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  Klinkman had met them in Hamburg, after they had travelled separately by car through Sweden and Denmark. Thanks to the Schengen Agreement, neither of their cars was subjected to more than a visual check at reduced speed, at either the Danish or German border. Introduced in 1985, the Schengen Agreement gradually abolished border controls throughout the European Union, making it possible to drive from Stockholm to Spain without ever displaying a passport or enduring customs searches. If you held a passport from a non-Schengen Area country, all you had to do was gain admittance to the European continent, legally or illegally, and you could travel freely without question or fear of discovery.

  Once Petrovich’s team landed in Stockholm a few days earlier, they were more or less guaranteed access to the rest of Europe. Of course, the matter of their involvement in a running gun battle on the streets of Stockholm had the potential to complicate this freedom, but once they escaped the city, they saw no sign of an enhanced security presence in any part of Sweden.

  Klinkman had arranged for them to return their rental cars in Hamburg and take possession of two used vans, which they drove to Frankfurt. One van, with darkened rear windows, would be used by the assault team. The windowless, second van gave Sanderson’s Electronic Warfare (EW) team a private cargo area to turn the van into a mobile electronics suite.

  Three members of this newly formed group had joined them in Frankfort, having arrived from various parts of Europe. Utilizing laptop equipment and wireless technology worth five times the amount of their van, they had easily hacked into Frankfurt’s Deutsche BioMedizinische (DBM) database, sending the data to the CIA. Although theoretically unnecessary in this case, since most of the cyber work could be done from the U.S., Sanderson wanted to put this team in the field alongside the clandestine operatives. Apparently, Berg hadn’t argued with the idea, since it would provide one more layer of separation between his agency and German authorities should the unthinkable transpire. Berg seemed to be all about these layers, which Petrovich could appreciate. All of his own layers had been peeled away recently, leaving him completely exposed.

  The electronic warfare team had another goal that had been cautiously revealed by their team leader, “Luke.” The Frenchman had disclosed the fact that they would try to hack the CIA’s system and either download the terrorist databases or install a backdoor that they could access later. Sanderson didn’t want the team constrained by nervous decision makers when national security matters were at stake. Daniel had no doubt that the electronics team had been given orders to go deeper than just the terrorist databases. Sanderson never passed up an opportunity to expand his influence, and if the CIA let their collective guard down for a second while linking with Luke’s team, the general would take full advantage of the situation. Sanderson never ceased to amaze and disgust Petrovich.

  “There’s the apartment block. Lots of shady-looking faces around here. Are you sure the van won’t disappear? That would pose a real fucking problem,” Farrington said.

  “It’s not like the States. You don’t find the same level of crime. There are plenty of rougher, all-white neighborhoods further west,” Hubner said.

  “I don’t want to have to walk him to the nearest U-bahn station if our van disappears,” Farrington replied.

  “It won’t be a problem,” Hubner muttered.

  “I still think we should deal with him in his apartment. Fewer variables,” Klinkman said.

  “This is a tightly knit immigrant community. Word will get around fast and eventually make its way to the real police, who will be quick to respond. There’s no federal police bureaucracy working in our favor. We need to get Sahil into the van as quickly as possible,” Hubner said.

  Hubner was right. No broad federal law enforcement agency existed in Germany, so they couldn’t flash federal badges and buy time like in the U.S. or Russia. Nearly all law enforcement tasks fell under territorial German State Police, which were administered separately by each region. The only federal police apparatus in Germany was the Bundespolizei (BPOL), which didn’t include any specialized units that would typically conduct an urban-based raid. Most BPOL units served federal internal security or border supervision roles.

  They had thought about posing as members of Germany’s counterterrorism forces, GSG-9, a specialized branch of the BPOL, but decided against the idea. The mere suggestion of a GSG-9 operation would raise every law enforcement alarm in the region. Their hastily provided identification badges indicated that they were members of the Hesse Landeskriminalamt (LKA), or State Investigative Bureau, which made enough sense to silence most curious onlookers. The LKA specialized in investigating and preventing politically motivated crimes. Four bulky LKA investigators dragging a young Muslim man into a van wouldn’t be the most unusual law enforcement spectacle seen in this neighborhood.

