The Iraqi Ambassador came up the walk as the front door opened. General Sherif stepped outside. Amazingly, he was dressed like his troops, in camouflage battle fatigues, a sidearm strapped at his hip. He and the Ambassador shook hands and disappeared into the house.
Whalpol straightened up. Sherif was expecting trouble. But did he believe he was going to have to run some sort of military operation to save his skin?
“I have Herr Lessing on the telephone,” Neuenfeld said.
Whalpol took the telephone. “The Ambassador just arrived.”
“Good. We were expecting it. From what we understand, he is going to ask the general to stand down and return with him tonight to Baghdad. Under the circumstances we feel it is for the best. The government of Iraq has given us assurances that the man will undergo immediate psychiatric evaluation.”
Whalpol agreed. He was glad that Roemer wasn’t here to cause trouble with his inflexibility.
“They’re bringing in an Iraqi Air Force jet transport to fetch him back. Should be showing up in an hour or so.”
“What about his troops?”
The aide hesitated. “That may be a problem, Major. We’re sending you some people. But it may take an hour for them to arrive.”
“People? What people?”
“Military. From Wiesbaden.”
Whalpol went cold. “What are you telling me now?”
“Sherif’s staff are heavily armed and combat-trained.”
“I know that. We’ve seen their Kalashnikovs.”
“You and our people must stay out of sight if at all possible. We don’t want to start anything. Sherif’s people all are demolitions experts. They’ve brought a large quantity of high explosives.”
“God in heaven,” Whalpol breathed. “The R&D facility at KwU. Four of Sherif’s troops are there now. They took along a lot of heavy crates.”
“Do you know what that building contains?”
“Not in any detail.”
“A fuel rod reprocessing facility. If Sherif’s people should detonate a charge, they’d spread radioactive material over half of Bonn.”
Everything fell into place for Whalpol. “Divert the soldiers to the plant.”
“It’ll probably be too late.”
“For now, General Sherif doesn’t matter. He’s only got four of his people at the facility. I’m taking most of my men with me. We’ll see what we can do.”
“They have to be stopped.”
Whalpol slammed down the telephone and jumped up. If Sherif wanted to force the issue, he would have no problem fighting his way from here to the KwU plant if he did it before the army unit showed up. The general had evidently planned for this, even before he came to Germany. Whalpol didn’t think the Ambassador was going to do much good.
Sherif’s daughter, however, could be the key if the situation got out of hand. He turned to Neuenfeld.
“It is essential that we get the general’s daughter up here as soon as possible. She is somewhere in Switzerland. Call Investigator Roemer. He’ll know where she might be. Or talk to Rudi Gehrman. He’ll know. Get a chopper out of Pullach to fetch her once she’s located.”
“Yes, sir.” Neuenfeld was young but he knew his business. “What if the general and his troops head out?”
“Radio me immediately. I don’t want him sneaking through my back door with all that firepower.” Whalpol headed for the door. “Listen, kid, there is a good chance we’ve been spotted. If any of General Sherif’s men head up here, get the hell out.”
Whalpol hurried out to his car and headed down to the Bonnerstrasse.
He stopped and quickly explained the situation to his lookouts parked at the bottom of the hill, and they followed him down to the Köln-Bonn Autobahn.
The sonofabitch Roemer had started the entire mess by shoving his way into Sherif’s study and snatching the cuff links. Whalpol growled in frustration. He figured there wasn’t much of a chance of stopping them. The four had been in the R&D facility for about an hour now. Within the first ten or fifteen minutes they had probably rigged their explosive charges.
They’d be waiting for their general and the others to show up, though. They did not have enough people to cover the entire facility. They were as vulnerable now as they’d ever be. It was possible to get in and disarm them.
Whalpol had a fair idea why Sherif was doing this, but was he going to hold the entire city for ransom? What could he possibly want?
From two miles away, Whalpol spotted the flames in the KwU parking lot, and he pushed his car even harder, a cold weight pressing his chest. Several cars had pulled over onto the side of the road, the drivers getting out to look.
He raced up the hill to the main parking lot to see a car furiously burning a hundred yards behind the back gate to the R&D facility. He hoped his two people had gotten out.
III
60
AT TWENTY-FIVE, ROBERT Neuenfeld was the youngest member of the BND’s Special Operations Team out of Pullach, near Munich, but he was highly respected. He expected one day to be director of the entire Secret Service.
There was no answer at Investigator Roemer’s apartment. Neuenfeld let it ring fifteen times. The office number was answered on the second ring.
“Bureau of Investigation.”
“I’d like to speak with Investigator Walther Roemer.”
“I’m sorry, sir, the investigator is not here at the moment. Is this an emergency?”
Most definitely, Neuenfeld said to himself. “Do you know where he might be reached?”
“No, sir.”
“Is Rudi Gehrman there? I am calling for Major Whalpol.”
“One moment, sir.”
The Ambassador had been inside for nearly a half hour now. There had been no further activity, but Neuenfeld was nervous with all the firepower they had seen. Major Whalpol was normally unflappable, but Neuenfeld had caught the fear in his eyes.
“What can I do for you?” Rudi Gehrman asked.
