by Brian Drake
Dane and Nina and McConn arrived and checked in at the Hotel Adlon Kempinski.
McConn, who didn’t care where they stayed as long as there was a roof and four walls, didn’t argue about the opulence he otherwise didn’t think they needed, especially once they walked into the two-room suite Dane had secured. The door opened on a wood-paneled entryway, bland despite the polished shine of the wood. Walls, floor—all wood. When they stepped through the connecting archway, the wood vanished in favor of brilliant white walls, matching carpet, and plush furnishings. They were in the Brandenburg Gate Suite, so named because the living room windows overlooked the Gate, and with the curtains open the Gate greeted them.
“Wow,” McConn said, hands on hips as he took in the view.
Dane carefully set his keys and wallet on the table to the left of the archway before lugging both his suitcases and Nina’s into the bedroom.
“When does Stone get here?” McConn said.
Dane checked his watch. “Should be any minute.”
Devlin Stone, like McConn, was also a former member of the 30-30 Battalion who now worked as an arms dealer and smuggler. He might have gone for the seedier side of the secret world of espionage and crime, but Devlin Stone was a good man to have on his side.
Lukavina had phoned during the flight to confirm the DCI wanted Dane and his crew on the job and accepted their terms of service, ie: “Thanks for working for free, Steve. Your country appreciates it.” All it meant in the long run was Dane had access to Agency support and back-up should he require more than his crew to handle the Graypoole situation.
Somebody knocked on the door.
“Speak of the devil.”
Nina and McConn remained by the windows while Dane answered the door.
Devlin Stone was the opposite of McConn. They were about the same height, but Devlin had shorter hair, his frame a little leaner; he didn’t dress as fancy as Dane but his jeans had a designer label and the black shirt looked like silk.
“Greetings,” Stone said. He entered carrying a large case and banged it against the doorway.
“Can we try not to break anything?” Dane said.
“It’s fine,” Stone said. He placed the case near a couch. “What kind of fun are we having today?”
“We’ll talk about it over dinner,” Dane said. “What’s in the case?”
“Oh, you know. Usual toys. HK sub guns, ammo, few other things.”
“I’m not eating at the place downstairs,” McConn said. “A sign in front says the special is goose liver.”
“They probably won’t let you in without a tie,” Stone said.
“Never happen,” McConn said.
“Don’t worry because I got the perfect place in mind,” Dane told them.
A tavern around the corner. They sat in a booth in a back corner in the darkened place, which was packed wall-to-wall, loud people, loud music. They could talk business while they gorged on brats, baked ribs and sauerkraut and drank a ton of beer.
Dane didn’t spend the whole meal talking about business but gave a general outline of their goals.
“Nina and me will watch the front. I want to see first-hand what the guards do with their day. I’m sure Mueller has some sort of escape route out the back, so Dev and Todd, that’s your job. See if you can find it.”
“What about the girlfriend?” Stone said.
“We’ll pick up her trail after we see the cabin.”
“When?” McConn said.
“First thing in the morning so don’t stay up too late.”
Dane downed what remained of his beer and noticed the pitcher in the center of the table was empty.
“Who’s getting the next round?” he said.
Dane awoke before the others, showered and shaved and put on his suit, selecting a red tie. Slipping out of the room, he went down to the lobby for the continental breakfast. He ate three bear claws and drank a cup of green tea while watching the morning news on a corner widescreen, then wandered outside, exploring the property for a place to light a cigar. He found a grassy area overlooking part of the city, the Brandenburg Gate visible. He clipped the end of his Man O’ War and set the tip on fire.
The morning chill didn't bother him as he watched the busy street and counted the clouds. He wondered what it would be like at Mueller's cabin. The prospect of action filled him with energy, but the sight of Berlin also made him reflective. There was nothing happening in Berlin not also happening all over the world, but few places affected him the way Germany did. The country had a rich history and proud people, but still suffered from the black eye of the Nazis and, to a lesser extent, the shame of the Wall.
He'd been fourteen when the Berlin Wall came down. His father, a career army intelligence officer who later joined the CIA, had handed him a chunk of the wall on his fifteenth birthday. A souvenir. He remembered examining the hunk of concrete and thought perhaps the world would now be safe from nuclear annihilation. Just what every fifteen-year-old was thinking. The memory always made him laugh. He should have been paying more attention to girls or cars. The irony was the threat of global destruction still existed. It never went away. Only the potential perpetrators changed. Old enemies were now friends; old allies were now enemies; but the struggle for survival continued.
He and Nina and McConn had passed one of the still-existing sections of the wall on their way to the hotel, the slab covered with defiant graffiti. He never failed to consider those who died trying to get over. Freedom was worth the risk and too many paid dearly. Freedom had an allure those born to it didn't understand, those who lived free because somebody else died. Until you've had to fight for the right to exist, you don't truly appreciate it. Two generations after the fall of the wall, Dane wasn't sure anybody did any longer, except for a small minority. Everybody else wanted to keep up with the Kardashians. Girls and cars all over again. Had anything really changed?
