Chapter Seven.

The drive across Vienna to Nussdorf; one of the northern suburbs of the city, took Rani and Chana a little over three-quarters of an hour. Nussberggasse was right out on the edge of the city limits; little more than two hundred metres from the west bank of the Danube. Had their arrival been during the hours of darkness; it would have been a simple matter to dump Kupelwieser into the river; but as it was; he would have to be retired in the building where he lived. Rani stopped the grey Opel a quarter-kilometre down the road from Nussberggasse 14… a three-storey, white-painted building on the north side of the street. Its nearest neighbouring building was a mere twenty metres away, and opposite, was a two-storey block of apartments. This retirement would need to be quick and quiet. They waited in the car whilst they formulated their plan.

Being parked up in a car close to the location of the hit with passersby who could get a good look at the occupants and possibly identify both them, and the car to the Polizei later, was too great a risk for the minor inconvenience of having to walk to their destination. Whilst there would be more people able to see them on the street, such witnesses were not likely to get a good look or remember much detail. Rani hated this particular sort of cloak-and-dagger stuff. It was so old-fashioned. It was simply a left-over from the Twenties and Thirties. It belonged to places like Berlin, Istanbul, or Beirut during that period; and not to Western Europe in 1969. It was extremely dangerous to make a hit in this sort of neighbourhood. Rani liked things to be straightforward and predictable; but this Kupelwieser was their only lead; so the chance had to be taken.

Chana was carefully screwing the silencer into the muzzle of her Russian Makarov PB pistol. This was her weapon of choice for European operations. It had been developed for Spetsnaz elements of the Soviet army, as well as for operatives of the KGB. It was based on the standard Military Makarov PM pistol with a unique integral two-part silencer. It fired the fat, nine-by-eighteen, Makarov shell; and Chana favoured the one-hundred-and-fifty-four grain, Czech, sintered-iron bullets. These projectiles disintegrated into tiny particles upon impact within target tissues causing massive trauma. One round was always sufficient.

Leaving the car, they walked to the house and rang the doorbell. An elderly man; obviously, the Hausmeister… the caretaker; answered. Rani produced an identity card for him to see, and smiled pleasantly.

'Guten Tag; Polizei. We wish to see Jakob Kupelwieser.'

The old man peered at the identity card, and nodded.

'Certainly, Inspektor; he has a room on the second floor... room twelve. He is at home. He rarely goes out these days.'

Rani nodded.

'Vielen Danke, Herr Hausmeister. You have been most helpful.'

The old man shuffled back into his room as Rani and Chana made their way up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Everything was quiet; except for a tinny radio somewhere, grinding out the syrupy sweetness of 'Schlager musik'… a Northern European failed attempt at American easy-listening. Rani smiled. The advantage of having music playing whilst performing the interrogation and subsequent hit would help filter out the sound of a fight if Kupelwieser proved to be tougher than expected. The assassin's trade so rarely afforded the option of bestowing additional cover for his hits during the execution of a mission.

At the door of room twelve, Rani and Chana paused. She already had the silenced Makarov out, and ready. Briefly, he glanced up and down the hall, before lifting one hand to knock swiftly on the door. They didn't have to wait for long before the door opened to reveal a man, aged about thirty; thick-set; his face scarred with what looked like a burn injury; and wearing below his left knee; an artificial limb.

Rani said politely,

'Herr Kupelwieser?'

The man eyed him up and down suspiciously, and said, truculently.

'Who wants to know?'

Rani smiled coldly.

'I am Florian Reiniger…'

He motioned to the blonde girl standing behind him;

'And this is Annika Metzger. We are with the Berliner Kameradschaft Wolkenfeuer; and are instructed to recover the original dossier that was forwarded by the council of Kameradschaft Kaltenbrunner to Oberst-Gruppenführer Schwarz; which in turn, would then be forwarded on by a courier from Aktionsbüro Babenberg to our allies in the Middle East.'

Kupelwieser studied them carefully. He didn't know these people. They could be anybody. His voice was hostile.

'What dossier are you talking about?'

Rani smiled again.

'The dossier containing the intelligence on the Plumbat Affair. The courier made it as far as the Hungarian border and passed it on. It seems that the Judenscheisse managed to destroy it before it reached its destination. The information must be re-sent; and we are informed that you are in possession of… or know the whereabouts of the original documents.'

Kupelwieser cautiously said,

'Who told you that?'

