Collision of Evil Read online

  Stockbridge could not suppress a smile at the fervent display. He raised his long frame from the chair and strolled the beige carpeting of his office. “Stay cool, Caroline. Look at it from the NSA prism. If they give the transcript to the Germans, they automatically make clear their ability to target the German phone network. German authorities would regard our intercept of their domestic communications as illegal and raise holy hell. Because we got the information via the UK, we would also have to get GCHQ to agree to pass the information to the Germans. A tad complicated, right?”

  Caroline stood now as well, energized. “Great. Let me get this straight, because of bureaucratic complications we don’t tell our people in Bavaria that al-Assad and his gang are in Munich? That’s criminal.”

  Stockbridge clucked disapprovingly. “Caroline, I said stay cool; you are not cool. I didn’t say that we would do nothing. What I said was that NSA won’t give the raw information to the Germans because it would compromise their collection method. Fair enough. What we need to do is disguise how the information was acquired, while ensuring that the Germans understand that Munich is the target.”

  “Oh,” Caroline replied, her anger of a moment before dissipating. “That sounds okay in principle, but what do we ask Robert to tell the police?”

  “I think we’ll use a different messenger for this piece of information. Have Central Travel book you a flight to Munich. You can probably still get one from Dulles this evening. In the meantime, I’ll work on a text suitable for passage to the Germans.”

  “You want me to fly to Germany? I thought you wanted me to honcho this case here? I’m not complaining, mind you.”

  Stockbridge shrugged his broad shoulders and stared out his office window at the treetops of Langley. “I expect you back soon. Spend a couple of days there. It shows the Germans that we’re putting real effort into this case. Plus it lets you get an impression of how professional this kommissar is—or isn’t. We need to assess him. If you think this Waldbaer isn’t up to the task, let me know, and we can pull strings through our people in Berlin.”

  Caroline snapped a mock salute. “Will do, boss. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Stockbridge narrowed his eyes theatrically. “Vote of confidence? Don’t leap to conclusions. I want you to gain operational experience, Caroline. Field experience is what permits ops officers to mature. By the way, do you have an alias passport?”

  “I do. Tourist passport in the name of Rebecca Skibiski, valid for five years.”

  “Rebecca Skibiski? Where does Cover Staff get these names?” “From dead people I think.”

  Stockbridge uttered a sigh and ushered her to the door. “Use the alias. I don’t want to identify you in true name to the Germans. Get your tickets, and I’ll send you the liaison text shortly. Bon voyage.”

  Caroline walked to Central Travel, and booked a business class seat on a direct flight to Munich. Returning to her office, she decided to go through incoming cables one last time. Examining her electronic in-box, she focused on a message from the CIA installation in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. The first line of text made it clear that the message provided background on Prince Abdullah Abu Hafiz, distantly linked by tribe to the ruling House of Saud and owner of Global Gulf Pharmaceutical Import-Export.

  Caroline’s eyes drank in the information that her colleagues in Riyadh had obtained through a unilateral Saudi contact. The CIA author of the message noted that the information could be passed to other intelligence services if not attributed to Riyadh. “This should get the attention of Robert and his German buddies.”

  Chapter 55

  It occurred to Robert Hirter that he was spending lots of time meeting CIA employees in airports. Meeting Allen Chalmers at the diminutive and quiet Salzburg airport a few days ago, this morning preparing to greet Caroline in the more cosmopolitan expanse of Munich International, with its two main terminals and maze of levels, shops, and lounges.

  Hirter heeded the signs, and made his way to the international arrivals gate. A glance at his wristwatch confirmed that he had ten minutes before the scheduled arrival of Caroline O’Kendell’s flight, which had departed the States the previous evening. Hirter reached the arrivals area and found a place to stand. A large electronic board above the gate confirmed that the flight from Dulles had landed and was deplaning. A few minutes later the first passengers issued through the sensor-activated doors and Hirter spotted a slim, short-haired young woman in a stylish turtleneck and jeans.

  “Caroline,” he announced as she walked into the waiting area.

  “No, sorry,” the woman replied, the words disrupting his certainty as to her identity. “I’m Rebecca Skibiski. At least for the time that I’m over here. Hi Robert! Thanks for coming to get me.” The attractive face flashed a very white smile.

  He understood instantly; she was traveling in alias. He returned the smile. “Rebecca, welcome to Germany.” He saw that she was pulling a suitcase. “I’ll take that. We’ll head to my car.”

  She nodded and let him pull her wheeled piece of luggage. Before he could say more, his visitor lightly placed a small hand con spiratorially on his arm. “Robert, we need to go straight to your detective friend. My hotel will have to wait.” She glanced around at the clusters of people moving through the airport. “I guess we should wait until we’re in your car. We can talk there.”

  Robert nodded, understanding a case officer’s instinctive caution in conversation.

  Caroline relaxed into the contour of the seat as Robert wheeled the VW Passat from the airport road onto the autobahn, heading to Munich. The engine issued a subdued hum as he accelerated, passing several trucks. The sky was cloudy, revealing no clue as to whether it would eventually rain or clear.

