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 & 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.
He stood as the GSG 9 men took charge of her dead body and carried it back into the burning house. He pulled off one glove, ran fingers through his hair, and remained still for a moment, breathing heavily. He cursed and shook his head as he wondered what kind of life the young woman could have had if she hadn’t chosen the path that had brought her to this house. He frowned as he repeated the woman’s words in his head:
It was a game—to trick you.