Rani smiled again; only, this time it was a thin, admonitory smile. Kupelwieser was beginning to get edgy at these two people. He had been ordered not to pass on the original documents to anyone other than Oberst-Gruppenführer Schwarz… but Schwarz was dead; blown to hell in the Wiedenbräukeller explosion that had killed all his Aktionsbüro Babenberg comrades, and cost him his left leg. The man spoke again.

'Our information came from Rolf Haider. Now, stop wasting our time and get the documents. We also require a list of the old Aktionsbüro Babenberg contacts. This new Aktionsbüro Siegfrid rabble is not to be trusted and we need dependable contacts in Vienna.'

Kupelwieser remained silent; but Rani had noticed that, at the mention of the dossier, his gaze had unconsciously flickered towards an old oak bureau in the corner of the room several times during the conversation. That was enough. Before he had the chance to say or do anything, Rani jabbed Kupelwieser hard in his solar plexus; making him stumble back, doubling up in pain, and falling to his knees. As he craned his head up to look at his assailant; the blonde girl who had been standing behind the man stepped in, pointing an ugly silenced pistol at him. Her voice was cold, and impassive.

'We are wasting our time. He knows nothing.'

Before Kupelwieser could grasp what was happening; without the slightest hint of anything akin to hesitation, she pressed the blunt end of the silencer to his forehead and squeezed the trigger. The report of the pistol was little more than a dull thud... perhaps the sort of noise that might be made by dropping a shoe onto the floor... nothing that would give anyone the slightest idea that it was a gunshot; but the effect was devastating. Kupelwieser's head exploded as the sintered slug disintegrated into tiny particles upon impact; hurling his now, virtually headless carcass across the room.

Whilst Chana recovered the ejected spent shell casing, Rani moved across the room to the writing desk, carefully stepping over the corpse and avoiding the blood, brain matter, and pieces of skull splattered across the carpet and the facing wall. Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, he opened the fold-down lid and began rifling through the drawers. He found a small black notebook containing a list of names and addresses. The remaining drawers contained nothing of interest. He turned to Chana and shrugged. It seemed that the dossier wasn't here after all.

He was about to say that they should get out of there when Chana stepped forward. She had read somewhere that these imitation Georgian-period, writing desks were sometimes constructed with a shallow secret drawer running the width of the desk, and concealed behind the deep cornice moulding above the closed fold-down lid. There were no handles or knobs fitted to this false top; it could only be released by removing one of the drawers below, and pressing a small wooden spring catch that locked the secret drawer.

She told Rani to pull out and remove the drawers that he had just checked. Carefully pulling on another pair of surgical gloves she slipped her hand into each of the empty drawer compartments in turn and carefully felt around the interiors. The first three drawer compartments revealed nothing; but as she felt around the internal surfaces of the fourth, in the top right-hand corner, her knuckle touched a small, projecting wooden button at the back of the compartment. She gently pressed it, and with a soft click, the top moulding slid forwards about one-and-a-half centimetres. Rani stepped forward and eased the long, narrow drawer open. It contained two Manila cardboard folders. The first was modern, and stamped across the front flap in bold, black letters, were the words:

"Aktionsbüro Babenberg. Mitgliedschaft und Mitarbeiter Hauptbuch."

The other folder was old… a relic of the Nazi era. It was stamped with the Reichsadler… The Nazi Eagle surmounting a garlanded Swastika; and printed in heavy, black Manuscript Gothic letters, was the legend:

"Plumbat Affäre Dokumente."

Rani nodded to Chana.

'OK, that's it! Let's get out of here.'

He carefully closed the secret compartment and replaced the drawers, before closing the drop-down lid of the writing desk. Carefully avoiding the mess on the floor he followed Chana out of the room and closed the door. Only then, did he remove the surgical gloves, as did Chana. As they came down the staircase, the old Hausmeister came out into the hallway and looked at Rani with a nervous, worried expression.

'Is everything in order, Herr Inspektor?'

Rani nodded;

'Ja danke, Herr Hausmeister. All is in order. Herr Kupelwieser has been eliminated from our enquiries. It was merely a formality of procedure.'

The old man nodded and held the front door open for them. With relief written all over his face, he said

'Vielen Danke, Inspektor; Guten Tag.'

Rani nodded.

'Guten Tag, Herr Hausmeister.'

He and Chana walked out into Nussberggasse and turned towards where they had left the car. As they distanced themselves from the house, Rani tapped the folder under his arm and, with a cold smile, said,

'Now we can begin.'

Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann pulled her black Opel Commodore into the kerb outside Nussberggasse 14, and switched off alarm siren and the magnetic, blue Polizei beacon on the car's roof. There were four Polizei patrol cars and a squad van already there. Turning off the ignition; she reached across to the passenger seat and picked up her Walther PPK. She preferred this weapon to the big, Polizei contract, FN Hi-power pistols that were commonly carried by the Vienna Officers. The PPK was better suited to plainclothes or undercover work; and, it fitted comfortably into her smaller hand. Slipping the weapon into her shoulder holster, she opened the Opel's door and stepped onto the pavement. A queasy-looking, young uniformed officer stood guarding the door to the building. She glanced at him, and asked quietly,

'A bad one, Willi?'

He nodded silently. Stepping into the hallway, she met her area inspector. He reported that the old Hausmeister had gone up to see the victim and had discovered what remained of him. He was being questioned in depth; but had stated that the only visitors that the victim had received were a man, whom he estimated to be about thirty, and a pretty blonde woman in her early twenties. They had identified themselves as being Polizei wishing to question the victim about some enquiry they were undertaking. The old Hausmeister had found the victim with his head blown off. He was in a state of shock and couldn't tell them much more than that which he had already done. He had no idea whether they had a car, or had been picked up by someone else out in the street.

Maxine Bergmann nodded and said she would go up and inspect the scene. As she climbed the staircase, she was already suspecting that this was the first victim of the Israeli assassination squad that Stacey Mckenna had mentioned during their conversation at Headquarters a few days ago.

The scene confronting her in room twelve was just as bad as the young cop on the door had intimated. The victim's head had exploded like an overripe melon; scattering blood, brain matter and shards of bone across the carpet and walls. The only way to positively identify him would be by fingerprinting… there wasn't enough left for dental records, and, if his prints weren't on file, then some sort of identity documentation would need to be discovered in the apartment. The forensic guys were already there; painstakingly searching the body and walls for the projectile; and dusting all the surfaces for finger or palm prints. The leading forensic investigator took Maxine to one side. His face was grim.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

'Kriminalobermeister; from what we have discovered so far; I don't somehow think that we are going to find even fragments, let alone the slug itself.'

He motioned to the corpse.

'This sort of damage is commonly caused by an explosive slug, or one that is sintered… that is; a slug created from powdered metal moulded under high pressure that disintegrates on impact. The lab may find traces and be able to identify the source manufacture; but, this has all the signs of having been a professional execution.'

Maxine Bergmann nodded.

'Thank you, Guenther. Who would have access to this type of bullet?'

Guenther Leismuller shrugged.

'Not many people, Kriminalobermeister. They are in a grey area of the Geneva Convention, and are mostly produced in Czechoslovakia. They certainly would not have been used by any of the State Authorities. Perhaps Foreign Security Agencies or banned right-wing organisations may have access to them. If my assessment is correct, from the documentation already found in this room; which suggests that the victim was involved in extreme right-wing fascism; you may be dealing with a political assassination.'

Maxine Bergmann sighed.

'Thank you, Guenther; I do hope that you are wrong. Get the body down to the mortuary and have them make a start on the autopsy. I need to have answers ready for the Generalinspektor without delay.'

She turned, and left the room. At the top of the stairs, she paused; a pensive expression on her face. She shrugged imperceptibly, but as she descended the stairs her intuition was whispering to her that this killing was indeed, the first move in the Metsada team's sanctioned objective to eradicate Vienna's Neo-Nazi factions. She nodded to the young cop on the door and walked out to her car. Opening the driver's door, she detached the magnetic blue beacon from the Opel's roof and tossed it onto the passenger seat. She gave the street and surrounding buildings one last, sweeping gaze as she got into the driver's seat; faces gawping from windows at the police presence; little knots of onlookers on the pavements… all the usual rubber-necking that went with this type of incident. With a sigh, Maxine Bergmann fired up the Opel's engine; slipped into first gear, and pulled away from the kerb.

Opposite the Nussdorf cemetery, she turned left. This would eventually take her down through the Heiligenstadt suburb where she could pick up the main southern highway which followed the west bank of the Danube, and was the quickest way back to Headquarters. Traffic was light along Grinzinger Strasse as she headed east towards the Danube; which was just as well; because Maxine Bergmann was preoccupied with the distinct misgivings that the young CIA Officer Stacey Mckenna was probably underestimating just how ruthless and brutal these Neo-Nazi thugs that she was about to encounter could be.

