It was not an invisible event. A tower controller noted the arrival, having already noted a few minutes before that a Sabena flight scheduled in a slot ahead of the British aircraft had been given an unnecessary go-around order, and that a very senior police officer was in the tower, expressing interest in the British Airways flight. Then there was a second and very unnecessary baggage train with two police cars close by the A-4 jetway. What was this? he wondered. It required no great effort on his part to keep watch to learn more. He even had a pair of Zeiss binoculars.
The stewardess hadn't received instructions to get Team-2 off more quickly than anyone else, but she suspected there was something odd about them… They'd arrived with out having been on her computerized manifest, and they were politer than the average business travelers. Their appearances were unremarkable, except all looked very fit, and all had arrived together in a single bunch, and headed to their seats in an unusually organized way. She had a job to do, however; as she opened the door into the jetway where, she saw, a uniformed policeman was waiting. He didn't smile or speak as she allowed the already-standing passengers to make their way off. Three from first class stopped just outside the aircraft, conferred with the policeman, then went out the door to the service stairs, which led directly to the tarmac. Being a serious fan of thriller and mystery novels, it was worth a look, she thought, to see who else went that way. The total was thirteen, and the number included all of the late-arriving passengers. She looked at their faces, most of which gave her a smile on the way out. Handsome faces, for the most part… more than that, manly ones, with expressions that radiated confidence, and something else, something conservative and guarded.
"Au revoir, madam," the last one said as he passed, with a very Gallic evaluative sweep of her figure and a charming smile.
"Christ, Louis," an American voice observed on the way out the side door. "You don't ever turn it off, do your"
"Is it a crime to look at a pretty woman, George?" Loiselle asked, with a wink.
"Suppose not. Maybe we'll catch her on the flip-side," Sergeant Tomlinson conceded. She was pretty, but Tomlinson was married with four kids: Louis Loiselle never turned it off. Maybe it came along with being French, the American thought. At the bottom, the rest of the team was waiting. Noonan and Steve Lincoln were supervising the baggage transfer. Three minutes later, Team-2 was in a pair of vans heading off the flight line with a p lice escort. This was noted by the tower controller, whose brother was a police reporter for a local paper. The cop who'd come to the tower departed without more than a danke to the controllers.
Twenty minutes later, vans stopped outside the main entrance to Schloss Ostermann. Chavez walked over to the senior officer.
"Hello, I am Major Chavez. This is Dr. Bellow, and Sergeant Major Price," he said, surprised to receive a salute from-
"Captain Wilhelm Altmark," the man said.
"What do we know?"
"We know there are two criminals inside, probably more, but the number is unknown. You know what their demands are?"
"Airplane to somewhere was the last I heard. Midnight deadline?".
"Correct, no changes in the past hour."
"Anything-else. How will we got them to the airport?" Ding asked.
"Herr Ostermann has a private helicopter and pad about two hundred meters behind the house."
"Flight crew?"
"We have them over there." Altmark pointed. "Our, friends have not yet asked for the flight, but that seems the most likely method of making-the transfer."
"Who's been speaking with them?" Dr. Bellow asked from behind the shorter Chavez.
"I have," Altmark replied.
"Okay, we need to talk, Captain."
Chevez headed over to a van where he could change along with the rest of the team. For this night's mission the sun was just setting-they wore not black but mottled green coveralls over their body armor. Weapons were issued and loaded, then selector switches went to the SAFE position. Ten minutes later, the team was outside and at the edge of the-treeline, everyone with binoculars, checking out the building.
"I guess this here's the right side of the tracks," Homer Johnston observed. "Lotsa windows, Dieter."
"Ja, " the German sniper agreed.
"Where you want. us, boss?" Homer asked Chavez.
"Far side, both sides, cross fire on the chopper pad. Right now, people, and when you're set up, give me radio calls to checkin. You know the drill."
"Everything we see, we call to you, Herr Major, " Weber confirmed. Both snipers got their locked rifle cases and headed off to where the local cops had their cars.
"Do we have a layout of the house?" Chavez asked Altmark.
"Layout?" the Austrian cop asked.
"Diagram, map, blueprints," Ding explained.
"Ach, yes, here." Altmark led them to his car. Blueprints were spread on the hood. "Here, as you see, forty-six rooms, not counting the basements."
"Christ," Chavez reacted at once. "More than one basement?"
"Three. Two under the west wing-wine cellar and cold storage. East wing basement is unused. The doors down to it may be sealed. No basement under the center portion. The Schloss was built in the late eighteenth century. Exterior walls and-some interior ones are stone."
"Christ, it's a frickin' castle," Difg'observed.
"That is what the word Schloss means, Herr Major," Altmark informed him.
"Doc?"
Bellow came over. "From what Captain Altmark tells me, they've been pretty businesslike to this point. No hysterical threats. They gave a deadline of midnight for movement to the airport, else they say they will start killing hostages. Their language is German, with a German accent, you said, Captain?"
Altmark nodded. "Ja, they are German, not Austrian.
We have only one name, Herr Wolfgang-that is generally a Christian name, not a surname in our language, and we have no known criminal-terrorist by that name or pseudonym. Also, he said they're of the Red Workers' Faction, but we have no word from that organization either."
Neither did Rainbow. "So, we don't know very much?" Chavez asked Bellow.
"Not much at all, Din. Okay," the psychiatrist went on, "what does that mean? It means they are planning to survive this one. It me s they're serious businessmen in this game. If they threaten to do something, they will try to do it. They haven't killed anyone yet, and that also means they're pretty smart. No other demands made to this point. They will be coming, probably soon-"
"How do you know that?" Altmark asked. The absence of demands to this point had surprised him.
"When it gets dark, they'll be talking with us more. See how they haven't turned any lights on inside the building?"
"Yes, and what does that mean
"It means they think the darkness is their friend, and that means they will try to make use of it. Also, the midnight deadline. When, it gets dark, we'll be closer to that."
"Full moon tonight," Price observed. "And not much cloud cover."
"Yeah," Ding noted in some discomfort when he looked up at the sky. "Captain, do you have searchlights we can use?"
"The fire department will have them," Altmark said.
"Could you please order them brought here?"
"Ja… Herr Doktor?"
"Yes?" Bellow said.
"They said that if they do not have those things done by midnight they will begin to kill hostages. Do you-"
"Yes, Captain, we have to take that threat very seriously. As I said, these folks are acting like serious people, well trained and well-disciplined. We can make that work for us."
"How?" Altmark asked. Ding answered.
"We give them what they want, we let them think that they are in control… until it is time for us to take control. We feed their pride and their egos while we have to, and then, later, we stop doing it at a time that suits us."