Dane puffed on his cigar. He supposed it wasn't all bad. The human condition kept him employed. If the global population suddenly understood the point, he'd have to go string tennis rackets to keep busy and he wasn't sure he was coordinated enough. Or maybe he'd buy a taco truck and set up business on a beach. He had a feeling he'd never have to find out.
An hour later, Dane put the cigar butt in an ashtray near the back exit and took the elevator back to the suite. Time to get the troops organized.
14
Nina wasn’t happy.
“I wonder what our dry-cleaning bill will be,” Nina said.
She lay next to Dane on the muddy ground almost two miles from Mueller’s cabin. The ground was soft, the wet dirt applying itself to their dark clothes and camouflaged coats. Some fog still hung above the ground, helping with their cover, since the spindly trees offered so little protection.
Dane examined the front of the cabin through a pair of binoculars.
“Are you listening to me?”
“No,” Dane said.
“You’re impossible.”
“We’re not keeping the clothes, dear,” he said.
“Well maybe you like looking like a mess but I have standards.”
“Nuts. You sleep with me.”
She opened her mouth to reply but words suddenly failed her. Instead she said, “What do you see?”
“A cabin.”
“I know that. What’s going on at the cabin?”
“Mueller’s two mercenaries stepped out. They’re still on the porch. Now one is pointing what looks like a remote at the driveway. The other guy is going down the steps and walking around the perimeter.”
Dane lowered the binoculars. He frowned.
“Let me see,” she said.
Dane passed her the binoculars.
One of the guards still stood on the porch, while the second was walking a pattern away from the house, going deeper into the surrounding forest, the thin trees not helping him blend in much either. His gray coat did make him vanish in the fog for brief moments. Presently the guard stopped, bent
down and used a tool to dig into the dirt.
She described the action to Dane, who said nothing.
The activity took her mind off the conditions in which they currently found themselves. The mud wasn’t only sticking to her clothes. She swore she could feel it burrowing through the fabric and into her skin and there was Steve acting as if he was in his natural element.
Sometimes covert operations really sucked. But she certainly wasn’t going to stay at the hotel while the boys had all the fun.
The guard removed a black circular object and unscrewed the top, lifting the lid far enough to reach his right hand inside.
“It’s a land mine,” Nina said. “Making some sort of adjustment.”
The guard reburied the mine and followed the same pattern back to the cabin.
“The mines have been diffused and he’s still not walking over the other ones,” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
The guard stepped back onto the porch and the other guard pointed the remote at the ground once again.
Nina lowered the binoculars.
“Instead of trip-wires,” she said, “they activate and deactivate land mines with a remote.”
“Okay.”
“Which means a straight approach is probably out of the question.”
“I concur.”
Footsteps thumped off to their left. Nina reached for her S&W while Dane remained calm. Todd McConn and Devlin Stone broke through the fog and dropped flat next to them.
“How’d it go?” Dane said as the pair caught their breaths.
“The ground starts to slope about a quarter mile away,” McConn said. “We found a cave with an SUV parked inside.”
Dane described the remote-controlled mines.
“We can raid the place,” he said, “but we might get blown up before we reach the front door. Whoever is left might have a chance, but then Mueller’s going to run for the cave.”
“There’s still the girlfriend,” McConn said.
“There certainly is,” Dane said.
“I bet they turn off the land mines when she shows up,” Nina said.
Dane smiled at her. “Darling, you’re brilliant.”
“You’re only now realizing this?”
“Back to the car,” Dane said. The four quickly left the area.
The sign out front read SO-13.
“He named the bar after the anti-terror unit of the British police?” Nina said.
“Who says terrorists don’t have a sense of humor?” Dane said.
They sat in a rented BMW halfway down the block from the bar owned by Mueller’s buddy, Armand Wulf. McConn and Stone had been inside for almost an hour. Dane let more time tick by and then he and Nina crossed the busy street. He held the door for her and they went inside.
There was none of the thumb-bump-bump music Dane expected. The bar actually had a relaxed atmosphere, was well-lighted and only the mutters of conversation filled the space. Dane spotted McConn and Stone at the bar. They found a corner table. An older waitress came over. Dane ordered a beer while Nina asked for vodka.
Ceiling fans fought against the mass of body heat but did little to alter the sense of Dane’s claustrophobia. He sat with his back to the wall while Nina was exposed. If she found it discomforting, she didn’t say.
“See any of our friends?”
“Mueller’s buddy is behind the bar.”
Armand Wulf, a tall and dark-haired fellow, filled drink orders.
Dane’s eyes wandered to a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. It probably led to the upstairs loft where Mueller’s mercenaries stayed, but near the bar, at a small table, sat a man in black talking to a blonde-haired woman.
“Over by the door,” Dane said.
“Where’s the other?”
“Not sure.”
The waitress returned with the drinks. Dane touched his bottle against the rim of Nina’s glass and they took a drink.
