TWENTY-FIVE
One of these employees walked through the door of Charlotte & Fritz promptly at eight and began heading over in his direction.
Annika Dittenhofer was only thirty-six years old, but she had been one of Spangler’s most trusted employees for well over a decade. She was in charge of Section Four at Shrike Group, where she recruited and ran spies and analysts and technical support staff on behalf of Shrike, men and women who were kept away from the company itself for operational security concerns. They were intelligence officers, analysts, and technical support personnel who had stolen secrets from their former employers, had violated noncompete clauses with their former employers, or were on the run from someone or something and needed to stay in the shadows.
Her employees all assumed they were working for the Mossad, as Annika had been raised in Israel and could speak Hebrew almost like a native. She used the name Miriam in the field, but since Spangler had first met her himself when she was a twenty-four-year-old army sergeant in Department III (counterespionage) of the Military Counterintelligence Agency, he knew her as, and still referred to her as, Annika.
Annika had recruited Ric Ennis, an American former CIA officer, a year prior. He conducted human intelligence operations, as did “Miriam,” but she wasn’t privy to his tasks and targeting lists. The “need-to-know” culture Rudolf Spangler had instilled in his company was extraordinary. Spangler gave assignments to his senior employees, and they carried them out, reporting back only to Spangler, who then, in turn, reported to the customer.
Ennis had also done some recruiting of his own recently. He’d hired Zoya Zakharova into the denied division when she applied for a job under an alias on the white side of Shrike. Spangler had approved the hire, saying that within a few weeks the company would finish its contract with its only client, and at that time they would be looking to expand more widely into the corporate intelligence landscape.
Annika didn’t like Ennis; he was a misogynist and a lout as far as she was concerned, but today she had other, much more important problems on her mind.
She sat with Spangler and ordered a cup of coffee, then turned to her boss. “Did you see the news from Venezuela?”
“That Clark Drummond was killed in a robbery the other night? Terrible thing. Obviously, I don’t have a high opinion of the man, but I certainly didn’t want that for him.”
“A robbery? Like what happened to Gretchen here in Berlin?”
Spangler shrugged dramatically. “It appears so.”
“And Tony Hutchens’s heart attack?”
“What is it you are getting at, Annika?”
“What’s going on, Rudy? What are we doing?”
“The same as ever. We are building a private intelligence empire.”
“Our people are dying. You see that, don’t you?”
Spangler nodded solemnly. “We have one hundred thirty employees throughout Europe, and three of them have died in the past few weeks. Statistically improbable, but not beyond the realm of possibility, especially in the case of Clark Drummond. Crime in Venezuela is quite high, I hear.”
She shook her head. “We have turned into something dangerous.”
“Nein. We did not kill anyone. That’s not who we are. We are a force for good. It is difficult work, but we must do what we have to do to achieve the aims of our company, and our client.” Now Spangler leaned forward, put his forearms on the table. “No matter where this road leads.”
Annika looked at her boss for a long moment, then said, “Do you know something about where this road leads that you are not telling me?”
He glanced around the room; there was no one in earshot save for his four bodyguards. Spangler said, “What do you think about our mission?”
“Lately I find myself trying not to.”
“I’m asking you for your opinion on what is going on.”
Annika Dittenhofer considered this a moment, then spoke with carefully curated words. “I think our client had us spend two years investigating Quds Force and the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence and Security as we grew and grew as a company, thanks wholly to their unlimited resources. We built profiles of many of the Iranian intelligence actors all over Europe, and we identified a sleeper cell right here in the capital. And then, for the past few months, the client has changed our mandate, and now they have us spying on Germany, on Belgium, on other benevolent nations, trying to find out what they know about Iranian intelligence activities in the EU.
“Two of our staff expressed doubt in our mission, and another ran from us with information about our activities.” She bit her lip before saying, “And all three of them are now dead.
“You asked me what I think? I think that, whatever it is that we are actually doing, we could all end up in prison. You, for the second time.” She sniffed. “And this time, Rudy, they will not let you out.”
Spangler gave her nothing. No denial of her assumptions, no confirmation. “I follow orders. I followed governmental orders when I was employed by state security, and now I follow the orders of my client. It is who I am. We have our assignments, and we are carrying them out. Our benefactor is pleased overall with the work we are doing. Everything is going—”
“What is the work we are doing, exactly?” she interjected. “A year ago I thought I was outing Iranian spies for the good of the free world. And now, in just the last month, I’ve spied on an anti-regime activist, pretty much the opposite of an Iranian military intelligence terrorist. I’ve spied on my home nation of Germany, I’ve spied on the French and on the Americans.”
She took another sip and put the cup back on the saucer in front of her. “I have only one question, Rudy. When did we become the bad guys?”
Spangler chuckled. “I’ve known you ten years. We’ve been through a lot together. This is an odd time for you to grow a conscience.”
