Black Flagged Apex (7 page)

"Let's hit it," Farrington said.

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 any 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.

"Let me keep this as simple as possible. If you call the police, we will kill your friend and then kill you. We're monitoring all police channels and have another team watching the building. Don't leave your apartment either. You didn't see a badge tonight because there are no badges. Your friend may be involved in something really nasty. Something you want to stay as far away from as possible. Mazari will likely end up floating in the Main River tomorrow…without a head. You do anything to alert the authorities and it'll be a busy day for the Frankfurt central morgue. Understood?"

They all nodded, and he had little doubt that the message was received.

"Does Mazari have a laptop?"

They all nodded, and their eyes shifted toward the counter separating the kitchen from the family room. Four laptops were stuffed onto the crowded Formica counter.

"Get his laptop. Does he have a security token? Something that generates a password?"

"It's on his key chain. In his pocket. Can I put the beer down?"

He grabbed the laptop out of the man's hands, aiming carefully at his head.

"I'd finish the beer first. Remember what I said about ending up in the river."

Petrovich stepped out and closed the door, listening intensely for movement inside. Nothing. Perfect. He sprinted down the stairs to rejoin the team.

Chapter 5

1:52 PM

CIA Headquarters

McLean, Virginia

Audra Bauer paced through the "Fishbowl" in the CIA operations center, anxious to hear from Sanderson's team in Germany. Mazari's abduction had gone smoothly. The team hadn't attracted any law enforcement attention grabbing him from the apartment, and they were now on the way to a small, privately accessed home north of Frankfurt. She was always amazed at how easy it was to make someone disappear, especially an enemy of the United States. She couldn't say for sure what would happen to Mazari, but one thing was certain, if he was connected to the virus canisters, he would never taste freedom again.

The operations center's watch officer turned her head and nodded to Bauer.

"The director is inbound. Just passed through ops center security."

"Thank you, Karen. Is Manning with him?"

"No. Just the director."

The last thing she needed was the director watching over her shoulder. Whatever Farrington and Petrovich had in store for Mazari was very likely not on the CIA's menu of acceptable prisoner handling techniques. Then again, the president himself had sanctioned the continued use of these assets to prosecute the leads uncovered in Stockholm, so perhaps a little high-level visibility would help ease some of the tensions in the operations center. She had a full complement of analysts and technicians rotating through the center in twelve-hour shifts. Too many eyes and ears in her opinion. The director's presence during this critical phase might reinforce the fact that this operation came from the very top.

She saw Director Copley's face on one of the screens near the watch officer's station. The watch officer typed a code into a small keyboard, which was immediately followed by a pneumatic hiss from the door cut into the center of the obscured glass wall separating the "fishbowl" from the rest of the operations floor.

"Director Copley, glad you could join us," she said, walking over to meet him.

"No, you're not, but I figured with Berg on a field trip, you could use some extra company. For a few minutes at least," he said.

Berg's mission to retrieve Anatoly Reznikov was a secret shared by very few at this point. The scientist's miraculous survival at the hands of Petrovich and Farrington had been kept offline. As far as she knew, everyone within the operations center thought Reznikov had died in the Stockholm safe house. Petrovich and the attending physician had confirmed his demise to the entire operations center via satellite phone, leaving little doubt that Sanderson's team had killed Reznikov while torturing him for information. Despite the value and importance of the information gained, they were all well aware that the House and Senate Intelligence Oversight Committees were unlikely to sweep aside the methods used to gain the information. She had seen a few tense looks when Farrington announced that they would start Mazari's interrogation in the van, on the way to the safe house. Twelve long minutes had passed since that report.