Meanwhile, back at the safe house off Wallnerstrasse; Rani and Stacey were drawing up a list of targets from the information contained in the Aktionsbüro Babenberg Hauptbuch recovered from Kupelwieser's apartment. The primary targets were to be the old Nazi mentors of the present generation of Vienna's Neo-Nazis. Secondary targets were the associates and financiers of the old Aktionsbüro Babenberg who were supporting the present Neo-Nazi faction in the city. The primary target list contained four names. The first name on the list was that of was former SS-Obersturmführer der Waffen-SS Joachim Hamann; auditor, and money-man of the "Stille Hilfe" organisation attached to the council of the old Nazi, Kameradschaft Kaltenbrunner based in Wuppertal. A note in the Hauptbuch stated that he was staying at the Hotel König von Ungarn in Schulerstrasse…. just half-a-kilometre east from the safe house; and that he would remain in Vienna for one more week. He would therefore be the first target.

The second subject was former SS-Standartenführer Günther Voigt; who had been with the Inspectorate of Security Police and SD in Vienna, and had been involved in the deportation of Viennese Jews to Minsk in the occupied Soviet Union where locally-stationed SS and police officials then murdered them in mass shootings. He had then taken charge of a confiscated Jewish-owned factory and had used Hungarian Jewish slave labour to increase his wealth and standing, until now; he was seen as being a respectable businessman in the city.

The third target was former Vienna Gestapo Regierungs-und Kriminaldirektor Lothar Hänsch; the Colonel who had succeeded, and continued the work of the former chief of the Viennese Gestapo, Franz Josef Huber; commander of the Central Office for Jewish Emigration in Vienna; an organisation in charge of the expulsion, looting, and deportation of Austria's Jews.

The last name on the primary target list was Aldric Köhler; former SS-Hauptsturmführer in charge of the "Sanitary Camp" just outside the walls of KZ Mauthausen, where ill, and unfit inmates of the adjacent KZ Gusen were sent to be "retired"... to die naturally... or, if they were particularly stubborn in their will to live... to be killed.

Rani tapped the document.

'We'll take Hamann first; but we just can't stroll into the hotel and kill him. We will have to keep him under surveillance and log his movements. We may establish a pattern that will give us an opening. These old Nazis tend to be creatures of habit... rigidly disciplined habits. It's the way they were brainwashed in their good old days. You, and Alex can take the lead on this. You can easily pass as American tourists. Go and get a room at the Hotel König von Ungarn… one that overlooks the entrance. Then we'll see how he spends his day.'

Later that day, Mr and Mrs Gavin Petersen of Virginia City, Madison County, Montana, booked into the Hotel König von Ungarn. Mr Petersen quietly told the manager that they were on honeymoon, and would it be possible to have a room that overlooked the old town? The manager smiled effusively and directed the reception porter to take the couple's bags to room eighty-five… the Bridal suite that overlooked the rooftops of Schulerstrasse with views down to the Danube. Mr Petersen thanked him and slipped three, one hundred Schilling notes to him. This was the equivalent of about twelve US Dollars. The manager beamed as he pocketed the notes. Rich American tourists! He would personally see that their stay was memorable… and perhaps, he would get an even bigger tip when they left.

Rani's speculation that Hamann followed a rigid daily pattern of behaviour was not long in manifesting itself. Every morning, a black Mercedes-Benz 280SE saloon arrived punctually at nine o'clock and conveyed him away. It returned at four; and Hamann retired to his room. The driver then drove away. This behaviour pattern didn't vary over the next four days. On the fifth day; on the premise of spending the day sightseeing; Stacey and Alex ordered a taxicab and returned to the safe house, where they reported their findings. Rani smiled.

'You see; I said that these old Nazis were set in their ways. We'll be outside the Hotel tomorrow and follow his driver to see where he goes.'

Precisely at four o'clock, the following day, the black Mercedes-Benz returned to the Hotel König von Ungarn. Having delivered Hamann; the driver pulled away from the kerb. A grey Opel Kapitän B that had been idling a little way up Schulerstrasse pulled out and began following at a discreet distance, The Mercedes-Benz continued down Schulerstrasse; crossed the junction into Zedlitzgasse, and turned into the parking garage in Cobdengasse. Benny followed the car into the parking area and watched as the driver parked up; went around to the trunk, and, removing his chauffeur's cap and jacket; put on a black leather jacket. He then closed the trunk and locked the car, before walking away towards the exit into Cobdengasse.

