A devastating terrorist attack cripples Berlin

After the failed attempt to kill a defector who fled to Germany, North Korea carries out a revenge attack in Berlin. It is the most serious attack on the city since World War II.

Major Sophie Decker of the elite German Intelligence unit, Department 89, is ordered that everyone connected with the attack should be hunted down and killed mercilessly. But the clues in tracking them down are few and far between, and tensions begin to show in the department. Especially when those closest to them lose their lives.

Under pressure to deliver quick decisive results, Decker ultimately resorts to reckless and illegal measures.

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Darkness was falling when the black BMW pulled up outside the Munich nightclub and a dark-skinned Saudi got out of the back. His chauffeur tipped his hat deferentially as his employer ignored him as usual and walked towards the club door.

There was a long waiting line to get into the club, filled with impatient people and watched over carefully by bouncers. But people like the Saudi didn’t wait in lines. People like him got into anywhere they wanted. It was the appearance of wealth and the quiet authority that ensured people like him always got what they wanted.

As he approached the club door, the bouncers made a show of looking him over carefully, as he looked over the females shivering in their dresses. Dresses so short they barely covered any flesh. For a moment, he was tempted to hit on one of them but then he suddenly changed his mind. He turned and the bouncers dutifully stood to one side, allowing him in. 

As he knew they would. They always do.

* * *

As he entered, he was being watched from the roof of the building opposite, via the use of a rifle infrared telescopic sight.

Sergeant Volkan Akdemir was dressed for the cold weather. He wore a black heavy jacket and a black woollen hat. He was on his stomach, legs spread, and he frequently wriggled his toes to reassure himself that he hadn’t lost them to frostbite.

Damn winter. That was one of the things he couldn’t get used to in Germany. The winter cold.

After watching the arrival of the car and its occupant for a few moments, Akdemir grunted. He put down the rifle sight and talked into a microphone attached to his wrist.

“Guardian Angel to Avenging Angel, your boy just turned up.”

“Roger that” said the crystal clear voice of Sergeant Sabine Graf, “and for the record, he is not ‘my boy’. I don’t go for international terrorist financiers. Not homey enough.”

Graf was inside the nightclub, awaiting the arrival of the international terrorist financier, Jamal Dawoud. Responsible for giving money to Al-Qaeda and then ISIS, Dawoud was indirectly responsible for some of the most devastating terrorist attacks in recent memory, including the 2015 attacks in Paris.

Now German Intelligence had circumstantial evidence that he was financing a huge attack in Germany and that the threat was ‘imminent’. But since there was not enough to convict him in a court of law, Chancellor Claudia Meyer had decided to pass the problem to Department 89 and its chief, Major Sophie Decker.

Department 89 only dealt with these types of problems one way.

The permanent and deadly way.

The only small hiccup was that Dawoud was heavily protected 24 hours a day. So casually strolling up to Dawoud and putting a bullet in him was not going to be possible. So what they needed was a distraction, and who better than Sabine Graf?

Akdemir’s job was to report Dawoud’s arrival and then, if necessary, give covering fire from the rooftop. But Graf and Akdemir were not alone. Newly-promoted Lieutenant Max Amsel was in the line outside shivering along with the rest of them. But he had an invisible earpiece so he could hear the conversation between Akdemir and Graf. He also had a gun attached to his ankle and a knife in a scabbard attached to his other ankle.

The BMW had moved further down the street. It was time to disable the opposition and level the playing field.

* * *

Amsel slowly came out of the queue and gave a rueful smile to the bouncers.

“Too cold to wait anymore. Guess I’ll try another place down the street.”

Without waiting for a response, he started slowly walking down the street, casually watching the BMW. The bodyguards had ducked into an alleyway to catch an illicit smoke while the boss’s back was turned. So Amsel met nobody as he walked around the other side of the car and then crouched. 

