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The Metro Haus apartment building stood six floors high in a middleclass neighborhood of the Tiergarten. It was exactly what one would expect a police captain’s salary to afford. That appearance ended once Faust and Heinz got inside. After climbing the stairs to the fifth floor, they made their way down the hall to door number 511. It was a corner flat, shaped oddly in a triangular fashion, but it had a terrace that wrapped from one side around to the other. The lock was easy to pick, or at least, it seemed easier after Faust’s last effort. He feared he might be getting rather good at being a criminal.
“No lights,” he told Heinz, placing his hand over the wall switch as they stepped into the darkness within.
“I know that, Herman.” Joseph pulled a small pen light out of his pocket and used it to find their way forward in the living room.
The interior was decorated with expensive furnishings and plush carpets. Nothing inside from the wall hangings to the statuettes cost less than eighteen months’ worth of Faust’s own pay. It was apparent that Rheinhardt either had a trust fund he hadn’t disclosed or he was involved in illegal enterprises which afforded him the ability to indulge his champagne tastes.
“I’ll take the bedrooms. See if you can find anything out here.” Faust directed Joseph towards the small library off the living room as he turned to make his own way down the short hall to the back of the flat.
There were two bedrooms. The first one appeared to be a guest room. Faust made quick work of rummaging through the wardrobe and nightstands. Other than a few family photo albums and spare clothing, there was nothing of consequence. The master suite contained a queen-sized four poster bed with royal blue velvet bed curtains. A gold and royal blue duvet covered the bed which was decorated with several matching pillows. The furniture looked antique with brass knobs on the drawers. Herman began with the wardrobe closet, carefully going through each clothing item hanging, checking pockets. He moved down to the shoes on the shelf and then started in on the drawers below. Nothing. He moved on to the nightstands on both sides of the bed. He found the usual items one would expect, but nothing of interest. A small desk sat in the corner by the window. If Rheinhardt kept anything in the apartment, it would probably be here.
The oak desk stood upon four carved, curved legs. It had two drawers beneath the surface leaving the rest of the desk open. Inside the first drawer was a small box of stationary, some pens, envelopes, and a pack of batteries. The second drawer was locked. Faust tugged on it, and then pulled out his handy lock picking tools. He found the smallest pick in the group and inserted it into the keyhole. After jimmying it around, it gave with a click. He slid the drawer open. This time, he found something. A red leather-bound personal journal occupied the small space. He lifted it out and opened it. After the first two pages, Herman knew he’d found the incriminating evidence of a double agent. The sinking feeling in his gut made him swallow hard. He skipped ahead to the current week finding the last two entries. He tilted the pages toward the moonlight coming in from the window in order to better read the words. In Rheinhardt’s familiar scrawl was information detailing a public event scheduled earlier in the day that had made the news. Faust recalled hearing a bit of the broadcast while at the hospital. The American ambassador, Peter Holmstead, and his family had attended a ceremony honoring both German and U.S. troops for the holidays. This wasn’t unusual or alarming, until he turned the page. Tucked into the binding was a newspaper clipping from the local Berlin Zeitung dated two days ago. The author had interviewed the American ambassador for the piece. Highlighted in bright yellow was Holmstead’s own words. “We’re looking forward to spending the week with my wife’s family back home in D.C. for the holidays. We’ll attend the ceremony on Wednesday, and then leave Thursday afternoon. It will be good to see everyone.”
Written under the current date was a time and place; 1300 hours, U.S. Embassy. It was circled in red.
“Anything?” Joseph poked his head into the room.
“Yes. Everything.” Faust stood, pocketing the journal. He knew he’d need it later as evidence.
“What do you mean?” Heinz stepped into the room.
“It means I know where Rheinhardt is going to be in less than twelve hours. We don’t have much time, Joseph. He’s targeting the American ambassador and his family. We need help. It’s time to contact the LKA.”
***
By 0700, Faust had met with Colonel von Friedrich, Major Beck, and the head of the LKA, Lars Muller.
“Gentlemen, I don’t think I need to tell you how serious this is,” the Colonel stated. He paced the length of the makeshift war room Major Beck had set up inside the hospital room on the fifth floor.
Muller’s nostrils flared. “Why the hell didn’t you contact my office earlier?” He nailed Faust with a glare. “What made you think you could keep this to yourself this long?”