  “The target is Munich,” Caroline said with conviction. “And Munich is where al-Assad and his accomplices are right now.”

  Robert glanced at her in surprise. “Munich? I would have thought somewhere farther off. How sure are you?”

  “Completely sure. Between us, NSA passed us intercept material yesterday. That’s why I’m here. It’s time sensitive.”

  “And I thought it was your desire for schnitzel,” Robert deadpanned, eliciting another smile from his passenger.

  “That too. Really though, NSA picked up a telephone call to the wife of one of the cell members. The call originated from a public phone in Munich. The caller is Sayyid Korad, his wife is named Fatima. Ibrahim in Ankara independently identified Sayyid as one of Assad’s terrorist companions.”

  “Damn, Caroline, that information’s exactly what we need. We can concentrate police resources in Munich. Waldbaer will love you.”

  “Well, things aren’t that simple. I can tell you the truth about the source of the information, but we aren’t authorized to tell the Germans about our intercept capability. The important thing is that we can alert them to Munich as the target for the attack.”

  Robert took in the information while concentrating on the fast-moving autobahn traffic around him. Robert pulled the VW into the right lane to let a red Porsche tear by.

  “Okay,” he replied. “I understand NSA sensitivities; I’ve had to deal with it before. As long as we can let Waldbaer know the facts, we don’t have a problem.”

  “There’s more,” the young woman added. “The transcript of the phone call makes it clear that Sayyid expects to be a martyr. That’s why he called his wife. These guys are planning a suicide attack.”

  Robert exhaled. “That’s not good news. You know—Caroline, I mean Rebecca—suicide attacks are hard to stop. They also have a high success rate. Any word on when the attack is supposed to happen?”

  Caroline moved her head from side to side. “Nope, no date. But soon, that’s clear from the way Sayyid spoke to his wife. He expects to die soon.”

  Hirter removed a cell phone from his shirt pocket and punched in a number. Waldbaer’s voice answered. Hirter had earlier advised the detective that another CIA officer would be arriving, and Waldbaer ha
d remarked that Langley seemed to be emptying out at the moment. “We need to meet immediately, Kommissar, there are new developments.”

  “Good news I hope,” Waldbaer commented. “Let’s meet in the Munich City Hall. I’ve been briefing some officials and they’ve given me a temporary office. Contact Chalmers and meet me in city hall, room 217. Auf wiederhoeren.” The detective rang off.

  Hirter entered another number into the cell phone, contacted Allen Chalmers, and instructed him to get to the meeting place. As he did so, the automobile passed a yellow sign that announced the Munich city limits. In the distance, rising above the urban mass, the dark brick, twin onion-domed towers of the Munich cathedral loomed somberly in the diffused light.

  The Munich City Hall seemed an improbable structure to host the pursuits of municipal administration. It looked like something transported to the city from Disneyland. The building was a massive construct of stone with an oversized central sally port leading to a cobblestone inner courtyard. The city hall was surmounted by high gables and faux-medieval crenellated towers. The tower high above the main gate had an opening in the façade revealing life-size carvings of brightly colored knights on horseback. At assigned times during the day, a mechanical device coaxed the knights into motion, accompanied by the peal of bells. Tourists gathered in Saint Mary’s Square in front of the city hall to gape at these proceedings. Munich residents did their best to ignore them.

  The interior of the building was more prosaic. Waldbaer had been given a musty and neglected-looking office to conduct his briefings of Bavarian officials. The detective now used the space to host Hirter, Chalmers, and the newly arrived woman who introduced herself as Rebecca Skibiski. Waldbaer held the memo the woman had given him. He read the English-language text. “So,” Waldbaer said slowly, considering the paper in his hand, “you have a confidential human source who saw Sayyid Korad in Munich recently. Your source overheard Korad say that he intends to conduct a suicide attack here in the city. Remarkable. Your confidential informant is unfortunately no longer in the area and can’t provide any further details. We can now concentrate our resources on Munich.”

  Waldbaer folded the piece of paper into a neat square and placed it in his loden jacket pocket. He walked the few steps to a dust-streaked window overlooking Saint Mary’s plaza below. “Thanks for the information, Frau Skibiski.”

  “It’s a sign of our cooperation, Kommissar. We want to stop an attack as much as you do. If we can help, we will.” Caroline was seated on a long couch also occupied by Hirter. Chalmers was slumped into an upholstered chair opposite them.

  Waldbaer continued to stare through the yellowed glass in front of him. “This is critical information, and I sincerely appreciate it, even though you haven’t told the truth about how you acquired it.”

  The comment elicited silence for several moments. “Excuse me?” Caroline said softly at length.

  “We needn’t waste time on games. I understand that you’ve done what you have to do. There is no mysterious human agent, of course. You don’t really expect me to believe that you have someone in your pay who just happened to be wandering around Munich and also just happened to run into this Sayyid, who he just happens to know from somewhere in the past, do you?” Waldbaer laughed good-humoredly. He turned from the window to face his guests. “I understand your motives. I may be a Bavarian small-town detective, but I’m not as provincial as you might think. No, the information you’ve given me is from an intercepted telephone call.”