“We’re trying to reach Investigator Roemer. He doesn’t answer his home telephone. Major Whalpol said you might be able to help.”
“Does this concern the situation with General Sherif? Can you tell me that?”
“Yes, sir, it does. We’re actually trying to reach the general’s daughter. Major Whalpol felt that Investigator Roemer might be able to locate her for us.”
Gehrman hesitated. “Let me talk with Whalpol.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s not here at the moment. He asked me to track down Fräulein Kahled and get her up here as soon as possible. We have a helicopter standing by at Pullach, in the event she might be in Switzerland.”
“What’s going on up there? You’re at the surveillance house above the Klauber estate?”
Neuenfeld wasn’t surprised that the BKA knew about this operation. Major Whalpol had been having a lot of trouble with them over this business. It seemed strange to be discussing BND business so openly. But it was an emergency.
“Yes, sir. This situation is becoming critical.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I’m sorry, sir, no.”
“She’s in or near the town of Interlaken.”
“Would she be at a hotel or perhaps a private home?”
“Goddammit,” Gehrman said. “Is there any way you can get me in contact with Major Whalpol? This is a hell of a lot more complicated than you can guess.”
Neuenfeld stiffened. He leaned forward and looked through the spotter scope. The Ambassador had come out of the house. He didn’t have his hat.
“Please, Mr. Gehrman, this situation could get out of hand very soon.”
Colonel Habash, the general’s chief of staff, dressed in battle fatigues, came out behind the Ambassador. They seemed to be arguing, both waving their hands around.
“Jungfraujochstrasse, Number Fifteen,” Gehrman said. “It’s a chalet in the mountains north of town, under the name of Lotti Walkmann, Roemer’s father. Investigator Roemer should be
there now, along with Leila Kahled. But listen to me, there could be some trouble …”
“Thank you, sir,” Neuenfeld cut in. “If it’s possible, I’d like you to contact Investigator Roemer for me. Tell him we will be sending a helicopter to pick them up. It should be across the border to them within the hour.”
Neuenfeld broke the connection and immediately dialed the Pullach Operations Center. He continued to look through the scope.
The Ambassador was getting into his car; Colonel Habash went back into the house. The big limousine headed down the driveway.
“Operations.”
“Neuenfeld. I have that location.” He gave the address. “Roemer will be there. It is his father’s house.”
“Has she called Azziza?”
“I don’t know, but you’d better pick them both up. All hell is about to break loose up here.”
“Where do you want them?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know on the run.”
“We’ll be in the air in five minutes. We’ll have it cleared with the Swiss authorities before we cross the border.”
“Right.” Neuenfeld hung up.
Below, the garage doors opened behind the main house. A Mercedes 600 limousine pulled out and stopped. A half dozen troops trotted out of the house, followed by Colonel Habash and General Sherif. They all carried automatic weapons.
Neuenfeld pulled out his SigSauer automatic, laid the gun on the desk and keyed the microphone for the mobile transmitter that would connect him with Major Whalpol, code-named Abel One.
The door crashed open behind him. He spun around, grabbing for his gun, as two Iraqi soldiers in battle fatigues brought up their Kalashnikovs and fired.
61
A BURST OF machine-gun fire from the R&D reactor building slammed into the car behind which Whalpol and his men were crouched. They’d come within one hundred meters of the open gate in the tall chain-link fence when the shooting began, forcing them to pull up short and leap out.
Thalberg and Adler, who’d followed Sherif’s troops out here, had been gunned down. Their car was still burning. They’d been trapped in it.
It was quiet for a time. Whalpol eased himself up to look over the hood.
The R&D facility was contained in a three-story blockhouse enclosed behind two perimeter fences, both electrified. Twenty meters of open area between the inner and outer fences was a no-man’s and bathed in harsh lights. A single access road pierced the two fences through tall gates, both of which stood open. Behind the facility was a railroad spur line, tracks passing through two larger gates directly to the back of the blockhouse. Those gates were locked.
Evidently, Sherif’s troops had set themselves up on the third floor or possibly the roof so that they could command all approaches with a line of fire.
It would be no use trying to rush them now. They had the upper hand with their superior position and firepower. Whalpol’s main concern was General Sherif and the rest of his troops.
Keeping low, he opened the driver’s door and reached inside for the mobile radio microphone.
They were going to have to get help, and then Neuenfeld would have to get out of the surveillance house.
Whalpol keyed the microphone. “Abel Two, this is Abel One.”
There was no answer.
“Abel Two, this is Abel One, copy?”
“They may have hit our radio,” one of the technicians said. Suddenly the radio blared: “Abel One, this is Basra Brigade.” The transmission was coming from the blockhouse, so loud as to be distorted. What the hell was Basra Brigade?
“This is Abel One, I copy you,” Whalpol said. He rose so that he could see the blockhouse.
“Listen to me very carefully, Major Whalpol, because I will not repeat myself.” The speaker’s German was heavily accented. “The person you identify as Abel Two and his position have been neutralized. Within the next five minutes our commander and reinforcements will be coming through the main gate from the Autobahn. They will drive directly to the gate of the research and development building in front of you. We are giving you two choices for the moment. Either remove yourself from KwU property, or move as far away as possible from the gate-to-gate direct line. Do this immediately, and we will not open fire. You have thirty seconds.”
