With an imperceptible nod, he ordered his operatives into the wooded park adjacent to the embassy. On a normal August afternoon, Americans would be sitting around the marble fountain, eating a sack lunch or sharing Starbucks coffee from the nearby 28 Mall. It would’ve been a little taste of home for the diplomats in a strange, foreign land.
Today, the park was filled with news media comparing notes and curious onlookers who had to be near the center of the action. For Wagner, it was an opportunity for him to have cover as he approached the embassy parking area where the investigative teams had set up shop.
He assigned quadrants to each of his operatives to cover. While he presumed the Americans were still dressed in the clothes shown in the photographs, he reminded his team to look closely at every American in the crowd of investigators. If they were unsure, they were to covertly take a picture of the individual and forward it to him. If he couldn’t make a determination, he’d forward it on to Hexane for analysis.
Wagner stood alone, scanning the bevy of Americans who were working the scene. All were focused and rarely spoke to one another. He studied every face, looking for similarities to the trio shown in the security pictures. He’d gotten frustrated with the Hexane analysts because they were unable to identify the Americans through facial recognition compared to existing databases.
The three operatives were ghosts, much like himself. There was no trace of their existence. Not military. Not civilian. No driver’s license. Not even a passport. The fact that they walked the face of the Earth, ever, would be disavowed by the American government, and any other nation, for that matter. Nameless, faceless people whose life consisted of a job performed for love of country. Just like him.
Gunner scanned the photos provided by Carlson into his cell phone and delivered them to Jackal. He instructed the Den to enhance the images and return them to each of their phones in Baku.
Serial arsonists were known to stand near the burning structure after they’d successfully fulfilled their needs. Oftentimes, the act was a means of getting attention, so they stood and watched the structure burn, basking in the heat and the energy of the others watching the building ablaze.
Terrorists were not that different. Like arsonists, they were attention seekers. The act of killing innocent people made them feel powerful even though it was a truly cowardly undertaking. Most terrorist organizations used the attack as a recruitment tool to their ranks or ideologies. They immediately issued videos claiming responsibility and promising to inflict more terror on their adversaries. FBI studies have shown that oftentimes the terrorists remain in close proximity to where the attack took place so they could feel the pain and angst of their victims.
Gunner didn’t know what kind of terrorists initiated this attack, but he felt in his gut they were a far cry from what most would expect. In his mind, until someone proved him wrong, he was dealing with soldiers, not terrorists.
The hit teams that had followed them across Northern Germany were professionals. The gear and tactics they’d used at von Zwick’s house were not that different from the ones he would employ, although he would’ve performed more reconnaissance before attacking. Clearly, the eight-man team who’d killed the hundred-plus employees of the U.S. Embassy were far more sophisticated than the usual suspects.
Yet, despite their presumed level of sophistication, there was always the chance human nature would draw them back to the embassy to observe the aftermath. For that reason, although it was the wrong one, Gunner focused his team’s efforts on scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the terrorists. Gunner called it the luck factor. Lord knows I’ve been plenty lucky in my life.
The hunter had become the hunted and vice versa. The two seasoned operatives from different backgrounds and certainly from different ends of the good-versus-bad spectrum searched their surroundings. Both had a gut instinct their adversary, an enemy neither had met, much less crossed paths with, was nearby.
Gunner and Wagner exuded a presence everywhere they went. It was an energy footprint larger than the average man. If one were to believe every human being exuded an aura, a distinctive atmosphere surrounding a person, then the footprint left on planet Earth by each of these two men was ten times the norm.
Like two magnets sitting on a slick tabletop, itching to collide with one another, Gunner and Wagner searched the bustling activity around the U.S. Embassy.
Gunner was drawn to the tall chain-link fence separating the embassy compound from the woodsy park adjacent to it. The concertina wire was wrapped in its ribbonlike swirl across the top, designed to keep intruders out. But the fence was not capable of preventing people from seeing one another.
He stepped closer to the fence, not realizing that simultaneously, Wagner was doing the same. Subconsciously, Wagner lowered the bill of his cap to obscure his face even more. The slight movement caught Gunner’s eye. It was a deliberate motion taken by someone who didn’t want to be recognized, kind of like pretending to scratch the side of your head when walking through a shopping mall or quickly putting on your sunglasses even though a cloudy day didn’t warrant it.
Gunner pushed by a group of CDC personnel, who mumbled at him for the rude intrusion. He moved quickly toward the fence. The man he’d picked out of the crowd seemed to notice Gunner’s approach. He slowly reached across his body with his right arm as his hand extended into his jacket.
Gunner’s hand slipped to his side and pushed his shirt out of the way to reveal his sidearm. He grabbed the grip and started to pull it out of the holster when a commotion could be heard at the entrance of the embassy compound. He averted his eyes for a second.
Just a split second in time, yet long enough for him to
