“It’s a dirty job,” Murdock said resignedly. “But someone’s got to do it.”
3
That evening, after a long day going over the data from the BKA’s Komissar computer, Murdock and Inge Schmidt left the BKA complex, walking out to her sporty red Renault Alpine parked in the employees’ south lot, then drove through the security gate and onto the main highway, heading toward Wiesbaden. Komissar had provided a treasure trove of data on Major Pak of North Korean Special Operations, and on the various RAF and Provo figures involved in an as yet unrevealed revival of Euro-terror, and Murdock had already arranged for a secure fax line to transmit the information back to Washington.
He and Inge had gotten to know each other a lot better during the course of the afternoon, their earlier flirtation somehow evolving into a rapidly deepening friendship. Murdock found Inge to be extremely bright and quick, with dozens of the oddest facts imaginable instantly accessible in the course of their conversation. Though she never mentioned it, a conversation with Hopke had revealed that Inge Schmidt and Komissar had been partly responsible for the chain of data that had led to the capture of the notorious Carlos the Jackal a year before.
Murdock could easily understand why Hopke had jokingly referred to her as the BKA computer, though that statement could certainly not have been a reflection on her personality.
Murdock genuinely liked her.
It was not a completely comfortable feeling. Murdock had been engaged to be married once, but Susan had died in a car accident while on her way to attend his graduation from Annapolis. He’d tried to steer clear of romantic entanglements ever since, especially after he’d gone against his family’s wishes and become a Navy SEAL. Some of the SEALs in his platoon were married — Mac and Magic, Kos and Scotty.
Splitting his life between a woman and the Navy wasn’t for him, though. Not anymore.
But he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for this woman, an attraction that she seemed to echo for him. Damn it all! Where was this thing going?
“So how does the GSG9 relate to the BKA?” he wanted to know. Traffic was heavy, but Inge steered the powerful little Renault with a sure hand, guiding them safely around the slower clumpings of traffic. Soon they reached the cloverleaf winding toward the east-west Autobahn leading to Frankfurt.
“Well, the German Federal Republic was caught totally unprepared by the terrorism that began appearing in the sixties and seventies,” she said. “In particular, well, there was Munich, you know. The GFR authorities did not come out of that situation looking so good.”
Murdock nodded understanding. The 1972 Olympic Games in Munich, West Germany, were best remembered now for the bloody attack by seven members of the Palestinian Black September terrorist group. Two Israeli athletes had been killed by the gunmen, and nine more taken hostage. Then, at Furstenfeldbruk Airport, an ambush by Bavarian State Police police sharpshooters had gone horribly, tragically wrong. All nine hostages, along with five terrorists and one policeman, had died in the bloody, botched rescue attempt.
“Munich was the reason the Grenzschutzgruppe was created in the first place,” Inge continued. “The after-action analysis indicated that the primary reasons the police failed during the attack were poor training, poor communications, and poor marksmanship. They missed their targets during the first round of firing, which gave one of the terrorists the opportunity to throw a hand grenade into the helicopter where the hostages were being held.
“GSG9 was raised out of the Federal Border Guard unit. Unlike your SEALs, the SAS, and every other elite counterterror unit with which I am familiar, it is a civilian force, actually a branch of our state police, though its people do undergo extremely thorough military training.”
“I’ve heard they’re very good.”
She smiled sweetly. “They are much more than good, Lieutenant. Tomorrow, back at the office, I will show you a trophy from the 1985 St. Augustine competition. An international and inter-service military competition, including marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, and room clearing. The South Bavarian GSG took first place that year. The American Delta Force placed second, while your Navy SEALs took third.”
“Maybe we should demand a rematch.”
She tossed her head, laughing. “That might be fun. Anyway, since 1984,” she went on, “the GSG9 has consisted of four combat units, each of thirty-six men. Units One and Four concentrate on surveillance duties and various operations for the BKA. They also, however, directly support the Lander units in each of our federal states.”
“Wherever they’re needed, huh?”
“Exactly. In addition, Unit Two has been tasked with protection of Germany’s oil platforms in the North Sea and in the Baltic. Unit Three specializes in free-fall parachuting and, um, special entry. We call them for the assault when all other means of dealing with a particular threat have failed. I suppose you could say that the BKA coordinates GSG activities and operations, providing them with intelligence and, in some cases, with specific missions. We have to be extremely careful, however, because of our past history.”
“The Nazis?”
“Ja. Exactly so. That is why the GSG9 was drawn from our civil police. If a military unit were so trained and so organized, there would be immediate charges that we were trying to revive the military elitism of the SS. It has led to some incredible stupidities. Not long ago, the GSG9 was brought in to help organize a sweep against terrorist targets throughout Germany, something they were uniquely qualified to take part in. At the last moment, however, the GSG was excluded from the actual operation. One of our honored members of parliament insisted that GSG9 operatives would be useless on such a mission because, his words, ‘all they can do is shoot.’ The sweep, needless to say, was not particularly successful.”
Murdock could hear the pride Inge felt for the GSG9 in her words and in her scorn for the German bureaucracy. He had the feeling that she identified strongly with the Grenzschutzgruppe, even though she was actually employed by the BKA. A Grenzschutzgruppe groupie? Murdock grinned at the thought. “Well, I don’t know about German Parliament,” he said. “But I can tell you that the GSG9 has a damned fine reputation throughout the rest of the world… ”
His voice trailed off. Casually, he reached up and adjusted the Renault’s rearview mirror.
“Something wrong?” Inge asked, glancing across at him.
“Do you normally have a BKA tail?”
“A what?” She started to laugh, and then the impact of what Murdock had just said sank home. “A tail?”
“Someone from the office who follows you home. For security purposes.”
“Certainly not! Are we being followed?”
“A gray Mercedes has been trying to keep up with you ever since we turned out of the BKA parking lot. He’s still there… about three cars back.”
Inge dimpled. “Perhaps it’s Lieutenant Hopke. He is — how is it you say? He has the hots for me.”
“I don’t blame him one bit… but I don’t think that’s Herr Hopke. Not unless he can afford a luxury car like that on a police lieutenant’s salary.”
“That is true. Werner drives a Hyundai.”
“Hmm. It’s probably nothing.” But he was worried. Inge’s driving had been aggressive enough that Murdock would not have expected another driver to be able to keep up with her. Germany had a “recommended” speed of 130 kilometers per hour on the Autobahn, but if Inge’s driving was anything to go by, there was no law against exceeding it.