by Matthew Dunn
Patrick nodded. “A valued friend within the BND called me to tell me they had received the telegram from NSA. He wanted to know what I thought, and I told him that I’d check it out. It’s from Hubble.”
Will set the report on a desk. “The American secretary of state and the entire German parliament? That’s a huge target.”
“It would be the worst attack on German soil since British and American aircraft bombed the place in 1945.”
“Do you think this could be the one we’ve been looking for? Megiddo’s operation to strike his blow against the West?”
Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know.” He stopped pacing and pointed at the document. “We have a puzzle. This does not look like the corrupted Hubble reporting, because it is far too specific. But if it is uncorrupted Hubble reporting, then why would Megiddo be careless enough to expose his operation to NSA when he knows that they’ve already penetrated his communication systems?”
“Maybe the mastermind behind this German operation isn’t Megiddo. Despite receiving previous funding from them, the terrorists may not be acting on Iranian instructions.”
Patrick shook his head. “An attack of this magnitude wouldn’t be allowed to proceed without Megiddo’s authorization.” He began pacing again. “Even if the planners were outside his control-and I can’t believe that to be the case-he would still find out about the attack and quash it for fear of compromising anything he’s planning.”
“You’re saying this has to be Megiddo’s operation but you can’t believe he would now have been caught out by NSA?”
“I’m saying I do not know.” Patrick brought himself to a halt. “The BND has handed the report to their Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz, who in turn are no doubt working with Grenzschutzgruppe 9 to stop the attack.”
“Then Germany’s Security Service will use its police antiterrorist unit GSG 9 to capture the terrorists and learn the truth behind the attack.”
Patrick exhaled loudly. “Therein lies the problem. An intended attack of this scale will be met with extreme countermeasures. My friend in the BND has told me that Germany cannot allow the terrorists to live, and so we will never know who was behind the plot. My friend also told me that GSG 9 is striking the house tonight.”
Will slammed a fist on the desk. “But we have to know whether this is Megiddo’s plot. If this is Megiddo’s operation, then Lana’s information becomes irrelevant as soon as the attack is thwarted. Megiddo will therefore disappear from our grasp. That means the only chance we have of tracking him down for retribution is via an interrogation of the terrorists.”
Patrick sighed. “I did warn you that ours would not be the only operation against the attack. If other Western intelligence services have prevented Megiddo from conducting his assault, we should just accept that and walk away.”
“Just as you walked away from my father’s killer once you had decided that your conscience was clear?”
The fury on Patrick’s face was vivid. He walked up to Will and stood very close. “I spent seven years trying to get that man, and with no care for my own safety or career. Along the way I personally killed twelve men, destroyed the lives of numerous others, had a death sentence imposed upon me by the Iranians, and lost two marriages. I did not give up. Megiddo simply disappeared.”
Will looked back into Patrick’s silver eyes. He smiled. “I understand. And you will therefore understand why it is simply unacceptable for us to now consent to a situation where Megiddo disappears again from our grasp.” Will’s smile vanished, and he looked away from Patrick. “We can’t allow the Germans to send their GSG 9 execution squad into that house. Our trail to Megiddo would vanish if that happens.”
Patrick held his gaze for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Then it’s just as well that I’m one step ahead of you.” He backed away from Will and checked his watch. “My trip to the CIA in Langley was to secure a copy of the NSA report, but I also made a quick stop in Washington.” Patrick looked back at Will. “Because the U.S. secretary of state is among the intended victims, that should allow the United States to have some degree of involvement in actions to prevent the attack. I have a letter written by my president that authorizes me, and any colleagues with me, to consult with the BfV and relevant German police services. You and I are booked on a two-fifty P.M. Lufthansa flight to Germany today to see if we can persuade our German friends to keep at least one of the terrorists alive.”
The BfV woman studied the piece of paper and then a man who was leaning in the corner of the room within the headquarters of the Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz. She turned to face Will and Patrick. “We recognize your letter of introduction, but you do realize that you have no authority within this matter?”
“We do.” Patrick clasped his hands in subtle supplication. “All we’re asking for is for you to hear what we have to say.”
The BfV woman smiled a little. “We’re grateful your NSA gave us advance warning of the attack on our parliament and your secretary of state. But the terrorist attack will now not take place, and in any case your Secret Service has canceled your politician’s visit. All American interests in this operation are now dead.”
“They are, but even with the destruction of this terrorist cell, German interests should most certainly remain alive.”
“Why?”
“We have new intelligence that this cell is but one of many who wish to attack your country.”
Will resisted the urge to smile with Patrick’s lie.
“What do you mean?” The BfV woman again glanced at the other German man and then looked back at Patrick.
“I mean that if you kill all the terrorists tonight, you will have no chance of linking them to other cells in Germany. I’m counseling you to at least spare the life of one terrorist so that he or she may be interrogated by you.”