  Daniel glanced around at his surroundings as the van pulled into an empty space next to a large, green, graffiti-covered dumpster on Idsteiner Strasse. The northern Gallus neighborhood was dominated by rows of long, nondescript, three-story apartment blocks, each extending at least one hundred meters from Idsteiner Strasse. If Sahil’s apartment was at the end of one of these blocks, they might have to reposition the car. The van was parked in front of a low hedge between two of the buildings. Beyond the hedge lay a grassy courtyard, which was outlined by a continuation of the hedge and covered with rectangular clothes-drying poles. Spaced closely together, the poles resembled crudely erected, miniature soccer goals. Only a few were still adorned by drying laundry this close to sunset and presented another possible complication upon exit with their man. Entrance doorways to both buildings were visible on the outer edges of the long courtyard, spaced evenly down the entire block.

  He shifted nearly all of his attention to the apartment building on the left side of the courtyard. 85 Idsteiner. Upon arrival, he had noted that the target building featured no balconies on either side, just bare-faced walls containing small windows. They wouldn’t have to post someone in the adjacent courtyard to prevent a jumper. The target’s apartment designation was 2F, which they had presumed to mean second floor. Counting doorways, the apartment was most likely located halfway down the building, which meant a long transit dragging a feisty terrorist. They didn’t have much time to spend in the apartment, but he wasn’t opposed to spending a few precious moments convincing Sahil that resistance would be met by severe, unthinkable pain. He glanced behind him into the cargo hold area at a large black nylon bag. He wouldn’t need the contents of this bag to convince Sahil. The bag could wait for later, when they had more time.

  Farrington patted Klinkman on the shoulder and turned to face Daniel and Hubner.

  “All right. Let’s do this. I want to be out of here within five minutes. Daniel and I will handle any law enforcement interference.”

  He locked eyes with Daniel.

  “Use your compressed air pistol first. You’ll have five separate shots. Each dart will instantly paralyze your targ—”

  “I’m familiar with the effects,” he interrupted bitterly.

  “The darts will not penetrate a ballistic vest. Your best bet will be to hit an arm or leg,” Farrington said without changing his expression.

  “Or the face,” Petrovich added.

  “Don’t shoot for the face. You’ll puncture an eye. At twenty-five meters, the air pistols are extremely accurate. Don’t shoot for the neck either,” he said, maintaining the emotionless face.

  Petrovich had at least expected a smile considering the fact that Farrington had zapped him with the same neurotoxin two years ago in the middle of Georgetown University, but this was Farrington’s first operation as team leader. Petrovich would play a support role and observe. If Farrington performed as expected, Sanderson would detach Petrovich, leaving Farrington in charge of European operations. Daniel had every intention of making sure Farrington succeeded. He wanted to put as much of this behind him as possible and get back to Jessica.

  “Let’s hit it,” Farrington sai
d.

  The four of them simultaneously opened their doors and stepped onto the pavement. Walking briskly, they scanned the courtyard and street for any signs of trouble. Nothing raised any sort of internal alarm for Daniel as they turned onto the narrow sidewalk running parallel to 85 Idsteiner. The first doorway confirmed the apartment-numbering scheme. “Apartments 1-3A.” Five more doorways to the entrance for 1-3F. 2F would be on the second floor. Upon a casual glance at the first door, Klinkman turned his head to Farrington.

  “Ten seconds to pick the lock,” he said casually.

  They filed down the sidewalk until arriving at the door marked “Apartments 1-3F.” Hubner walked past the doorway, leaning against the wall just short of the nearest first-floor window. Farrington took a few steps into the courtyard, through a break in the hedgerow, and examined the opposite building’s facade. Klinkman immediately went to work on the door with a tool extracted from a small kit he had kept concealed under his black leather jacket. Petrovich concentrated on the street, particularly the area around the van. So far, he hadn’t detected any unwanted attention. One pedestrian crossed the opening between buildings, but never glanced in their direction.