Faust squirmed in his seat, but straightened his spine. “My apologies, Herr Direktor, but in light of the threat to my family and the events of the last forty-eight hours, I didn’t know who I could trust.”
Muller grunted. “Heads are going to roll!” He pointed at a thin, younger man in the corner, the Assistant Direktor, Victor Platz. “You get me Captain Schneider on the line as soon as he reports in to work.” The man nodded. The Direktor eyed the Colonel. “How the hell did you get dragged into this, Colonel? You’re retired.”
“My niece and grandniece are under threat. And you know better, Lars, we never really take off the uniform. I won’t apologize. I’m protecting my own. The rest is up to you. I won’t interfere in that, but I’m at your disposal should you need me and so are my men.”
Muller raked a hand through his thinning gray hair. “The goddamn CIA,” he muttered. “When those two stiffs came to my office last week, all they said was that they had intercepted ‘chatter’ about a threat surrounding the embassy. We granted permission for them to investigate, but only in direct cooperation with the Landeskriminalamt, not on their own. Goddamned American cowboys!”
“Did you really expect them to be transparent, Lars?” Von Friedrich asked. “You know better than that. Spooks operate in the dark. Always have, always will. They feed you just enough to gain your trust, and then they screw you.”
“Yes, but now we have intelligence that they don’t.” Muller grinned sardonically.
“And you can thank my nephew-in-law for that,” the Colonel stated pointedly.
Muller’s grin froze and then receded. He looked at Faust and his partner in crime, Officer Joseph Heinz, sitting quietly at the table. “Yes, it seems I do owe you a thank you, Officer Faust. It doesn’t excuse your activities. You’ve acted with insubordination, conducting an unsanctioned investigation while not even officially on duty.”
“I fail to see how that’s a crime, Lars,” the Colonel interjected. “If it’s his own time, he wasn’t acting against orders, especially since no such orders were issued.”
Muller slapped his hand down on the table top. “He still admits to breaking and entering, Colonel, into two separate residences.”
“And stole nothing,” the old man stated.
“Except this journal,” Muller parried, holding up the incriminating item.
“Look, I know it looks bad, and I understand my duties well, but these have been extreme circumstances.” Faust stood, unable to take any more of their bickering. “Furthermore, we have a pressing and dangerous situation that needs a plan, fast, or people are going to die, our own as well as the Americans. If we fail, they’ll see it as a hostile act of war. And then what?”
Muller sighed. Colonel von Friedrich stood with his hands behind his back, at ease, waiting. It was Major Beck who spoke up.
“It seems time is of the essence. I can have a squadron of twelve men here within the hour at your disposal, Herr Direktor. Just say the word.”
“Mercenaries,” Victor Platz sneered. “Hardly Germany’s finest—”
“Every last one of them was once Germany’s finest, Platz.” Beck pinned the assistant direktor with an angry glare. “All served the fatherland and all would lay down their lives even to this day. They are trained better than even your SEK since they have battled all over the world under every condition.”
“For money!” Platz spat.
“For justice!” Beck boomed. “We are not your average soldiers for hire. My men serve me, and my standards are high. To imply anything less is an insult to both me, the Colonel, and to Germany.”
“Stand down, Victor.” Muller held up his hand, effectively silencing his assistant. “Go call Captain Schneider. We’ll need official cover for this in the event it all goes south. Get the SEK Direktor on the line too. I’ll fill them in.” He turned his attention to Beck. “Call your men. I want them to take the lead on this, but you must coordinate with the SEK. Captain Schneider’s men will be on standby. I want an all-points bulletin put out on Rheinhardt, but it’s surveillance only. No one is to alert or apprehend him. Just notify me. If Rheinhardt does, indeed, show up at the embassy, we’ll take him down. Major,” he pointed at Beck, “let’s get a map on the table of the embassy grounds and surrounding area. I want to set up vantage points. We’ll install undercovers at key locations.” Muller began laying out a plan. At the end of the hour, he addressed Faust. “You, get some rest. Go home or across the hall, but either way, I need you sharp. You got yourself wedged up into this mess, so you’re going to ride it out.” His eyes bounced to Heinz. “You too. We’ll meet back in two hours.”