“Our federal law forbids us to interrogate in a meaningful way. If a terrorist is spared, that person will immediately be afforded full legal protection. For that reason alone, we have decided that all the terrorists must be killed tonight.” The woman sighed while looking away and nervously rubbing her fingers against her palm. “If your new intelligence is correct, I would dearly like to get my hands on one of the terrorists to find out about the other cells. But I simply cannot authorize that.”
“Then let us do the interrogation.” Patrick’s voice was hushed.
The woman laughed shortly. “No.”
Patrick was silent, and Will knew that he would be feeling the same degree of disappointment Will himself now felt. He wondered what Patrick would say next, but just then the man in the corner of the room spoke rapidly in German to the BfV woman. She responded with equally rapid but harsher-sounding words. The engagement between the two people lasted for almost two minutes before the woman shrugged and chuckled.
She addressed Patrick. “My friend here is the GSG 9 officer in charge of the assault on the Onlauer Street house tonight. He has an idea he wishes to share with you. I have permitted him to speak freely.”
The GSG 9 man leaned upright from the wall and folded his arms across his chest. He regarded both Patrick and Will. “We are striking the house at two A.M., and nothing you say will stop that from happening. I have a team of eight men who will be conducting the assault, and we have reconstructed the house to practice the assault fourteen times since we received our instructions. We therefore know every square inch of the Onlauer Street house, and the terrorist cell will not be able to repel our assault.” The man glanced at the BfV woman and then back at Patrick and Will. His look was serious.
“Nevertheless, tonight I am risking the lives of eight extremely experienced and skilled operatives. I can accept that risk if the likely outcome is total success. I cannot accept that risk if the death of this cell merely fuels greater outrage from its friends.” He nodded at Patrick. “Maybe those friends intend to strike our country.” He smiled briefly. “Or maybe they intend to strike interests closer to your hearts. But either way I want my assault
to have strategic value rather than just being a minor reactive defense.” He stared straight at Will and seemed to be analyzing him. He said, “The assault plan can be modified slightly. We will go into the house and kill four of the terrorists. We will then exit the building for a maximum of one minute. We will then reenter the building and execute the final terrorist if he or she is still alive. After our initial assault, the building will feel like hell, because it will be saturated with smoke and fire from our guns and grenades. But if one of you two gentlemen is prepared to do so, then I will allow you that one-minute interval to enter the house and interrogate the living terrorist.”
Twenty-One
Will pulled on a black one-piece Nomex 3 flame-retardant suit and donned Adidas tactical boots and Oakley assault gloves. He placed his SF-10 respirator in his lap next to a flashlight and checked his Glock 17 handgun one last time. He looked around the rear of the truck in which he was seated. There were nine other men with him, and eight of them were dressed like Will but also wore knee and elbow pads, bulletproof vests, assault vests containing stun grenades and tear-gas canisters, radio harnesses, and armored helmets. All of them had Glocks strapped to their thighs, but their other weapons varied. Five of them had Heckler amp; Koch MP5 submachine guns slung across their chests; one carried a G3 sniper rifle with nightscope attached; the remaining two carried Remington shotguns, which Will knew would be loaded with Hatton rounds to remove door hinges. The latter two men also had EDX frame charges attached to their assault vests and door-breaching hammers resting over their legs. Will watched the eight men fit their SF-10 respirators to their faces and check the fittings to ensure that they were positioned correctly.
The vehicle slowed and then stopped. The man who wasn’t wearing any assault gear but instead was dressed in jeans, jacket, civilian hiking boots, and a radio with earpiece was the GSG 9 officer. He looked at his watch and said nothing, but after nearly thirty seconds he nodded once and pointed at the man with the sniper rifle. That man quietly opened the rear door of the truck and disappeared into the black night. They waited for what seemed like two minutes before the officer placed a hand against his radio earpiece and held up two fingers. One of the shotgun-carrying men and two who carried submachine guns rapidly and quietly exited the vehicle and similarly vanished from view. Within a further ten seconds, the officer raised three fingers, and the remainder of the team got out to move to their positions. Only the officer and Will stayed in the rear container area of the truck.
The officer bent and spoke to Will, keeping his hand against his earpiece. “It will begin in two minutes.” He straightened and looked toward the open truck doors.
Will glanced at his own watch and attached his respirator to his face. He picked up his Glock handgun and held it tightly in his gloved right hand. His left hand clasped a flashlight. He sat motionless and waited.
He heard two explosions occur almost simultaneously, followed by the low boom of shotguns. He knew that the front and rear doors of the Onlauer Street house were now breached and that the assault team would be entering the building to kill four members of the terror cell. More explosive sounds indicated that the team had deployed stun grenades, and these sounds were followed by rapid but controlled bursts of submachine-gun fire.
These noises continued for nearly thirty seconds before the GSG 9 officer held up his hand and nodded at Will. “Top floor. Second bedroom on the right. Go now.”