Acting as if his shoelace was undone, Amsel removed the knife from the ankle scabbard and plunged it into the tyre. The air started to hiss out of the damaged wheel and Amsel saw it quickly deflate. He then moved forward a few paces and did the other tyre on that side.

Replacing the knife, Amsel got up again, casually checked to make sure he hadn’t been seen, and then talked into his wrist microphone.

“Road Runner to Guardian Angel and Avenging Angel, you’re all clear. The opposition vehicle is disabled. You’re on, Avenging Angel.”

“Roger that sir” said Graf, “meep, meep.”

On the roof, Akdemir attached the telescopic sight back on the rifle, set it up on a tripod, and focused in on the front door of the club. He lightly rested his finger on the trigger guard and waited for something to happen.

* * *

Graf was inside the club at the bar, tending a gin and tonic, waiting for ‘her boy’ to show up. Truth be told, she detested nightclubs. Overpriced drinks and the feeling that she, along with all the other women, were on display to the men like cattle at the market. 

But she had an image to project if she wanted to get Jamal Dawoud’s attention. He liked busty blondes in miniskirts and she fit the description to a tee. So she had reluctantly got into the miniskirt, told herself she was doing it for her country, and was now at the bar, patiently waiting and pretending she was enjoying herself.

She had spent most of the time fighting off lusty men with a pitchfork who couldn’t believe she wasn’t interested in their booze-addled personalities. But just as she was beginning to get seriously pissed off with her assignment, her target walked through the door.

Dawoud looked around the club and Graf tried to look casual. If she showed immediate interest, his suspicions would be aroused. No, he had to work for it and come to her. And they had a plan in place to ensure it happened.

A Department 89 operative, posing as a drunk German, was ordered to approach Graf and pretend he fancied his chances. His mates, also fellow operatives, stood nearby grinning. When they got the slight nod from Graf, the ‘drunk’ agent came over.

“Alright gorgeous?” he slurred. 

Graf pretended to ignore him and be repulsed by him. Which was not hard because she personally did find him repulsive. 

“Want a drink?” he pressed on. Graf had to admire his acting abilities. 

“No thanks.”

“Want a fuck?” he said, barking a loud laugh.

“Gee what an offer. But no thanks.”

The man looked miffed. “Lesbian are you?”

Akdemir and Amsel could hear the exchange through the microphone and the last question made them flinch.

“That wasn’t in the script. She is going to make him hurt for that” muttered Akdemir.

Graf turned and looked at the man, who was swaying back and forth.

“No, but you’re so disgusting you’re seriously making me consider becoming one.”

The man’s mates dutifully howled with laughter while the man himself went red in the face.

“You fucking bitch. You need to be taught some manners.”

Graf instinctively knew the swing was coming, so when he swung the fist, she was already closing the gap between them. She grabbed the fist with both hands and twisted his arm in the wrong direction making him gasp in pain.

“Call me a bitch again” she said, “go on, say it.”


Graf yanked up the arm which was already in the wrong position, and this caused the arm to break, as well as dislocate the shoulder. The operative screamed in agony and Graf finished him off with a well-aimed kick to the testicles. Her opponent slumped to the floor.

Graf turned to the man’s friends who were by now not laughing and were watching her warily.

“I suggest you take your friend to the hospital and then home. He’s had enough booze and adventure for one night.”

As she turned around again, Graf saw someone looking at her, intrigued. 

Jamal Dawoud.

* * *

“I would offer you a drink but I’m afraid of what you would do to me” said Dawoud, smiling and holding up his hands slightly in mock surrender.

Graf pretended to look him over.

“You look nicer. He was a drunk pig. You’re not drunk and you don’t act like a pig. Two strikes in your favour.”

Dawoud flashed his smile again, revealing perfectly white teeth. “So what can I get you to drink?”

Graf lifted her gin and tonic. “Another one of these. And since you’re paying, make it a double.”