Benny waited for ten minutes. He nodded to Yarin; who stepped out of the Opel and strolled up towards the exit to keep watch. Benny carefully manoeuvred the Opel alongside the Mercedes-Benz; slipped out of the driving seat and left the engine ticking over. He then went to the Opel's trunk and removed a small canvas valise. Walking round to the side of the Mercedes-Benz, he slipped an American Slim Jim lockout tool down the rubber of the rear door window and carefully manipulated the door lock actuating levers. Opening the door; he then went to work quietly and efficiently.

Ten minutes later; he emerged, and closing the rear door; manipulated the locking push button with another special tool from his valise, re-locking the rear door. He then reversed the Opel out, drove to the exit and picked up Yarin; paid the toll at the automatic barrier and drove out; to disappear into the traffic in the surrounding streets.

At precisely nine o'clock the next morning; the black Mercedes-Benz pulled up outside the Hotel König von Ungarn. The driver stepped onto the pavement and opened the rear door for his passenger. Former SS-Obersturmführer der Waffen-SS Joachim Hamann crossed the pavement from the hotel and nodded to his driver. He climbed into the rear seat and leaned back into the sumptuous leather of the seat squab. The force of the explosion slammed the rear door off its hinges into the driver and sent him hurtling across the pavement, where he hit the hotel wall with a sickening thud. Simultaneously, dirty greyish-pink smoke billowed from the car's interior as the rear, and side windows blew out. When the smoke cleared; Joachim Hamann still sat in the rear seat… or rather, his headless corpse did.

Benny's little number in the parking garage had involved introducing a shaped charge of two hundred grammes of Semtex explosive with an electrical blasting cap inserted and wired to a small battery, into each rear-seat headrest, which were then attached to individual pressure contacts behind each rear seat back squab. When Hamann sat on the horizontal squab of the rear seat on either side of the car, nothing would happen; however, when he settled back against either rear-seat back squab, the relevant circuit was completed and the explosive detonated. The force of the explosion was focussed forward; and would blow his head off. The effectiveness of this was graphically self-evident by the splatter of blood and brain matter which drooled in stomach-churning rivulets down the mercedes dash and the inside surface of the crazed laminated windshield.

The police arrived quickly; but there wasn't much that they could do. Witnesses to the explosion all confirmed that no one had approached the car; it had exploded as the passenger sat down in the back seat. The driver wasn't in any fit state to give any information… his neck had been broken as he was hurled against the wall of the hotel by the force of the explosion. All that the police could do was throw a tarpaulin over the Mercedes-Benz to prevent rubber-necking from the onlookers and prevent the reporters who were now gathering, from photographing the bloody mess of the car's interior.

Ten minutes later, the forensic team arrived and began sifting through the scattered remains that had been hurled from the car by the force of the explosion. As they carefully scraped skull fragments and chunks of brain matter from the walls and pavements; the Mercedes-Benz was tarped up and loaded onto a trailer to be taken to police headquarters for further, in-depth forensic examination.

The Generalinspektor of Police had ordered that this incident was to be thoroughly investigated and resolved without delay. He had been informed in no uncertain terms by the Landeshauptmann… the Socialist Mayor of Vienna, Bruno Marek, that this sort of thing was not conclusive to successful tourism; and that the perpetrators were to be apprehended and brought to justice without delay. The Generalinspektor summoned Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann to his office and informed her that she was to redeploy all her officers onto this case. He wanted results… fast. Failure to apprehend the criminals who had committed this outrage would result in them all being reduced in rank to patrol officers on the streets.

As Maxine Bergmann left the Generalinspektor's office she was wondering just how she should play this. In her own mind, she was convinced that this was another of the Mossad assassinations that she had been expecting. It had been a classic Metsada signature killing. Her best hope was that they had been meticulous in their choice of components used to fabricate the device. Only forensic investigation could establish this.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way down to the forensic department in the basement of the building. The Mercedes-Benz was secured in a clean-air environment at the far end of the department. Pulling on a forensic coverall, latex gloves, and slipping her feet into elasticated polythene overshoes, she peered through the double airlock doors. The forensic guys were in the process of stripping the rear passenger compartment of the car. She pressed a bell push and glanced up. The red lamp above the outer airlock door extinguished and the green lamp mounted beside it blinked on. She pushed at the outer door, which opened with an audible hiss as the air pressure within the airlock equalised with that of the rest of the outer area. Closing the door behind her, she waited and felt her ears begin to block as the air pressure increased. The door leading into the clean area clicked and she pushed it open. One of the staff looked up as she entered and put up his hand.

