The rumble of the generators and spray painter air compressors was deafeningly loud within the enclosed space of the hangar, and as the two of them walked across the hangar floor toward a small office in the back, Adler had to pitch his voice louder to make himself heard.
“I was afraid you’d all been taken,” he told Pak. “Have you been listening to the news these past few hours?”
“No. The car had no radio. In any case, I would have expected a news blackout as soon as any assault was begun. Have you heard anything?”
Adler nodded. “Came over the television on the BBC evening news an hour ago. The government claims the Army assaulted a flat in Middlebrough, but the details are still sketchy. Was it the SAS?”
Pak shrugged. “I wasn’t there to see. But I would be surprised if it was not. Did they identify who they were attacking?”
“Just ‘presumed IRA terrorists,’ though the announcer also mentioned the Red Army Faction once. Typical news botchup.”
“They won’t know yet. About the People’s Revolution.”
“If by ‘they’ you mean the government, I doubt that they would tell the press anything anyway. The BBC was taking a lot of wild guesses on this one, none of them particularly accurate.”
“It would be helpful to know just how much the government does know,” Pak said thoughtfully.
“Know your enemy,” Adler said. “Say, where’s your girlfriend? Did she get out of Waterfront Rise with you?”
“She… we thought it best that she stay behind, to ensure that incriminating documents were destroyed. Some of the papers you people insisted on keeping include sensitive information that could have led the authorities here.”
Adler nodded, admiring the calm, the analytical detachment in Pak’s voice. The man was cold as ice. “I know. Maybe that was a mistake, keeping those records… but what we’re trying to do here, it’s so big. We needed to keep track of the details, or else something small would have tripped us up.”
Past the helicopter and the painting crew, the noise wasn’t so bad. Adler opened the door to the office and ushered Pak through.
Inside was a desk piled with papers that would, if inspected, demonstrate that Cranston Moor was indeed a small private airfield that tended to struggle along in the red, with far more bills than income. A bulletin board on the wall by the door included cards advertising flying and skydiving clubs. On the adjacent wall was a detailed topological map of the area, a calendar hanging beneath a photograph of a World War II Spitfire in flight, and several pinups of provocatively posed naked women torn from various pornographic magazines.
“Do you know if anyone was captured at Middlebrough?” Pak asked.
“The BBC wasn’t real explicit,” Adler replied. “Deliberately so, I imagine. They don’t want to tip us off.”
“I was wondering if we should evacuate this site anyway, just in case.”
Adler sighed. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Even if they were able to capture the documents that point back here, it will take them days, at least, to sort through them all. And by that time, of course, it will be too late.”
“I see the work on the helicopter is still only half complete. You are behind schedule.”
“Don’t worry, Major. It will be done by late tonight or early tomorrow,” Adler told him. “We could fly it to our alternate location tomorrow afternoon if necessary, but I don’t think that will be necessary. And after tomorrow, of course…” He let the thought trail off.
“Perhaps, then, our sacrifice of the safe house will have a good effect,” Pak said. “It should provide something for the British government and security forces to worry about, while we complete our plans here.”
“Ja, ” Adler said. “My thought exactly. There is, however, one other disturbing piece of news.”
“What is that?”
“This afternoon I received a cipher from Wiesbaden. The usual source.”
“Yes?”
“There’s been an… incident. Berg and two others have been captured by the German police. And Waldemar is dead.”
“That… is not good.”
“Damn right it’s not. The two were freelancers hired for the occasion and knew nothing, but Berg and Waldemar were members of the inner cells.”
“And you say that Erna Berg was captured?”
“And is being interrogated by the BKA right at this moment, as we speak. At least, that’s what Ulrich tells me.”
“How much does she know? Can we get to her?”
“She doesn’t know everything about the plan, of course, but she knows enough to link parts of our organization on the Continent with the operation here. She knows about me, and that I am running something here called Operation Firestorm. And… though she doesn’t know the specific reason for your being brought over to England, she does know about you.”
Pak’s normally bland and impassive face twisted with something that might have been anger, then became expressionless once again. “How did she allow herself to be captured?”
Adler looked away. “Our nemesis over there is not an organization so much as it is a machine,” he explained. “The BKA computer at Wiesbaden. You’re familiar with it?”
Pak nodded. “The one they call ‘Komissar.’”
“Berg was head of a team keeping a particular BKA employee under observation, a woman named Schmidt who has some fairly high-level access to the Wiesbaden computer. We thought this person’s activities might give us a clue to the nature of their investigations. Anyway, two days ago, Schmidt met with two unknown men. Our intelligence sources were unable to turn up any hard information on them, but a check of their passport records indicated that both were American, and both were active-duty members of the U.S. Navy. One was a lieutenant, the other a senior petty officer.”
“American Navy. SEALs, perhaps?”
“It is a possibility. We are checking into that, though it is extremely difficult to learn anything about that organization. It is also possible that they were members of the American intelligence community, DIA or CIA or even FBI, working under the cover of Navy passports.”
Pak grunted. “The American SEALs are very much a part of the American intelligence community,” he said. “More so, perhaps, than your GSG9 is a part of the German intelligence apparatus. This news is… disquieting.”
“I thought so too.”
“What were the Americans doing in Wiesbaden, then?”
“Consulting with the Wiesbaden computer’s records, obviously. With Schmidt’s help.”
“About what? Us?”
“There was no way to tell. Possibly the visit was simply coincidental with the onset of our operation in England. However, if the Americans are seeking information on Operation Firestorm — and it will strike at their interests in Europe, so we can expect them to become involved once they know what is happening — it is certain that the Wiesbaden computer would have data pertinent to their research. There is a way we could learn more… ”
“Yes?”
“One of the Americans, the officer, appears to have, ah, formed an attachment with the BKA employee while he was there. Spent the night with her. Understandable, of course. I gather she is quite attractive, not to mention something of a free spirit.”
“What is your point?”
“It was Ulrich’s idea to try to abduct both the BKA woman and the American officer… and that led to the incident.”
“How was the attempt thwarted? The German police?”
“According to Ulrich’s report, by the two targets themselves. The woman used karate, while the man… well, he appears to have been exceptionally well trained in martial arts. According to Ulrich, the fight was over in seconds.”