  Caroline looked at Waldbaer open-mouthed and searched for a riposte. The detective smiled at her. “The content of your memo is exactly the type of information one gets from a phone conversation. Sayyid called out from Munich, probably to his wife, right? He told her that he wouldn’t be coming back, thus your notation on a suicide attack. That was stupid of him. I expect that his terrorist friends are unaware of what he’s done. No matter, I’m glad you people monitored the call. Under German law I don’t have the legal grounds to tap the phones of the ‘suspected terrorists’ relatives. This information is of great assistance and I understand your desire not to reveal your capabilities against German phones.”

  Caroline finally found her voice. “Kommissar, I appreciate your opinion, but you need to understand that I’m only authorized to pass you this memo.”

  Waldbaer retained his good humor and plunged his hands into his corduroy trouser pockets, rocking on his heels. “Of course, Frau Skibiski. We needn’t speak of this again. What is important is Munich, that we concentrate our search here, not the entire Federal Republic. These guys aren’t hiding out in high-income suburbs like Nymphenburg or Gruenwald. More than likely they’re lying low in some multicultural, low-income area. Something near the East Train Station or the Main Train Station maybe. We have their photos, and we can sweep the area. It’s convenient that we’re already in Munich. This office just became our command post.”

  It was Hirter’s turn to speak. “Kommissar, if you have the police bracket those parts of town, aren’t the terrorists going to know we’ve tracked them to Munich? It could accelerate their attack plans.”

  Waldbaer dismissed the concern with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll use plainclothes police for this job. We have photos, and should be able to ferret them out.” A puzzled look gradually seeped into Waldbaer’s features. “You know, Hirter, the attack is the puzzling part, now that you mention it. Why haven’t they hit yet? What are they waiting for?” Waldbaer became animated and paced the room, old floorboards creaking beneath his heavy gait. “Think about it. What are they waiting for? Something doesn’t add up. Al-Assad has the Sarin. Its ready to use and he knows it. What’s more, from what Chalmers here says, the longer he waits the more likely the Sarin degrades in potency. Right?”

  “That’s correct, Kommissar,” Chalmers answered.

  “All right. We know that Munich is the target. Al-Assad is here, has been for a couple of days, but still no attack. Why? Another point: al-Assad and his team evacuated Rosenheim because they figured out we’re searching for them. Another reason not to delay and risk detection before they can strike. Your people in Ankara called al-Assad on his cell phone and panicked him further, not well-advised in my opinion, but done is done. All of the evidence screams at us with one message—al-Assad should have already launched his attack. But he hasn’t. The big question, ladies and gentlemen, is why not?”

  Chalmers spoke up. “I agree. From a technical point of view, there’s no reason to wait. They have a nerve agent and a dispersion device. They’re in the target area. If I were al-Assad, I would have attacked by now.”

  Hirter snapped his fingers. “They haven’t attacked because they’re waiting for something. Maybe some anniversary date. You know, like blowing something up on eleven September. That would explain why they haven’t hit yet. We know the strike is supposed to come soon. I can check with our terrorism experts to try to figure out what date might have significance.”

  Caroline took up a position in the center of the room between Waldbaer and Hirter. “Robert, I understand your point, but the fact is Islamist terrorists don’t usually wait for anniversary dates. Once they’re convinced that an attack plan is ready, they strike. They’re decisive. Al-Qaeda tactical manuals captured in Afghanistan make that clear. Al-Assad is waiting on something. But not a date, I’m sure of it. There’s some other reason, but I don’t have a clue what it could be.” She crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Not a date,” Waldbaer said. “But what then? If they’re not waiting on a date maybe they’re waiting on an event. Like the suicide bombing in Pakistan the other year against Bhutto during a campaign parade? Something like that? Or a major political meeting in Munich?”

  “That makes sense,” Caroline allowed. “Is there an international summit scheduled for Munich soon?”

  Waldbaer frowned and shook his head with palpable frustration. “Not that I know of; certainly nothing imminent. I’m not aware of a pe
nding state visit, like the queen or someone of importance. I expect that state visits and political gatherings aren’t scheduled until after Oktoberfest. Otherwise, there’s too much congestion, and too little attention given to politics.”

  Waldbaer had barely concluded his remark, when he felt queasiness spread in his stomach. “God, that’s it. Oktoberfest! That’s why they’re in Munich. Why didn’t we see it before? Oktoberfest begins Saturday. Today is Thursday. I bet they plan to hit it on opening day, no need to delay past that. Oktoberfest.”

  Hirter’s eyes widened. “Oktoberfest? Why would anyone attack a beer festival for God’s sake, what kind of targeting is that?”

  “A host of reasons,” Waldbaer whispered. “Masses of people in a concentrated place. The Oktoberfest is the largest fair in the world. An international crowd—not just Germans, but Americans, Australians, Japanese, British, people from everywhere. You want to hit an international target for global impact? Hit the Oktoberfest! People from all walks of life—professionals, workers, students, tourists, celebrities, off-duty soldiers. An exquisite target. Damn it, I should have seen this earlier.”