“No one ever died before.” She sighed. “And I never felt you were keeping things from me. Now I know you are.” She looked at him a long moment, then said, “What is Ennis doing?”
“You know I don’t talk about other officers’ operations.”
“I don’t trust him,” she said flatly.
Spangler smiled, then finished the last of his orange juice. “Well then, it’s a good thing you aren’t working with him, isn’t it? He’s doing what I am telling him to do. Just like you.” He paused, put a gentle hand on her forearm. “Look, we are survivors, you and I. Ja, our mission is dirty, so true. But so what? When we fulfill our contract to the client, then we will have helped create a marginalized Iran in the EU.” He put his glass on the table. “Our client knows what he is doing.”
She sipped her coffee in silence.
Spangler said, “Now. Let’s discuss recent events. Potential comebacks on Shrike Group after Drummond went to the Venezuelans.”
Annika waved a hand in the air. “Shrike is in the clear.”
Rudolf smiled, motioned to the waiter for a refill on Annika’s coffee and another OJ for himself. “You’ll have to indulge me a little. How do you know that? How do you know if Drummond told Venezuelan authorities about his actions here?”
“It wouldn’t have served his interests to do so, but even if he told them every single thing about his time in Berlin, what could he say? He thought he was working for the Mossad. He had no connection to Shrike Group whatsoever.”
Spangler was, if not satisfied, at least somewhat placated. But then he said, “What about the Russian woman who was brought in by Ric? She knows she’s with Shrike.”
“She will keep her mouth shut and do whatever we want. And she won’t talk because she’s a hunted woman, Rudolf. She needs us more than we need her, and we do absolutely need someone like her assisting with ops, especially when we attract new clients.” When Spangler seemed unconvinced, she added, “We have handed her a lifeline; she won’t betray us. If she does, she knows we only have to pick up the phone and the Russians will come for her.” With a shrug she said, “She’s as safe a bet as they come.”
The next round came, but neither reached for their beverage. Annika said, “Drink up, Rudy. I’ll pass. I have two techs in the field I have to supervise. Both of them are tracking MeK-affiliated students here in town.” Sarcastically, she said, “We’re tailing anti-regime Iranian college students so that we can help end the Iranian regime?” Then her sarcastic tone faded away. “What the fuck are we even doing?”
Spangler stood and motioned for the check. “Our jobs. That is all. Be safe, Annika.”
She softened a little, then kissed him on the cheek, the actions of a daughter towards an older man she considered a father figure. And then she turned for the door.
Rudy Spangler’s eyes tracked his star intelligence officer as she departed through the restaurant, or more accurately, his eyes skimmed back and forth around her, checking to make sure she hadn’t picked up a tail while they were sitting here talking. It came from over a generation in the intelligence game, and Spangler was as good at it as he’d ever been, as far as he was concerned.
Annika left the Regent without generating any obvious interest, so Spangler turned away, pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialed a preset number. He ran a fingertip around the lip of his juice glass while he waited for the international connection.
He didn’t have to wait long at all for an answer on the other end. “Hello, Rudy, my friend. How are you?”
“I’m concerned, Tarik. Very concerned. The quickening of events has me, and more importantly, my staff, troubled.” He was normally agreeable with his benefactor, but the recent spate of killings had him spooked to the point where he wasn’t concerned with demonstrating an annoyed tone.
“I understand. Of course, I understand.” He paused, then said, “We should talk.”
“Yes, let’s,” Spangler said.
Tarik surprised him with his next comment, though. “How about I meet with you the day after tomorrow? Lunch?”
The German cocked his head, the phone held tight against his ear. Tarik had never come to Berlin to speak with him. “Lunch? In Berlin?”
“I’m on my way to Qatar at the moment, but I’ll be in Berlin by the end of the day tomorrow.”
“You had some other business to attend to here?”
“No. Just you.”
Spangler was pleased. “I think that would be very useful, Tarik. Thank you.”
“Of course. As you said, our contract is near completion, and as you and your staff have detected, there is a quickening of events. I want to ease your concerns.”
Spangler was happy that he was going to get some face time with his benefactor. They had only met twice before, both times in Dubai. He said, “Very well, I’ll look forward to having my worries allayed.”
“I’ll contact you when I land,” Tarik said, and then the line went dead.
Rudolf Spangler was no fool; he had worked out the fact that his benefactor was from the United Arab Emirates and not Israel. He was likely a Muslim, a Sunni, and no doubt the man had some relationship with the Signals Intelligence Agency, UAE’s American-supported spy shop. The UAE would be just one of many Sunni countries terrified of Shia expansion around the world, and it was one of only a few nations with the assets to try to do something about it.
He could have made some inquiries, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Tarik wanted to play his cards close to his vest, that was fine with Spangler, as long as the wire transfers came in on time.
The sixty-six-year-old German swigged the last of his orange juice and rushed for the door of Charlotte & Fritz, his four Israeli security men racing to get into position around him.