two in their thirties, un-athletic physiques, all in suits, each with a suitcase, one with two, all armed. Handguns in underarm holsters by the way their jackets hung. They were relaxed but watchful. Victor detected no special training, military or otherwise.
The guy who’d arrived earlier appeared, looking flushed and apologetic. He hurried down the steps, pushing his hair back behind his ears. Victor figured the man was saying sorry for being late and that the penthouse was ready for Farkas’s stay. Farkas looked at him with disdain but didn’t say anything.
Victor waited a minute before leaving. He entered a boutique on a nearby street where he bought an entirely new set of clothes, dressed in them in the changing rooms and carried his old clothes out in a store-supplied shopping bag. He took a seat outside the coffee shop on the same side of the street as the apartment building and ordered a cappuccino and chicken salad panini. His position offered him a more restricted view of the street than the bar had, but he could still clearly see the sidewalk immediately outside the building.
The afternoon was sunny enough to justify wearing sunglasses andwarm enough so that Victor draped his jacket over a chair. He took his time eating. The coffee shop had a selection of newspapers and he took one to pretend to read. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to pretend for long as his instincts told him Farkas wasn’t the kind of guy to stay cooped up inside on his first day. Either he would need to get down to business or more likely he would leave to get something to eat. Sooner rather than later.
By the time Victor was finishing his second coffee his wait was over. Farkas appeared with all of his four guys just after three p.m. They were laughing and joking, Farkas too, though far less enthusiastically.
Friendly, but not friends
, Victor noted. He watched as they passed, overhearing the one who’d arrived first mention something about a restaurant.
Victor waited until they were out of sight before leaving his chair. He used the set of copied keys to let himself inside and made his way up to the penthouse. He stood listening in front of the door for a moment to ensure no one was coming or going below him. The pick gun, though not loud, wasn’t exactly silent either.
He removed the gun from his rucksack, inserted the long pick into the penthouse’s lock, and squeezed the trigger. Immediately the pick vibrated rapidly and in seconds the lock was open. Victor hadn’t used one for a while – lock picks could be disguised or hidden more easily – but he couldn’t deny the pick gun’s usefulness.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The alarm made its dull warning beep. Victor approached the keypad and entered one, five, eight, two. It didn’t work so he tried two, five, eight, one. The warning beep stopped.
Victor entered the lounge and saw the Hungarians had already made themselves at home. The smell of tobacco hung in the air. There were mugs left on the floor next to the sofas and luggage sat on the coffee table. He scanned the area for anything he could use to his advantage but quickly dismissed the lounge as a strike point; then again, he’d never expected it to be.
The problem of how to place the bomb had been on Victor’s mind since arriving in Berlin. It had to be somewhere where it was sure to be triggered, but only where Farkas alone could trigger it. With anotherfour men sharing the penthouse with him, it meant that the answer hadn’t come easily.
Remote detonation was out. The bomb could be planted on the street outside the building and detonated when Farkas passed. However, there were no convenient trashcans where Farkas was certain to pass. The device could be placed under a car parked outside, but it would be a risk planting it in the first place and the car could easily be driven off before Farkas walked by. And that was without the very real risk of civilian casualties.
The bomb had to be set
The guy who’d arrived earlier appeared, looking flushed and apologetic. He hurried down the steps, pushing his hair back behind his ears. Victor figured the man was saying sorry for being late and that the penthouse was ready for Farkas’s stay. Farkas looked at him with disdain but didn’t say anything.
Victor waited a minute before leaving. He entered a boutique on a nearby street where he bought an entirely new set of clothes, dressed in them in the changing rooms and carried his old clothes out in a store-supplied shopping bag. He took a seat outside the coffee shop on the same side of the street as the apartment building and ordered a cappuccino and chicken salad panini. His position offered him a more restricted view of the street than the bar had, but he could still clearly see the sidewalk immediately outside the building.
The afternoon was sunny enough to justify wearing sunglasses andwarm enough so that Victor draped his jacket over a chair. He took his time eating. The coffee shop had a selection of newspapers and he took one to pretend to read. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to pretend for long as his instincts told him Farkas wasn’t the kind of guy to stay cooped up inside on his first day. Either he would need to get down to business or more likely he would leave to get something to eat. Sooner rather than later.
By the time Victor was finishing his second coffee his wait was over. Farkas appeared with all of his four guys just after three p.m. They were laughing and joking, Farkas too, though far less enthusiastically.
Friendly, but not friends
, Victor noted. He watched as they passed, overhearing the one who’d arrived first mention something about a restaurant.
Victor waited until they were out of sight before leaving his chair. He used the set of copied keys to let himself inside and made his way up to the penthouse. He stood listening in front of the door for a moment to ensure no one was coming or going below him. The pick gun, though not loud, wasn’t exactly silent either.
He removed the gun from his rucksack, inserted the long pick into the penthouse’s lock, and squeezed the trigger. Immediately the pick vibrated rapidly and in seconds the lock was open. Victor hadn’t used one for a while – lock picks could be disguised or hidden more easily – but he couldn’t deny the pick gun’s usefulness.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The alarm made its dull warning beep. Victor approached the keypad and entered one, five, eight, two. It didn’t work so he tried two, five, eight, one. The warning beep stopped.
Victor entered the lounge and saw the Hungarians had already made themselves at home. The smell of tobacco hung in the air. There were mugs left on the floor next to the sofas and luggage sat on the coffee table. He scanned the area for anything he could use to his advantage but quickly dismissed the lounge as a strike point; then again, he’d never expected it to be.
The problem of how to place the bomb had been on Victor’s mind since arriving in Berlin. It had to be somewhere where it was sure to be triggered, but only where Farkas alone could trigger it. With anotherfour men sharing the penthouse with him, it meant that the answer hadn’t come easily.
Remote detonation was out. The bomb could be planted on the street outside the building and detonated when Farkas passed. However, there were no convenient trashcans where Farkas was certain to pass. The device could be placed under a car parked outside, but it would be a risk planting it in the first place and the car could easily be driven off before Farkas walked by. And that was without the very real risk of civilian casualties.
The bomb had to be set
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