'Stay there, Kriminalobermeister. Werner has just found another device in the other rear seat headrest. He's disarming it now.'

Maxine watched in anxious fascination as Werner Stohl meticulously dissected the stitching of the rear seat backrest with a surgical scalpel and a pair of thin scientific tweezers to reveal a pressure pad attached to the inner foam cushion with two thin wires disappearing up towards the top shoulder of the seat. He carefully snipped one of the wires with a pair of insulated wire cutters; then snipped away a small length of the cut wire so that the cut ends could not touch. He then turned his attention to the remainder of the stitching on the headrest. With the stitching cut; and with infinite care, he peeled back the leather to reveal a small block of marzipan-yellow explosive, from which projected the metal end of a copper blasting cap with two thin wires leading from it; one attached to the positive terminal of a common "Varta" brand transistor radio battery; and the other disappearing down towards the headrest sliding metal shaft.

He paused and studied the installation. He had isolated the pressure pad... but had he cut the wire to the blasting cap or the wire to the battery? There was no way of telling... both wires were the same colour. It should be safe; but if it was the negative wire to the battery that was still connected; then the static charge in his coverall could still activate the circuit. Why the fuck did they issue these nylon coveralls instead of plain cotton ones?... And more to the point; why hadn't those assholes upstairs in their plush offices called in the fucking bomb squad in the first place?

OK, he knew a little about bombs from his army experience of ordnance; but he was, after all, primarily a test-tube jockey. There was really only one way to do this; and that was to extract the blasting cap. Even then, with it out, the blasting cap itself could still explode and cost him at least a couple of fingers. He drew a deep breath. Oh well, here goes fuck-all. Touching the metalwork of the car body to dissipate any static he had built up, and hardly daring to breath; Werner tentatively grasped the wires leading from the blasting cap and slowly... infinitely slowly, slid the copper cylinder clear of the explosive charge. He then placed it carefully on the seat cushion and snipped the wire to the positive terminal of the transistor battery. He sat back on his heels and exhaled a sigh of relief. He turned, raised a thumb to his fellow technicians who were standing back at a safe distance, and called out,

'OK, guys; it's safe, and it's all yours now.'

His supervisor, Roland Mitterwallner came forward and peered into the car.

'Well, Werner; any ideas about this set-up?'

Werner Stohl shrugged.

'It's very professional, and bloody clever. I would have said that it was a signature Mossad device; but the component parts are all wrong. The main charge is Czech Semtex and the blasting cap is, according to the Company trademark, German; manufactured by the Josef Meissner Company in Cologne. If it was a Mossad job, I would have expected both these components to be American... using C4 explosive and probably, a Du Pont blasting cap. The pressure pad is a common house-alarm type that is available from any hardware store; and the battery is the sort that you can get anywhere for your portable radio. Again, it's a German brand - Varta; manufactured in Berlin... but they are sold all over Europe. Whoever put this together knew exactly what he was doing. It's a very sophisticated device; not the sort of thing your average gang or far-right faction would know how to assemble; and all the components are virtually untraceable. I think this was political, and Home-grown.'

Mitterwallner nodded.

'Good job, Werner. Has the stiff gone to autopsy?'

Werner Stohl nodded.

'Yeah; Petra has gone down with him to collect his dab prints; then perhaps, we will find out who the poor bastard was.'

Mitterwallner walked across the room and spoke to Maxine.

'Kriminalobermeister; it looks very much as though this is a political assassination, according to Werner. He says that at first, he thought it might be the Israelis. But he is confident that they would not use this type of explosive. It's Czech Semtex; available on the black market all over Europe; and he tells me that they usually use American C4 explosive. We'll know more after we complete our tests; but it could well be a home-grown killing… for whatever reason.

Maxine Bergmann nodded.

'OK; thank you very much Herr Mitterwallner. I'll get down to the morgue and see how they are proceeding with the victim. Please get your forensic report to me as soon as you can.'

She left the clean room and walked to the elevator. So; the Mossad team had been clever and careful. Hopefully they would take just as much care with any other targets they had identified.