team had brought along.
Chavez, Price, and Bellow walked to the senior Swiss policeman on the scene. Greetings were exchanged, hands shaken. Price set up his computer and put in a CD-ROM disk with photos of every known and photographed terrorist in the world.
The man who'd dragged the body out was one Hans Richter, a German national from Bonn who banked here for his Swiss-based trading business.
“Did you see their faces?” Price asked.
“Yes.” A shaky nod. Herr Richter'd had a very bad day to this point. Price selected known German terrorists and started flashing photos.
“Ja, ja, that one. He is the leader.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Ernst Model, formerly of Baader-Meinhof, disappeared in 1989, whereabouts unknown.” Price scrolled down. “Four suspected operations to date. Three were bloody failures. Nearly captured in Hamburg, 1987, killed two policemen to make his escape. Communist-trained, last suspected to be in Lebanon, that sighting report is thin-very thin it would seem. Kidnapping was his specialty. Okay.” Price scrolled down some more.
“That one . . . possibly.”
“Erwin Guttenach, also Baader-Meinhof, last spotted 1992 in Cologne. Robbed a bank, background also kidnapping and murderoh, yes, he's the chappie who kidnapped and killed a board member of BMW in 1986. Kept the ransom . . . four million Dmarks. Greedy bugger,” Price added.
Bellow looked over his shoulder, thinking as fast as he could. “What did he say to you on the phone?”
“We have a tape,” the cop replied.
“Excellent! But I require a translator.”
“Doe, a profile on Ernst Model, quick as you can.” Chavez turned. “Noonan, can we get some coverage on the bank?”
“No problem,” the tech man replied.
“Roebling?” Chavez said next.
“Yes, Major?”
“Will the TV crews cooperate? We have to assume the subjects inside have a TV with them.”
“They will cooperate,” the senior Swiss cop replied with confidence.
“Okay, people, let's move,” Chavez ordered. Noonan went off to his bag of tricks. Bellow headed around the
corner with Herr Richter and another Swiss cop to handle the translation. That left Chavez and Price alone.
“Eddie, am I missing anything?”
“No, Major,” Sergeant Major Price replied.
“Okay, number one, my name is Ding. Number two, you have more experience in this than I do. If you have something to say, I want to hear it right now, got it? We ain't in no fuckin' wardroom here. I need your brains, Eddie.”
“Very well, sir-Ding.” Price managed a smile. His commander was working out rather nicely. “So far, so good. We have the subjects contained, good perimeter. We need plans of the building and information on what's happening inside - Noonan's job, and he seems a competent chappie. And we need an idea of what the opposition is thinking-Dr. Bellow's job, and he is excellent. What's the plan if the opposition just starts shooting out of hand?”
“Tell Louis, two flash-bangs at the front door, toss four more inside, and we blow in like a tornado.”
“Our body armor-”
“Won't stop a seven-six-two Russian. I know,” Chavez agreed. “Nobody ever said it was safe, Eddie. When we know a little more, we can figure a real assault plan.” Chavez clapped him on the shoulder. “Move, Eddie.”
“Yes, sir.” Price moved off to join the rest of the team.
Popov hadn't known that the Swiss police had such a well trained counterterrorist squad. As he watched, the commander was crouching close to the front of the bank building, and another, his second-in-command, probably, was heading around the corner to the rest of the team. They were speaking with the escaped hostagesomeone had walked him out of sight. Yes, these Swiss police were well trained and well-equipped. H&K weapons, it appeared. The usual for this sort of thing. For his own part, Dmitriy Arkadeyevich Popov stood in the crowd of onlookers. His first impression of Model and his
Chavez, Price, and Bellow walked to the senior Swiss policeman on the scene. Greetings were exchanged, hands shaken. Price set up his computer and put in a CD-ROM disk with photos of every known and photographed terrorist in the world.
The man who'd dragged the body out was one Hans Richter, a German national from Bonn who banked here for his Swiss-based trading business.
“Did you see their faces?” Price asked.
“Yes.” A shaky nod. Herr Richter'd had a very bad day to this point. Price selected known German terrorists and started flashing photos.
“Ja, ja, that one. He is the leader.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Ernst Model, formerly of Baader-Meinhof, disappeared in 1989, whereabouts unknown.” Price scrolled down. “Four suspected operations to date. Three were bloody failures. Nearly captured in Hamburg, 1987, killed two policemen to make his escape. Communist-trained, last suspected to be in Lebanon, that sighting report is thin-very thin it would seem. Kidnapping was his specialty. Okay.” Price scrolled down some more.
“That one . . . possibly.”
“Erwin Guttenach, also Baader-Meinhof, last spotted 1992 in Cologne. Robbed a bank, background also kidnapping and murderoh, yes, he's the chappie who kidnapped and killed a board member of BMW in 1986. Kept the ransom . . . four million Dmarks. Greedy bugger,” Price added.
Bellow looked over his shoulder, thinking as fast as he could. “What did he say to you on the phone?”
“We have a tape,” the cop replied.
“Excellent! But I require a translator.”
“Doe, a profile on Ernst Model, quick as you can.” Chavez turned. “Noonan, can we get some coverage on the bank?”
“No problem,” the tech man replied.
“Roebling?” Chavez said next.
“Yes, Major?”
“Will the TV crews cooperate? We have to assume the subjects inside have a TV with them.”
“They will cooperate,” the senior Swiss cop replied with confidence.
“Okay, people, let's move,” Chavez ordered. Noonan went off to his bag of tricks. Bellow headed around the
corner with Herr Richter and another Swiss cop to handle the translation. That left Chavez and Price alone.
“Eddie, am I missing anything?”
“No, Major,” Sergeant Major Price replied.
“Okay, number one, my name is Ding. Number two, you have more experience in this than I do. If you have something to say, I want to hear it right now, got it? We ain't in no fuckin' wardroom here. I need your brains, Eddie.”
“Very well, sir-Ding.” Price managed a smile. His commander was working out rather nicely. “So far, so good. We have the subjects contained, good perimeter. We need plans of the building and information on what's happening inside - Noonan's job, and he seems a competent chappie. And we need an idea of what the opposition is thinking-Dr. Bellow's job, and he is excellent. What's the plan if the opposition just starts shooting out of hand?”
“Tell Louis, two flash-bangs at the front door, toss four more inside, and we blow in like a tornado.”
“Our body armor-”
“Won't stop a seven-six-two Russian. I know,” Chavez agreed. “Nobody ever said it was safe, Eddie. When we know a little more, we can figure a real assault plan.” Chavez clapped him on the shoulder. “Move, Eddie.”
“Yes, sir.” Price moved off to join the rest of the team.
Popov hadn't known that the Swiss police had such a well trained counterterrorist squad. As he watched, the commander was crouching close to the front of the bank building, and another, his second-in-command, probably, was heading around the corner to the rest of the team. They were speaking with the escaped hostagesomeone had walked him out of sight. Yes, these Swiss police were well trained and well-equipped. H&K weapons, it appeared. The usual for this sort of thing. For his own part, Dmitriy Arkadeyevich Popov stood in the crowd of onlookers. His first impression of Model and his
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