“You bastards,” Whalpol said.
“We’re counting.”
They had probably hit Neuenfeld from behind. He wouldn’t have had a chance. Whalpol felt sick about it. He keyed the microphone. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”
“Twenty seconds,” the speaker boomed.
Whalpol stood up to be in plain view and looked across at the blockhouse. A figure appeared briefly, moving along the roofline.
“We’re going to have to withdraw.” He turned to Jim Heffernan, one of his Pullach field officers. “Get down to the BKA office and set up our comms relay. Call the Chancellor’s office and let them know what’s happening out here. I don’t know if Robert had a chance to find the general’s daughter. Call Pullach first and see if they’ve dispatched the chopper. If they haven’t, you might have to locate Roemer, and through him the girl. I want them both here as soon as possible.”
“Fifteen seconds,” the speaker blared.
Whalpol keyed the microphone. “We’re getting out of the way. We won’t interfere. But can you tell me what you hope to gain by all this?”
“Thirteen seconds.”
“Get the hell out of here,” Whalpol ordered. Heffernan hurried back to the Mercedes. BND special operations officers Ebert and Kleiner climbed into Whalpol’s car and drove with him over to the west side of the big parking lot, near the administration building, a kilometer from the R&D blockhouse.
There were a few cars in the lot, but most of the people in administration probably had no idea yet what was happening. The security people at the R&D building would have been the only ones directly involved.
Whalpol picked up the mike. “Basra Brigade, this is Abel One. Can you tell me what is happening to the technicians and security people in the R&D building?”
“If you do not interfere until this situation stabilizes, they may be released unharmed.”
It was something. The first minutes of any hostage situation were always the most dangerous. Nerves were at a raw edge, tempers high. It wouldn’t take much to snap them.
General Sherif and his people would come from the Bonnerstrasse and then out the Autobahn. They’d be moving fast. Whalpol just hoped that some fool didn’t try to stop them.
62
LIEUTENANT MANNING HAPPENED to be in the KP operations center downtown talking with Sergeant Jacobs when the call came in: A woman reported gunfire in the vicinity of the Klauber estate.
At Roemer’s behest, Rudi Gehrman had called earlier and explained the situation. It was to be hands off while the diplomats worked it out.
But someone had evidently gotten in the way up there. If General Sherif and his troops were on the move, the city would have to be protected, diplomats or not.
“Sherif?” Jacobs asked.
“Sounds like it,” Manning said. They hurried downstairs to the dispatcher’s desk. Jacobs went to get the shotguns out of the trunk of their car.
Sherif had a dozen crack troops with him. Manning could field ten times that many. But he had a bad feeling that a lot of people were going to get hurt. Sherif was a crazy. No telling what he might do. The dispatcher, a young woman with wide eyes, looked up.
“I want every available city unit, code one, out to the Klauber estate in full riot gear. Then call the Köln KP, tell them we’re going to need help on the double. Call Klein at the airport, tell him that General Sherif and his gang may be heading his way. I want the terminal cleared. Call the BKA and find out if Roemer is there. Advise them of the situation. Then start the call-up list for all off-duty personnel. Have you got that?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl said. She had been through riot management training. “I’ll set you up on the Tactic
al One frequency.”
Manning hurried out the back door as Jacobs was coming around with the car. He climbed in and they took off, tires squealing, lights flashing, siren blaring.
The two riot guns were in the rack between them. As they screamed up the Adenauerallee, traffic parting for them, Manning loaded both weapons.
The radio crackled with instructions, calling units from all over the city. One by one they responded, then switched to the tactical frequency used for special operations.
They roared past the University am Hofgarten on their left and the modern Bonn Municipal Theater on their right, and over the Kennedy Bridge. Two units with lights flashing came down from Königswinter across the river, and others were coming from the city proper.
Manning got on the radio. “Listen up, people. We have a dozen or more heavily armed combat troops at or near the Klauber estate. Gunfire has already been reported, but we don’t know yet exactly what is happening. These people will be hostile and extremely dangerous. They may be trying to move out to the airport. I want the Siegburg entrance to the Autobahn blocked to all traffic. Watch yourselves.”
They screamed up toward the Bonnerstrasse beyond the Konrad Adenauer Platz, the traffic here much heavier. Manning had a vision of General Sherif’s troops coming down the Autobahn, guns blazing, leaving in their wake a trail of destruction. If it was true that the general had killed those two women, he would not be beyond such senseless violence. Manning could still see the ruined bodies of Sarah Razmarah and Joan Waldmann in his mind’s eye. A madman had done that.
A bright fireball lit up the night sky near the Autobahn entrance. The radio came alive with a dozen voices shouting frantic orders and questions. A few seconds later the sound of an explosion rumbled over the noise of their siren.
“Gott in Himmel,” Jacobs said.
“What happened? What happened?” Manning shouted into the microphone.
“It was Otto,” the radio blared. “A bazooka or a rocket or something! He didn’t have a chance!”
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