“What’s your idea?”
“Ask Lukavina to arrange a raid on this place.”
“Can he do that quickly?”
“I’m sure he can. Wulf may be worth talking to and we can confirm he’s indeed here.”
“We’d have to time the raid for when Mueller’s girlfriend shows up.”
Dane smiled.
Back at the hotel later, Dane and Nina passed a bottle of vodka back and forth while Dane called Lukavina.
He explained about the bar and said, “I’m sure Wulf is somewhere in your files.”
“I’ll have a look.”
“I need you to coordinate a raid with the Berlin police. We need Wulf and the two mercs off the street.”
“When were you thinking?”
“We have two days.”
“Cutting it close.”
“We only have one shot at this, Len.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
15
Lanka Kobevko loaded the last of the groceries into the trunk of her Audi. She still had time to get her hair done before picking up Macedo and Storey for the drive to the cabin.
Her slender fingers gripped the steering wheel as she drove through traffic, a light jacket over a blue top and leather boots coming halfway up her jeans. At six feet she was taller than Mueller, model-skinny, with long legs. The wheel was tilted up as far as it could go to keep her from banging her knees getting in and out of the car.
Later in the evening, her formerly straight hair curled with blonde highlights, she made a right turn and started to pull over in front of SO-13, but then slammed the brakes.
Halfway down the street, police units with flashing cherry lights blocked the way. A large crowd had gathered around the bar. Two officers led Armand Wulf into a van. Macedo and Storey were already in the back, shackled to a bench seat. The cops loaded Wulf into the back and closed the double-doors.
Lanka reversed and executed a quick U-turn, digging blindly into the purse on the passenger seat for her cell phone. She found the phone and started to dial, but the phone slipped from her fingers as she slammed the brakes again. A black BMW blocked her. The rear doors opened and two men with automatic weapons jumped out and ran to her car. She locked the doors. One ordered her to open up. She refused. The man bashed the glass. She barely had time to cover her face as shards rained around her. Lanka struck at the man’s hand as he reached in and pressed the power lock button, but the blow did nothing to stop him. The man’s partner jumped into the back seat. The first man joined him. The muzzle of the man’s weapon dug into her neck.
“Drive,” the man said, his breath hot on her right cheek.
Dane reversed the BMW to let the Audi go by with Stone and McConn in the back seat.
He fell in line behind the Audi.
Lukavina and the Berlin police had worked fast, indeed.
The route was familiar by now, even with the sun down.
At the halfway point, Dane flashed his lights. The Audi pulled over after a moment. Dane sped by. The Audi pulled back onto the road but the car grew smaller in the rearview as Dane accelerated away.
“Drive normally and you won’t get hurt,” Stone said. “And keep those hands where I can see them.”
“If I don’t?” Lanka said.
“I’ll kill you. We don’t need you, honey.”
McConn had grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and placed it on the back seat between him and Stone. They never let her forget the Heckler & Koch MP5Ks they held, the compact submachine guns and their narrow snouts a reminder of the threat.
She drove at moderate speed, both hands on the wheel, breathing heavily. “Hans won’t like this.”
“He won’t have time to complain.”
“You’re going to kill him?”
“We just want to talk, Lanka.”
She flashed a startled look at the rearview. “How do you know who I am?”
“Honey, we know what you had for breakfast.”
She forced a laugh. “Tell me.”
“Bagel and cream
cheese, black coffee.”
She didn’t force a second laugh.
Hans Mueller dialed the bar but nobody answered.
Lanka was never late. Tonight, she was. By ten minutes.
He tried her cell phone for the third time. Still no answer there, either.
He stepped out on the porch and looked down the length of the driveway to the road beyond. Without a coat, the evening chill bit into his skin. He supposed traffic was to blame, but after San Francisco he was quite keyed up. Had she been intercepted?
Movement to his right. One of his mercenaries, the man’s thick coat stopping above his knees. They nodded at each other.
“Looking forward to a few days off?” Mueller said. At least his voice didn’t shake.
“Yes, sir,” the merc replied. He had his weapon slung across his back.
“Shouldn’t be long now,” Mueller said. He turned to the road again. When he saw a pair of headlights breaking through the gloom of the forest, he let out a relaxed sigh.
The front door opened and the second mercenary guard stepped out.
The headlights bounced as the car turned off the pavement and then grew in size as the Audi approached.
Mueller swallowed. Took a deep breath. Willed himself to relax. But something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t have been delayed. Or she should have called.
The Audi stopped at the edge of the driveway. Right where she should have stopped. Somebody who didn’t know about the mines wouldn’t have stopped.
But still. . .
The mercenary in the long coat reached for the remote control in one pocket. He pulled it out.
“Don’t,” Mueller said.
The mercenary froze with a questioning look on his face.
Mueller watched the car. It sat still, engine purring. No movement inside. With the lights in his face, he couldn’t see the interior.
Presently a head stuck out of the driver’s window. “Hans!”
Lanka’s voice.