  Unfortunately, interested pedestrians posed the least of their problems. The real threat came from paranoid neighbors peeking through windows. It didn’t take a master’s degree in criminology to figure out that Daniel’s team was attempting an unauthorized entry. Klinkman was fast, but few citizens kneeled down to insert their keys. A quick scan of the balconies revealed that they were empty, which surprised him given the warm temperature. Then again, most of the working-class denizens of the Gallus didn’t have time to lounge around mid-week and breathe in the spring air.

  “We’re in,” Klinkman said.

  The team disappeared into 85 Idsteiner with one purpose: to extract Sahil Mazari from the apartment. Mazari worked as a computer network programmer at Deutsche BioMedizinische, assigned specifically to support DBM’s distribution department. Mazari had been the only employee at DBM’s Frankfurt facility flagged in the CIA database, which made him their most logical starting point. A Pakistani-born immigrant, he had taken several trips back to Pakistan within the past year, which raised red flags given his previous association with Al Qaeda extremists. The sudden, increased number of visits to Pakistan fit a pattern identified by the CIA. A dangerous precursor for escalated participation in extremist activity. Similar patterns had been identified prior to hundreds of attempted or completed terrorist attacks in the past.

  Even more condemning, he had twice travelled back with known Al Qaeda extremists based out of Hamburg. Both of these suspected operatives had attended Technische Universität Hamburg-Harburg (TUHH) with Mazari, and one of them had even completed the same computer information technology degree. Dubbed “Terrorist U” by the CIA’s Middle East analysts, former TUHH students could be found at the top of every “known terrorist” watch list around the world. A claim to fame that did not appear as a selling point on any of the university’s marketing brochures.

  Hamburg continued to serve as a hotbed of Muslim extremist activity, long after the infamous “Hamburg Cell” had changed the world on 9/11 under the leadership of Mohamed Atta. Atta had also been a “student” at TUHH, disappearing from Germany for extended periods of time to travel to Afghanistan. He continued his studies at leisure, while plotting the most diabolical terrorist attack in history. The CIA had no intention of letting any more TUHH “graduates” conduct attacks against the United States. Mazari’s web of connections in Hamburg barred him from entering the United States and put him on a growing list of “likely terrorists.”

  Farrington approached the door marked 2F, and the rest of the team fanned out along the walls of the cramped stairway vestibule. Each apartment had its own small landing. Two old, rusted bicycles were stacked against the far wall, causing Petrovich to squeeze by to get behind Farrington. They all withdrew HK P2000 SK (subcompact) pistols from their waistline holsters and stood silent, taking in any noise from the apartment and stairway. Laughter vibrated from 2F. They would soon put an end to that.

  Petrovich took a six-inch suppressor out of an inside pocket on his jacket and started screwing it onto the custom-threaded barrel. He would be first in the door, tasked with neutralizing any threat that stood in the way of abducting Mazari. They didn’t have a wealth of information about his roommates, but couldn’t discount the possibility that this could be a den of extremism.

  Farrington tapped his right ear and nodded at Hubner, who quickly gave him a thumbs-up. Hubner was the only member of the group wearing an earpiece, connecting the assault group with the mobile surveillance team. Luke and his group were scanning local police channels, searching for any indication that the team might have unwelcome visitors. Apparently, the police channels were still clear. Farrington pointed at the door, which put Klinkman into action.

  Klinkman placed a small electronic device at the top right corner of the door, next to the frame, and slid the device down to the doorknob. The device displayed a green LED, which turned red about halfway down the door. He pressed a small button on the device with his thumb as it turned red, leaving a small black dot on the white door. He repeated the process under the doorknob, moving the device to the floor without a break in the green LED color.