“You heard the lady” said Dawoud to the barman who nodded. Dawoud sat on the stool next to Graf. “So what’s your name?”

“Sabine” said Graf, throwing back the rest of her gin and tonic, as the next one was placed in front of her by the barman, “and yours?”


“Nice to meet you Jamal” said Graf, holding up her new drink, “I get the feeling you and I are going to get along famously.”

* * *

It was almost an hour later when Graf and Dawoud stumbled laughing into the parking area at the rear of the club.

Graf was well able to control the booze but Dawoud definitely couldn’t. After two drinks, he had become hopelessly drunk and began shamelessly leering at Graf’s cleavage. That was when she knew she had him right where she wanted him. She quietly suggested a trip outside as she had “something to take the edge off”. She made sure she said enough out loud for the benefit of Akdemir and Amsel waiting outside. Grinning, Dawoud then followed Graf like a lamb going to the slaughter.

They stumbled around in the darkness, towards a pair of dumpsters. As they got closer, the noise from the club got quieter and Graf could see there was nobody around.

Good. No witnesses, she thought.

She pushed Dawoud against the wall, smiling suggestively. Thinking it was his lucky day, Dawoud continued grinning as Graf put her hand inside her handbag. Thinking she was going for a condom, Dawoud started undoing his trousers.

That was when Graf struck.

With a balled fist, Graf punched Dawoud in the Adam’s apple, damaging his speech box and causing him to gargle. He clutched his throat in agony and he staggered forward, slightly bent over as he struggled for breath.

Graf’s other hand came out of her handbag to reveal a garrotte.  Getting behind Dawoud, Graf slung the garrotte around his neck, kicked off her high heels, put one knee against his back, and began throttling him. 

Flailing for his life, Dawoud was unable to get out of the position he was in. Graf was straining, her muscles taut, as she brutally squeezed the life out of him. Suddenly Dawoud’s eyes rolled and he slumped to the ground lifelessly.

“Avenging Angel to Guardian Angel and Roadrunner. Task is done. Come round the back and pick me up.”

“On the way” said Amsel, who by now was in his car, “Guardian Angel, stay in position for the moment and make sure Avenging Angel and I get away clean. Then we’ll pick you up at the secondary location as previously agreed.”

“Got that” said Akdemir.

But bad luck suddenly struck. The back door to the club opened and one of Dawoud’s bodyguards poked his head out. He was obviously looking for his boss. When he saw Dawoud on the ground with Graf crouching over him, he hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure in the gloom whether or not he was interrupting a private moment. It wouldn’t do to interrupt his employer coitus interruptus.

Graf however wasn’t going to wait for the bodyguard to make up his mind.

“Come quick!” she shrieked, “I found him lying here. I think he’s ill!”

The bodyguard strode forward to take a look and Graf didn’t hesitate. Launching herself forward, she grabbed the man’s head in a headlock and kneed him viciously between the legs. In one fluid move, she grabbed the gun out of his shoulder holster, rammed it into his stomach and pulled the trigger. The man shuddered then collapsed to the ground.

The whole thing had lasted less than five seconds.

“Road Runner, get me the hell out of here before the other bodyguards come to investigate that gunshot” she said, urgently.

“I’m already coming” said Amsel.

Seconds later, Amsel came screeching around the corner in his government vehicle and popped the passenger door open. As he did so, more of Dawoud’s bodyguards appeared, took one look at the situation, and knew who the bad ones were.

Graf jumped into the bulletproof and armour-plated car.

“Go!” she shouted as bullets started pinging harmlessly off the car’s exterior.

“Akdemir” said Amsel, “get off that roof and meet us at the rendezvous.”

The car shot forward with bullets hitting the windshield. Amsel picked up speed and the bodyguards scattered to avoid being hit. One of them was not so lucky and was hit by the car.

Amsel turned to Graf. “Are you OK?”

“Yup, piece of cake” said Graf, shaking with adrenaline.


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