My Immortal The Vampires of Berlin (6 page)

Richter’s jaw hit the ground. He knew that several governments would want him silenced if they knew he had verifiable information concerning Operation Tristan. But this didn’t make sense.
I didn’t tell anybody! I was careful—I even shredded and burned my notes!

“This lecture has been rescheduled,” Julia told the stunned crowd. “Everybody out.”

Professor Richter remained defiant. “This lecture has not been rescheduled, young lady. Put the gun down and let me show you something that will change your mind about who you work for.” He pressed a key on his computer and the cover page of Dossier #6561 projected onto the wall.

In the confusion, Meg dove onto the would-be CIA assassin. The women fell to the floor and desperately fought for the gun. Meg bit Julia’s wrist and another shot rang out; Tom fell to the floor.

Meg threw the gun across the room and held Julia down as two guys secured her hands and feet with their belts. A janitor with a stun gun zapped her on the leg. Julia screamed in agony and kicked him in the balls. There was chaos in the room...

And then there was chaos outside of the room. Professor Richter ran down the hallway like a maniac, plowing over students and sending books and papers flying.

At the end of the hall, Richter pulled the door open and bolted down the stairs. Two flights later, he stopped in his tracks and backed up the stairs slowly.

He was terrified.

10

The screaming students that were running out of Humboldt University quickly got the attention of law enforcement. Within minutes, the Berlin Police had the building surrounded. A dead security guard lay sprawled out on the pavement near the front door.

Chief Wilhelm Heinkel was late to the action. He sped down the street, pulled the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. His police car spun out and came to a stop right between Humboldt University and the SWAT team that was preparing to rush into it. “Don’t go in yet!” he screamed. “I’m in charge! We need to put assets in place to minimize casualties!”

Truth be told, Chief Heinkel didn’t want his men to rush into the building before he was in position to take credit for the operation. He was technically off-duty, but with his retirement coming in a few months, he knew that the incident was probably his last chance to get on television.

Heinkel jumped out of the car and barked orders at his lieutenant. “Put a sniper on each exit and keep the SWAT team ready to go in on my command! I’ll handle the negotiations. What are their demands? What’s the situation?”

“We have one dead security guard. A reporter took a bullet, but he wasn’t a target. He’ll be fine. We haven’t talked to the—”

A sudden shout interrupted the exchange. “Someone’s coming out!”

Heinkel pulled out his pistol and ducked behind his engine block. “If they come out shooting, take them down!” he screamed.

With fifty guns trained on the front door, it opened.

“Hold your fire!” a SWAT sniper yelled.

Meg and the now-limping janitor carried Julia out. She was tied up and looked slightly delirious, the result of a few too many zaps from the stun gun. They stepped over the security guard’s body, walked up to the cops and unceremoniously dumped Julia onto the ground right in front of them.

“Who else is in there?” Chief Heinkel asked.

“What do you mean, who else?”

“The terrorists. How many are we dealing with?”

“Terrorists? There are no terrorists. It’s just this crazy chick. She killed the security guard.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Julia cried. “Let me go! I have diplomatic immunity—I think!”

Chief Heinkel ignored Julia’s pleas and stuffed her into his squad car. As he closed the door, two black SUVs pulled up. He recognized a few of the men who got out as
Bundespolizei
.
What the hell do the feds want?

“Who is in charge here?” Lt. Meyer asked.

“I am,” Chief Heinkel replied.

“Where’s Professor Richter?”

Chief Heinkel laughed. “He’s probably still running for his life. Apparently, the woman in the back seat of my car doesn’t like his book. I thought it was a good read, certainly not bad enough to kill him over. In any case, we arrested her before you got here. Case closed. You can go home and do whatever it is that you do when you are not chasing bad guys.
My
bad guys.”

“Get her out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the suspect out of your goddamn car,” Lt. Meyer replied. “We’re taking custody of her.”

Heinkel shook his head. “No, you’re not. This is not a federal matter. This is my jurisdiction and that woman is a suspect in a very active murder case.”

“Let me make this clear,” Lt. Meyer said. “We are here by direct order of the Chancellor. These men behind me are with the American FBI. We are taking Julia Heckmann with us. If you interfere, we will arrest you on federal terrorism charges and take her anyway. Now, get her out of your car.”

