Chapter 6: The Berlin Identity
The flight to Berlin was uneventful. As Bobo and John’s identities were plastered all over Interpol agencies everywhere, they were undercover. They passed through security in Paris as Ron Smoke and Bob Mirrors. They traveled separately of course; they were even on different planes. The rendezvous point was the Das Fuenkin hotel in downtown Berlin. They checked in separately. John came first, asking for room 203. Then Bobo sauntered up and requested 202. Nobody except the two of them noticed that these were adjoining rooms. Then, at exactly 2:02, they both unlocked their doors. John entered Bobo’s room. “Well, it’s time to get started, friend. Where?”
Bobo responded in whispered tones that mirrored John’s own. “A contact told me about a series of break-ins to government facilities, mainly factories, on Berlin’s west side. I say we stake out one and see what we can find out.”
“That sounds like a plan. Here, I checked these out from the gadget library. These invisible earpieces will work nicely. You can approach from one side and I’ll approach from the other. If we see something, we can communicate via these. So, where we going?”
Bobo pulled a map out of his bag. “There’s a warehouse, here. That’s where. Also, there’s a gun dealer, Old Larry, en route to the warehouse. Stop by and pick out a handy piece, something better than that sham of a handgun the CIA issued you. Just tell him the Dark Knight sent you. He’ll understand. We leave at 0600 hours tomorrow. You should leave earlier, so you aren’t late.”
“Dark night, eh?” John remarked with a chuckle.
Bobo interrupted his moment, “Make contact only when necessary, you never know who could be watching. Now let’s get some sleep.” John crept out of the room without another word.
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John rose at 0500. He donned a black leather overcoat, and made his way to an abandoned alleyway about a half-mile away from the warehouse. Well, almost abandoned. There was only one living creature in the alleyway besides John. This man had a flowing brown shawl on, that looked quite lumpy.
“Whatcha be wantin’?” His English was perfect, but his German accent was thick.
“Are you Old Larry?” John asked.
The man jumped down from his roost on a dumpster and strode up to John, and pulled up to his full height, which was about 6’5”. “Who wants to know?” He countered, venom clear in his voice.
“Smoke, Ron Smoke. The Dark Knight sent me.”
“The Dark Knight, hmm? Very well, come in.” He gestured to the dumpster behind him. As they entered, he threw back his hood. John could see his shaven bald head that starkly contrasted his long brown locks. The inside of the dumpster was empty of garbage. All manner of guns arrayed the walls. There were the shiny M-16s, which consequently looked very similar to Bobo’s. John mentally reprimanded himself. Of course they look like Bobo’s, he probably bought his from Larry. John threw his “sham of a handgun” on the table.
“I’m looking for a replacement for this.” he sneered the word this with contempt. “Probably with a little more fire power.”
“Ah yes, CIA issue, six shot magazine if I’m not mistaken. Are you sure the Dark Knight sent you?”
“My allegiances have changed recently. I now work for the EAS.”
“That’s fine, young man, just fine. Now I would recommend the Z-1 German-made auto-handgun. A slightly longer muzzle provides more accuracy, while the 20 shots per trigger pull have deadly force in any battle, especially a large scale one.” He picked it up of its holster on the wall. “Now I suppose you’ll be travelling the world, correct?” John nodded. “Since you won’t be able to purchase ammunition, you will need a large supply.” He pulled a pouch from a drawer under the table. “This contains 1,500 trigger pulls worth of ammo in it. Since the bullets are small this is possible. I customized this one especially for spies on assignment.” He threw open a small compartment on the Z-1 and poured the contents of the pouch into it. He then proceeded to close it again. When these bullets run out, push the button inside that compartment. The small bullet muzzle will kick out, leaving the back able to shoot regular bullets.”
“Wow. That’s a nice gun. How much?”
“For you, nothing. I owe the Dark Knight. Just tell him we’re even, got it?”
“Right.” John grabbed his gun, weighing it in his hand. Yes, this would do nicely. With a quick word of thanks to Larry, he left to begin the stakeout.
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John saw Bobo lying flat on the other side of the warehouse. He broke the radio silence. “Nice guy, that Larry, eccentric at times, but ok. He says to tell the Dark Knight that you and he are even.”
Bobo chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy, but he really can’t expect hooking you up with a gun for free would make us even. I’ve got to remember to go back there sometime.”
“Why not after this?” John inquired curiously.
“I don’t think there will be an after this,” he replied forebodingly. “Don’t forget what happened in Paris.”
Just then John caught sight of movement at the entrance to the warehouse. “Bogie at south entrance!” he announced, warningly.
“I see him.”
“Confront?”
“No, I’ll handle this.”
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Bobo had a thing for entrances. Usually they were made from heights, though sometimes they could involve blowing stuff up or knocking down walls. It was all part of his mind game. The more an opponent was intimidated by the suddenness or size of an entry, the more likely they were to make mistakes and to generally fear him. Bobo used this factor now to full advantage as he jumped from the building from which he was watching to the open window of the building he was watching. Jumping down to the floor of the building, he startled the person he was stalking. The person whirled round to face his attacker, but Bobo was ready, his M-1 at the ready. The person immediately threw his hands in the air.
“Who are you and who are you with?” he growled.
The person’s mock helplessness faded a little too early. Bobo saw him start to drop his hands and made to slide kick him to the ground. The man however was ready and jumped the move, grabbing Bobo in a headlock as he landed. Bobo continued to struggle and cavort until the attacker pulled a knife as they faced away from John. The attacker spoke softly. “I’m with the Krada Va.”
If he hadn’t had a knife to his throat, Bobo would have started. Instead, his eyes bulged, making him look like some sort of bug. He managed to choke out, “Who?”
“Some know us as the hand of Marshall. We are his mob. We do his work to better the world. I’m here to pick up supplies for the riot. In Berlin. Tomorrow. Too bad you won’t live to see i-“
“John, now.”
John shot a round of 20 small bullets into him. Bobo leapt free.
Yeah, the action scene is a little rough. Gonna start now on Chapter 7. Chow.