Will thrust himself upward, jumped out of the truck, and ran. The house was nearly two hundred meters away, but despite the distance and the darkness Will could see smoke billowing out of the building’s broken windows and its front door. The residential street was obviously awakening from the noises of the attack, and within his peripheral vision Will saw lights in other houses flicker on. He focused on the target house’s front door and ignored the two GSG 9 men who stood on either side of the entrance. He ran straight into the building. Everywhere was dark, and Will switched on his flashlight and swung its beam in an arc before him. The place was thick with smoke. Ahead of him Will saw flames licking up the stairway he needed to climb. He also saw a man sprawled in an awkward position over the stairs. The man’s face had been removed by bullets, and a line of entry holes marched across his chest. A semiautomatic rifle was close to one of the dead man’s hands. Will inhaled deeply, the sound of it exaggerated by his respirator. He raised his handgun and walked quickly up the stairs, ignoring the fire around him.
The smoke in the hallway of the top floor was less dense but still swirled around his legs. He moved his gun left and right and saw that the rooms to either side of him were on fire, sending sporadic flashes of light into the corridor he was in. He stepped forward, and as he did so, he felt his leg brush against a large inanimate object. He angled his flashlight downward and saw the dead body of another man. He walked on and crouched low before sidestepping into the last bedroom with his gun directly in front of him. The smoke in this room was thicker, and curtains were on fire. On the floor in the center of the room Will saw a body lying on its side. It was rocking back and forth, a hand clutched to one leg. Will checked the surroundings but could see no weapon. He moved closer and put the muzzle of his Glock against the body’s neck before slowly pulling it onto its back. A woman looked up at him. Will glanced down at her leg and saw that she had been shot in the thigh. Her trousers were torn and covered in blood. The bullet had clearly done severe damage.
Will bent to the woman’s face and said loudly, “Who sent you?”
The woman’s eyes blinked rapidly. She looked terrified. Tears were streaming across her face, and they were clearly caused by pain, fear, tear gas, or all of those. She looked very young.
“Who sent you?” he asked her again.
The woman began coughing, and the sound instantly told Will that she had gas in her throat and lungs. He knew that he could not allow her to suffer like this. He ripped off his respirator and fixed it over the woman’s head. He said to her, “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of this place.”
He swept his arms under her body and lifted her, retaining hold of his gun and flashlight. He swiveled to face the room’s exit and quickly walked the woman into the hallway and down the stairs. She moaned as he carried her through flames and more smoke. Will pulled her closer to his body to try to shield her from the fire. The heat on his own exposed face was intense. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and made his way toward the building’s rear door. He stepped over two more dead bodies and scattered guns as he did so. He walked out of the house and onto a small grassy area of garden. Four GSG 9 men were standing waiting there, and when they spotted Will, they immediately swung their weapons toward him and the woman, shouting in German. Will ignored them, placed the woman down on the wet grass, and removed the respirator from her face. She stared at him with a look that remained one of terror and pain.
Will again leaned in close to her and spoke quietly and gently. “I’ll make sure you get medical help. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. But I need to know who gave you instructions to attack the Reichstag Building.”
The woman clamped her hand again over her leg wound, and Will saw that more blood was pulsing from under her palm. He knew that it was likely the bullet had torn through a vein, and he also knew that the woman would probably soon be in hypovolemic shock.
“Who sent you?” Will’s voice remained hushed but urgent.
The woman’s eyes widened. She said something inaudible. Will leaned closer so that his ear was against her lips. He heard her moan again, and then he heard her words.
“The Iranian.” The woman’s voice was accented and raspy. “He sent us to die. But it was all a game.”
“What do you mean?” Will remained motionless.
The woman exhaled raggedly, and as she did so, she said seven words before pushing Will away and clutching her chest. Will watched her, knowing that the bullet had done more than just damage her leg. It had also induced a fatal heart attack.
It was a game-to trick you.
Twenty-Two
“A game?” Patrick was hunched over a cup of instant coffee in his room at the Ritz-Carlton in Berlin. It was four hours after the attack of house 7 on Onlauer Street in Treptow.
Will shook his head. “The German police found the twenty-five canisters containing the explosive and the thermite cutting charges in the attic of the house. They also found detailed plans of attack. The attack was going to happen.”
“But Megiddo told us all about it via Hubble because he wanted us to believe that it was his main target.”
Will rubbed the back of his neck. “We failed to anticipate the possibility that the Hubble Berlin report was both genuine and manufactured. It’s incredible that Megiddo constructed an operation of this magnitude and then sold it out.”
Patrick clasped two hands around his coffee mug. “It means he’s hiding something far worse than the destruction of the German parliament.”
Will stared at Patrick for a moment and then frowned in thought. “We’ve got to take things up a level.”
Patrick’s silver eyes flickered. “I agree. But are you ready for that?”
Lana showed no surprise when she saw Will waiting in her Zagreb hotel room. She set her two shopping bags on the floor, walked up to him, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she removed her coat and sat on the end of her bed, pulling a cigarette from the pack in her handbag. She was dressed in jodhpur-style cord slacks and a thick roll-neck sweater. As ever, her look was one of casual elegance.