Lightning

They had all come from humble beginnings. Unterscharfuhrer Felix Hubatsch, Klietmann's sergeant and second in command of the unit, was the son of an alcoholic lathe operator and a slattern mother, both of whom he despised. RottenFurhrer Rudolph von Manstein was the son of a poor farmer whose lifetime of failure shamed him, and RottenFurhrer Martin Bracher was an orphan. In spite of coming from four different corners of Germany, the two corporals, the sergeant, and lieutenant Klietmann shared one thing that made them as close as brothers: They understood that a man's truest, deepest, and dearest relationship was not to his family but to the state, to the fatherland, and to their leader in whom the fatherland was embodied; the state was the only family that mattered; this single bit of wisdom elevated them and made them worthy fathers of the superrace to come.

Klietmann discreetly dabbed at the corners of his eyes with his thumb, blotting the nascent tears that he was not able to suppress.

In one minute the research team would return.

The machinery clicked and hummed.

At three o'clock, Friday afternoon, January 13, a white pickup entered the rainswept motel lot, came straight to the rear wing, and parked next to the Buick that bore a Nissan's license plates. The truck was about five or six years old. The passenger-side door was dented, and that rocker panel was spotted with rust. The owner was evidently refinishing the pickup in a patchwork fashion, because some spots had been sanded and primed but not yet repainted.

Laura watched the truck from behind the barely parted drapes at the motel-room window. She held the Uzi in one hand at her side.

The truck's headlights blinked off, and its windshield wipers stopped, and a moment later a woman with frizzy blond hair got out and walked to the door of Laura's unit. She rapped three times.

Chris was standing behind the door, looking at his mother.

Laura nodded.

Chris opened the door and said, "Hi, Aunt Thelma. Jeez, that's an ugly wig."

Stepping inside, hugging Chris fiercely, Thelma said, "Well, thanks a lot. And what would you say if I told you that was a monumentally ugly nose you were born with, but you're stuck with it, while I'm not stuck with the wig? Huh? What would you say then?"

Chris giggled. "Nothing. 'Cause I know I've got a cute nose."

"Cute nose? God, kid, you've got an actor's ego." She let go of him, glanced at Stefan Krieger, who was sitting in one of the chairs near the TV set, then turned to Laura. "Shane, did you see the heap I pulled up in? Am I clever? As I was getting in my Mercedes, I said to myself, Thelma — I call myself Thelma — I said, Thelma, isn't it going to draw a hell of a lot of attention at that sleazy motel when you pull up in a sixty-five-thousand-dollar car? So I tried to borrow the butler's car, but you know what he drives? A Jaguar. Is Beverly Hills the Twilight Zone, or what? So I had to borrow the gardener's truck. But here I am, and what do you think of this disguise?"

She was wearing a kinky blond wig glittering with droplets of rain, horn-rimmed glasses, and a pair of false dentures that gave her an overbite.

"You look better this way," Laura said, grinning.

Thelma popped out the fake teeth. "Listen, once I turned up a set of wheels that wouldn't draw attention, I realized that I'd draw some attention myself, being a major star and everything. And since the media's already dug up the fact that you and I are friends and have tried to ask me some pointed questions about you, the famous machine-gun-packing authoress, I decided to come incognito. '' She dropped her purse and the stage teeth on the bed. ' 'This getup was for a new character I created in my nightclub act, tried it about eight times at Bally's in Vegas. It was a primo flop, that character. The audience spat at me, Shane, they brought in the casino's security guard and tried to have me arrested, they questioned my right to share the same planet with them — oh, they were rude, Shane, they were—"

Suddenly she halted in the middle of her patter and burst into tears. She rushed to Laura, threw her arms around her. "Oh, Jesus, Laura, I was scared, I was so scared. When I heard the news about San Bernardino, machine guns, and then the way they found your house at Big Bear, I thought you… or maybe Chris… I was so worried. "

Holding Thelma as tightly as Thelma was holding her, Laura said, "I'll tell you all about it, but the main thing is we're all right, and we think maybe we have a way to get out of the hole we're in."

"Why didn't you call me, you silly bitch?"

"I did call you."

"Only this morning! Two days after you're splashed all over the newspapers. 1 nearly went crazy."

"I'm sorry. I should've called sooner. I just didn't want to get you involved if I could avoid it."

Reluctantly Thelma let go of her. "I'm inevitably, deeply, and hopelessly involved, you idiot, because you're involved." She pulled a Kleenex from a pocket of her suede jacket and blotted her j eyes.