“That is not possible. She just killed a security guard.”

“She didn’t kill anyone,” Lt. Meyer said.

“How can you be so sure?”

Boom!
The cops spun around ...

Professor Richter’s body was on the hood of Chief Heinkel’s car, as if it had fallen from the sky. His left arm ended in a bloody stump. His briefcase was gone. Julia was in the back seat, screaming her head off.

“Holy” and “crap” were the only two words that Chief Heinkel could muster. Five minutes later, he retired.

11

President Ricardo Duarte paced around the secure conference room deep underneath the White House. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and other advisors sat unmoving around the table. This was Duarte’s first crisis in office, but he wasn’t getting answers and he wasn’t happy. In fact, he was angrier than he had ever been in his life.

“Mr. President, the crisis has been averted,” CIA Director Waldon said. “Everything is going to be fine.”

President Duarte waved his hand.
This is not your time to talk; this is your time to listen
.

“Let’s get some facts straight, shall we?” he shouted. “On my fourth day as President of the United States, the CIA tried to publicly assassinate a writer in Germany. A security guard was killed and a reporter got shot. Last but not least, the writer got thrown out of a building. Or dropped from an airplane. In fact, we’re not sure what happened to the writer, but apparently it was goddamn dramatic because he fell out of the sky and landed on top of a police car. Am I right so far?”

Director Waldon swallowed hard. “Our agent didn’t kill Professor Richter.”

“I stand corrected,” the President replied. “The CIA librarian who you sent in with a stolen weapon that she didn’t know how to use tried and
failed
to kill the writer. On another topic—do you think this scandal will be bigger than
Abu Ghraib
? Because at the impeachment proceedings, I’m going to have a
front row seat!”

Waldon ignored the sarcasm. “There will be no scandal and there will be no front row seat. The German Chancellor is aware of the need for secrecy and we have assurances that the investigation will go nowhere. Tomorrow, the Berlin press will go back to writing about the polar bear cub or whatever they have in the zoo these days. We’ll follow up with a strategic disinformation campaign and this will blow over. When it does, we’ll whisk Ms. Heckmann out of Germany and into a desk job in San Francisco.”

“What about the security guard?”

Waldon cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “He was killed by a transient.”

“A transient?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Do you mean the homeless guy who miraculously escaped through a ring of German police just as Richter became a flying fucking Walenda?
That
guy?”

Waldon nodded.

President Duarte laughed out loud. “Oh my God. We spend billions on covert operations and
that
is the best cover story you got? A transient? That doesn’t even pass the laugh test—you might as well blame Richter’s death on the Pittsburgh Steelers. You better lose the bullshit story, Director Waldon, because I want to know what happened!”

Waldon sighed. The rest of the conversation was going to be difficult, just like it was every time. Maybe the discussion was hardest yet on the handful of government officials who had to explain the implications of Operation Tristan to each new president. In any event, the inquisition was not over.

“Director Waldon, please answer the million-dollar question. Who ripped Richter’s arm off and threw him off the building? The Tooth Fairy?”

“Our allies, Mr. President.”

“Our allies?”

“Yes, sir.” After having this exact same conversation with the last president, he knew what came next.

“What the hell do the Germans—”

“He’s not talking about the Germans, Mr. President,” General Hastings interrupted.

Realizing that the conversation was about to spiral out of control, Waldon cut him off. “Hold on, general. We have to take this one step at a time. He has no idea who we’re dealing with.”

The President had enough. “Look, I don’t care what drug dealers, mafia-types or evil dictators you’re in bed with—I know how the covert intelligence game works. But I never approved a public assassination in a NATO country. Period. Your actions were in violation of federal law and at least a dozen international treaties. As far as I am concerned, this is
treason
.”

“Air Force One is ready, sir. We’ll brief you on the way to Berlin,” General Hastings replied. “We’re going there to discuss the crisis with the Chancellor in person.”

“No, we’re not. We’re staying right here.” The President picked up the phone but General Hastings grabbed it out of his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” President Duarte shouted at the top of his lungs. “Is this a
coup d’état
? When do the Marines take to the streets?”