts, publishing our newspaper— do you have this week's Kampf?" Jean-Michel nodded.
"Excellent," Richter went on. "It's all very legitimate.
Not like the early days, when the authorities hounded me for one alleged misdemeanor or another. So," he said, "you've come to honor Chaos Days. And to represent your employer in 'discussions,' as he called them in my one brief telephone connversation with him." "Yes, Herr Richter." Jean-Michel leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. "I am here with a proposition." Jean-Michel was disappointed. Richter didn't move.
"You have my attention," Richter said.
"It is not commonly known," said Jean-Michel, "but M.
Dominique has been quietly underwriting neo-Nazi groups around the world. The Razorheads in England, the Soldiers of Poland, and the Whites Only Association in America. He's trying to build a worldwide network of organizations with a common goal of ethnic purity." "Together with his New Jacobins," Richter said, "that would put his strength at some six thousand members." "Close to that, yes," said Jean-Michel. "And when he goes on-line in America, those numbers are sure to increase." "Almost certainly," said Richter. "I've seen copies of his games. They're most entertaining." "What M. Dominique proposes, Herr Richter, is bringing your 21st Century organization into the fold. He will provide you with funds, access to Demain technology, and a role in shaping the future of the world." "A role," said Richter. "As in a play." "Not a play," Jean-Michel replied. "History." Richter smiled coldly. "And why should I accept a part in Dominique's drama when I can direct my own play?" Once again, Jean-Michel was shocked by the conceit of the man. "Because M. Dominique has resources the likes of which you can only dream of. And through his connections, he can offer you both political and personal protection." "Protection from whom?" Richter asked. "The government won't touch me again. The two years I was in prison made me a martyr to the cause. And my people are devoted." "There are other leaders," Jean-Michel said with a hint of menace. "Other potential New Fhrers." "Are there?" Richter asked. "'You're referring to someone in particular?" The Frenchman had been anxious to use a little muscle on the man, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
"Frankly, Herr Richter," Jean-Michel said, "there has been talk that Karin Doring and Feuer are the rising stars of the movement." "Has there been talk?" Richter said smoothly.
Jean-Michel nodded. The Frenchman knew that Felix Richter and Karin Doring had been outspoken adversaries two years before; when Karin came out of East Germany espousing terrorism while Richter, fresh from prison, was advocating political activism. The two criticized each other openly until members of Feuer ambushed and killed two members of Richter's group. The leaders finally held a summit in a Berlin hotel, where they agreed to pursue their own goals without criticizing the other. But there was still tension between the unvarnished East German guerrilla and the dapper West German physician.
"Karin is energetic, charismatic, bold," Jean-Michel said. "We have heard she planned and led the attack on the bank in Bremen, set the courtroom fire in Nuremberg—" "She did that and more, yes," Richter said. "Karin is good at warfare. She's a cat who leads other cats, an alley fighter, a field commander. But what you and her followers fail to realize is that she isn't someone who can build or run a political party. She still insists on participating personally in every one of her missions, and one day the authorities or a mishandled bomb will get her." "Perhaps," said Jean-Michel. "Meanwhile, in just two years, Feuer has acquired nearly thirteen hundred members with thirty full-time soldiers." "That's correct," said Richter. "But they're mostly East Germans. Animals. In five years, I've acquired nearly five thousand members from this side of the old border. That, M.