  He reached down into a small bag attached to his waist and pulled out a small thumb-sized charge called a “popper.” He placed the malleable charge over the small black dot and pressed it against the frame. If affixed correctly, the low-grade plastic explosive would “pop” the deadbolt identified by Klinkman’s device. The noise level created by the small explosion would sound like a very angry husband slamming the door to an apartment. He pushed a small, preset timer into the charge and started to work on the doorknob with his toolkit.

  Seven seconds later, he glanced up at Farrington. A quick nod was all it took to start the countdown. Klinkman flipped a small switch on the side of the timer and pressed the single button on its face before clearing to the side of the door.

  Immediately following the sudden, explosive crack, Petrovich delivered a strong frontal kick to the weakened door. Klinkman turned the doorknob just in time to ensure that the kick knocked the door open with enough force to embed the inner doorknob into the drywall. Petrovich raced into the apartment with his gun raised, followed by Farrington. Within a second they had identified their target, who was holding an Xbox controller in his hand, flanked on a small green couch by two dark-skinned men, each holding a paper plate containing a partially eaten slice of pizza. One of the young men held an amber beer bottle frozen to his lips. A fourth roommate stood frozen over an open cardboard pizza box on a table behind the couch. All of them had frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the men holding pistols aimed at their heads. Klinkman yanked the door out of the wall and slammed it shut. A science-fiction fantasy game displayed on the forty-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall behind Farrington made the only sound in the room. Mazari paused the game, and the room quieted. Hubner broke the deathly silence with a calm, authoritative voice.

  “Sahil Mazari. Drop the controller and place your hands high above your head. If anyone moves, they will be shot in the head,” he said in German.

  “We don’t really speak much German,” Mazari said in broken German.

  “Do you speak Russian?” Petrovich asked.

  “Is he speaking Russian? Why would the police use Russian?” said the man holding the beer to the left of Mazari in Indian-accented English.

  He had purposely used Russian to add another layer of confusion to the situation. Now these terrorists would be even more stressed about their fate. Russians operating in Germany spelled bad news for a Muslim extremist, though Petrovich had to admit that the beer and pizza scene seemed completely out of place. The three roommates looked distinctly Indian, and all of them looked “soft,” especially Mazari. He was at least forty pounds overweight and had an extremely slack look on his face. He looked nothing like an
y of the criminal element Petrovich had seen in his notorious career. Somehow this guy spent several months training in the hills of Afghanistan?

  Klinkman restated his request in English, and Mazari dropped the Xbox controller and moved his hands high.

  “I think this is a mistake of some kind…officers?” Mazari said.

  “No mistake. Stand up from the couch and walk forward, keeping your hands above your head,” Farrington stated.

  “Can we just talk about this first? We’re all here on work visas,” Mazari persisted.

  “Can I move?” the man holding the beer bottle said.

  His arm was already shaking from keeping the position for several seconds. Petrovich started to get the distinct feeling that Mazari was not their man.

  “Nobody moves but Mazari. Stand up and walk toward me slowly, or we’ll kill your three friends and grab you ourselves,” Farrington said.

  “The neighbors won’t hear a thing,” Petrovich said, aiming the suppressed pistol at the young man to the right of Mazari.

  “Dude. Get up from the couch. He’s fucking aiming that thing right at my head,” the man to Mazari’s right said, barely moving his lips.

  “You need to go with them,” the man frozen over the pizza box piped in.

  All of their English was Hindi accented, including Mazari’s.

  Mazari complied with their request and found himself zip tied with a bag over his head within seconds. He was out the door and on his way down the stairs a few seconds after that, escorted by Klinkman and Hubner.

  “What about the rest of them?” Petrovich said, lingering in the doorway to speak with Farrington in private.

  “I don’t think they pose a threat. Something’s off here. Make sure they don’t fuck with us. Grab Mazari’s laptop,” Farrington whispered.

  Petrovich was relieved that Farrington had sensed the same incongruity. If Mazari was involved in the plot to ship the virus to the United States, he may have been an unknowing accomplice. Petrovich took a few steps back into the room. They were still frozen in place, which would make his job easier.