“Keep working,” he instructed Azizov and his helper. “I’ve got to see about the air handler.”
He rushed out of the basement and up the back stairwell leading to each floor and ultimately to the roof of the three-story building. He glanced up at the sprinkler heads as he took the steps two at a time, smiling as he visualized panicked embassy personnel seeking fresh air, only to be doused with sarin-contaminated water.
When he reached the main floor, he caught his breath and casually emerged from the stairwell. He made his way down a hallway with open office doors flanking both sides. A very attractive young blonde exited one of the offices and walked in front of him down the hallway. Her long legs and curved hips mesmerized Wagner as he followed. His mind raced briefly as he considered rescuing this damsel from the distress he was about to inflict upon her.
He made his way into the utility room and quickly joined the two men working on the panel. They showed him the problem and offered a couple of solutions.
“One option is to pair two zones onto a single terminal by jumping the wires from two to three, for example. However, sir, I cannot give you assurances this method will work, and it might even prevent both zones two and three from functioning.”
“What is another option?” asked Wagner.
“One of us could go to the local electrical supply store and purchase the proper control panel. It is a common system made by Honeywell.”
“How far or, rather, how long will that take?” Wagner checked his watch. He was suppressing his anger at this overlooked contingency. The zoning panel was only six inches tall by four inches wide. His team could’ve carried in half a dozen different types.
“Thirty to forty-five minutes, sir. It is close to lunchtime, and traffic will be heavy.”
“Scheisse!” Wagner was aggravated, and then he asked, “Can we bypass it altogether?”
“Bypass, sir?” the young Turkish operative asked.
“Yes. Forget the installation of the control panel. Allow the building’s thermostats to control the air handler, not the panel.”
The two men working on this aspect of the mission exchanged glances. The Turk replied, “Um, yes, sir. That requires one or maybe two people to set the thermostats and escape the building before the cold air hits the DATS devices.”
“How long?” asked Wagner before repeating the question. “How long will it take for the thermostats to react and start the flow of cold air through the ductwork?”
The young Turkish man who had a cursory background in HVAC systems from his father’s general contracting business studied the Mitsubishi HVAC system.
“Most of these require sixty seconds to allow the amperage to build up before firing the units. After that, depending on their efficiency, maybe another minute for the cold air to find its way from the air handler to the vents. Then another half minute for the proper temperature to register.”
“Nearly three minutes from the time the thermostats are set until the sarin would be released. Am I correct?” asked Wagner.
“Yes, sir. That’s why I suggest at least two men to handle this task.”
Wagner walked away and wandered through the utility room. In rapid succession, three of his men reported their DATS devices had been installed. Except for this hiccup, their mission was on schedule.
He walked back to where the two operatives had been working on the control panel. He subconsciously picked up a flathead screwdriver and used it to point at the device, tapping it as he spoke.
“I want you to dismantle what you’ve done and bypass it so the thermostats control the system. I will set the thermostats and exit the building in time.”
“Sir, you will need help,” said the Turkish operative.
“I have someone downstairs. When we’ve completed the modification of the fire-suppression system, I’ll set things in motion.”
Wagner furrowed his brow, slapped the young man on the back, and shoved the screwdriver in his pocket as he strutted out of the utility room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Home of Professor von Zwick
Northern Germany near the Baltic Sea
“I don’t like this!” shouted Bear through the upper hallways of von Zwick’s home. Several large open spaces filled the center of the steep rafters. Walkways surrounded the interior walls, creating minimal headroom due to the severe slope of the roof lines. Von Zwick’s hatch-like openings in the roof were large enough for a shooter to extend a rifle through despite the cramped design.
“Why the hell didn’t we bring NVGs?” lamented Bear. Their voices easily found their way through the mainly open space on the second floor.
When the team left Fort Belvoir, they’d expected to conduct investigative work. They hadn’t traveled with their normal complement of gear because they never anticipated being surrounded by gunmen who’d stalked them all the way from Berlin. Fortunately, the CIA in Berlin had equipped them with the silenced pistols.
Gunner couldn’t disagree with their complaints. He had no choice but to rely upon von Zwick’s infrared perimeter surveillance cameras to spot their target. The shotgun he’d chosen would allow him to blindly spray shot to a wide area with the hopes of wounding an approaching attacker. A second shot would either disable the attacker or kill him altogether.
The professor’s voice came over the ceiling-mounted speakers. “Two men, ten feet apart, approaching from the east.”
“That’s you, Cam!” Gunner reminded her. “Focus your eyes and look for movement. Listen for the rustling of heavy feet.”
“I’m on it,” she said
