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Prologue

East Prussia, 1944

The Mercedes-Benz 770 W150 Grosser Tourenwagen weighed more than four tons and was arer lihost over the cushion of new-fallen snow, gliding with unlit headlights past sluht of the moon

As the car neared a darkened farently touched the brakes The car slowed to the speed of a walk and approached the low-slung, fieldstone structure with the stealth of a cat stalking a mouse

The driver gazed thoughtfully through the frosted windshield with eyes the color of arctic ice The building appeared to be abandoned, but he knew better than to take chances White paint had been hastily slapped over the car's sculpted black steel body The crude attee round attack planes that prowled the skies like angry hawks, but the Mercedes had barely escaped the Russian patrols that materialized out of the snow like wraiths Rifle bullets had cratered the armor in a dozen places

So he waited

The man stretched out on the spacious backseat of the four-door sedan had felt the car decelerate He sat up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes

"What is it?" he asked, speaking Gerarian accent His voice was fuzzy from sleep

The driver hushed his passenger "So's not-"

The rattle of gunfire shattered the glassy stillness of the night

The driver mashed the brake pedal Thestop about fifty yards froine and snatched the 9 htened on the Lugar's grip as a burly figure dressed in the olive uniforered out the front door of the farmhouse

The soldier was clutching his ar bull