both for explosive devices, while yet another man used a mirror on a pole to look under the car.
The Germans did all this efficiently; there were a lot of diplomatic functions full of VIPs in Berlin, after all, so they had plenty of experience.
That was not to say this was a normal day for those charged with the security of the event. The American CIA had told the Germans they were worried about tonight at the ambassador’s residence specifically, although the Agency people in the American embassy had admitted to their counterparts that they had been wholly unable to convince the ambassador to delay or cancel the event. Still, the normally robust security for a function like this had been doubled, and the police were on alert throughout the city.
When the BMW was waved on down Finkenstrasse to the next stop, the four people in the vehicle began talking about what they all saw.
“Eight city cops at the first stop,” Zack said.
“That’s my count,” Zoya added.
Court was looking into the park on their right. “Looks like a half-dozen radio cars, two uniforms at each, parked on the southern side of the road. I see flashlights out in the trees, assume some foot patrols.”
Hanley said, “Also assume checkpoints in the other direction, so double our counts for the total external ring security force.”
Zack said, “Nursing home on the left.”
Court quipped, “Matt, does Zack have time to run in and get a brochure?”
“Watch it,” Hanley said. “I’m older than Romantic.”
The man behind the wheel groaned. “I really hate that code name, sir.”
Hanley didn’t respond to this. Instead he leaned against the window and looked up into the dark sky. “I don’t see any air. The Germans should have a helo or two up for this.”
They stopped at a second checkpoint on the road right in front of the front gate, and here all four were asked to step out of the vehicle by an armed man in a black windbreaker. Once standing in the road, they were quickly wanded for weapons by Germans who looked like they might have been part of the Regional Security Office, local security officials who helped the embassy with such tasks.
A valet took the keys from Zack and drove the BMW to a parking lot in Finkenpark, while the four new guests walked to the guard shack next to the driveway, passing the open iron gate.
Court put his hand on the metal bars idly as he passed, and he judged them to be heavy-gauge iron and able to stop most any vehicle that might try to ram its way inside.
But only if the gate was closed.
The shack was manned by a half-dozen uniformed Diplomatic Security Service personnel with MP5 submachine guns. Hanley and his small entourage waited in a short line behind other well-dressed guests, and finally their invitations and credentials were checked over a third time and they were welcomed to head up the driveway to the main house of the two-acre property.
The exquisitely manicured front garden had male and female security personnel standing around, all in suits and carrying subguns, shotguns, or pistols. Court could see their wired earpieces and the radios on their belts, and he was comfortable they would be in comms with the local police, the Regional Security Officers out front, and the personal protection detail of the ambassador inside.
On the roof of the old white mansion he could see movement, and he knew these would be DSS snipers, or perhaps U.S. Marines.
They walked as a unit. Zoya, Court, and Zack were supposed to be Matt’s bodyguards, after all, so they were close enough together to speak without being heard.
Zoya said, “Easily seventy-five armed security personnel, when you include the polizei. Maybe one hundred.”
“Yep,” Hanley said. “But al-Habsi would know that already, and Mirza will be ready for it.”
Zack said, “How the hell can Mirza get through this? I mean, unless he’s already here.”
Just then, a police helicopter flew overhead, and it shined a spotlight somewhere in the park across the street before flying off.
“Air. That’s a positive development,” Court said.
Zack threw some cold water on this, however. “Local police. They should have GSG9 in the sky and ready to hit.” Grenzschutzgruppe Neun was Germany’s elite special mission unit, some of the best paramilitaries on Earth.
They entered the front door of the massive, restored early-twentieth-century mansion at ten after nine, and they placed their covert earpieces in their ears, putting themselves in communication with one another, no matter where in the building