It He crossed the Tiefer See lake on
Posted On May 24, 2019
It was a much needed tranquil morning for Markus Adolf, the Direktor of the Bundespolizei. He had woken up at six A.M sharp, gave a gentle kiss on the cheek to his sound-asleep wife, and suited up in his neatly trimmed uniform. He walked outside into his kitchen, where he began to prepare his daily Frühstück. He buttered a neatly-sliced roll and chopped up a schlackwurst into bite-sized pieces. He slid his carefully woven carpet out from under his feet, revealing a firearm safe. He punched the combination into the slim keypad and twisted a steel knob. The safe slid open revealing a various selection of handguns. He pulled out a Walther P22 and stuck in his holster on his waist. ‘Better safe than sorry’ the man thought to himself. He slipped his boots on and walked over to the mirror to make sure he looked decent to go outside. Adolf had short brown hair parted to the side of his forehead with a cleanly shaven beard. He was rather short for his age, standing at 5’8, but his stature in his profession compensated for his lackluster size. He had light green eyes with a couple of freckles scattered across his face. He sauntered out onto his driveway, checking to make sure the door was completely locked, and strolled over to his Volkswagen Golf. Markus had plenty of time on his hands, as he didn’t have to report to his office until nine A.M, so he could take his time to get to work. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the front door of his vehicle. He turned the car on, started the engine, checked for cars behind him, and backed out onto the street. He put some Mozart on the Golf’s speakers. There was something about Mozart’s style of music that eased his mind. When he got to work, he would always need to be able to concentrate on the task on hand, as it would sometimes lead to life or death. It was a cool autumn morning, so Adolf rolled down his window and breathed in the fresh, crisp air. The drive to the BPOL headquarters in Potsdam did not take an awful lot of time, as he lived in the suburbs outside the metropolitan area. He crossed the Tiefer See lake on a bridge held up by slightly rusted, but nonetheless sturdy, steel beams. He entered the beautiful city that was once home to Prussian kings, admiring their former palaces as he headed closer to his destination.As he turned onto Franz Street, The HQ of the Polizei came into view. The massive building spanned nearly two blocks. Giant concrete pillars supported the structure. There were no windows in sight, just opaque slabs of granite. It was surrounded by a perimeter wall topped with barbed wire, with only two entrances, a north one and a south one. Adolf drove his Volkswagen into the latter one, and was instantly met with security requesting proper identification. Upon being verified, a guard waved his hand towards the man operating the gate, who then pulled a lever. The aluminum gate slowly slid open, revealing a ramp leading down into the parking garage.Markus backed into his personal spot, powered down his vehicle, and exited out into the garage. He walked at a decent pace towards another security checkpoint, where his body was searched by guards. Adolf showed them his firearms ownership license, as to not cause a stir when they found his pistol on him.Security had tightened up around this building in recent months, largely due to the pair of terrorist incidents that had occurred in eastern Germany. In July, a trio of armed men entered a cinema, taking roughly thirty hostages. The men wanted some of their adversaries released from a prison in Munich, and a plane ready to whisk them and their friends away to an unknown location, where they would create a new identity and likely never be seen again. The German GSG-9 task force had other plans. The Polizei told the terrorists that their pals had been released, and they would rendezvous at the nearest airport, where a plane was waiting for them.The GSG-9 deployed inside the Boeing 737, with snipers positioned on top of the command center. The three extremists were taken by surprise when they boarded the plane. Despite one hostage getting minorly injured, it was a clean operation for the counter-terrorist group.Another incident occurred in late August, when a homemade bomb detonated in a town square in the small town of Coberg. Approximately seventeen people were killed immediately, with five dying later on from injuries sustained. Many more were injured. The incident prompted a manhunt, which ended five days later when the Polizei tracked and killed the felon in a gunfight. The pair of events happening in such a short interval of time apart led some to believe that they were connected or merely a splinter cell in a larger scheme. The Federal Intelligence Service disproved this theory after not being able to find any evidence tracing the convicts to a specific society.Upon getting past the checkpoint, Markus entered an elevator, which would take him to his office on the eighth floor. He acknowledged the armed guard waiting by the entrance, and stepped inside his workplace. Adolf was a perfectionist, as everything was neatly stowed away and nothing was out of place. He walked over to the massive window overlooking Potsdam. To the east of the building, he admires the stunning 18th century architecture of the world-renowned Sanssouci Palace. Much like King Frederick the Great, a former inhabitant of the palace, once had to do, Markus Adolf must make crucial decisions on a day-to-day basis. Little did he know, today he would be faced with his most crucial one yet. Martha Harris strolls down Ottostraße Street, breathing in the crisp autumn breeze. She appreciates the rich culture of a city bustling with life and vibrance, something that America seems to lack. ‘If only I could stay in Germany forever’ Martha wonders. Unfortunately, she has a job to do. Then, she must come back across the Atlantic to the bland landscape of the United States. As the head of Deutsche Bank’s American operations, every November she must report to their headquarters in Frankfurt to assess the functionality of the bank’s worldwide operations, making sure that everything is running smoothly. Every November, Martha develops ambitions to relocate her family to this beautiful country, where all her problems melt away like snow before a sunshine. As she turns the corner, the Deutsche Bank Twin Towers come into sight. The duo of skyscrapers, among the tallest in all of Europe, is a marvelous sight, the blue sky reflecting off the glossy glass. She approaches her destination and enters the Haben Tower, the taller of the two. She places her finger on a touchpad to confirm her identity, and is waved forward through a metal detector by a guard. After she passes through, she notices something peculiar; she forgot to take off her necklace, which is lined with numerous metal beads, but it did not set off the machine. She decides that it must have been a slight malfunction, and pays no heed to the error. She enters an elevator and pushes the button for the 31st floor. As the door closes, she notices a trio of men in proper business attire pass through the metal detector and start to head towards Martha’s elevator. She attempts to stop the closing doors to let them on, but she is too late. The door shuts. The elevator opens up to a large room. A round, wooden table is the centerpiece of the area, lined with about a dozen seats. All of them are filled, with the exception of four. Martha Harris assumes that one is for her, and the other three are for the men that missed the elevator. She heads over to her assigned chair, which is by the window, overlooking the massive banking district of the town. She looks around at the fellow attendees. At the head of the table sits Phillip Hans, CEO of the corporation, and around him are numerous familiar faces from past years, along with new ones. Hans greets her with a simple nod, and the meeting commences. Suddenly, the elevator doors open, and the men from earlier walk in. Everyone has arrived. Hans motions them towards their seats, but they do not comply. They stand, look around at all of the people in the room, and exchange glances with each other. One drops the suitcase from his hand, unlocks it, and pulls an item out of it. Martha squints to make out- what it is. By the time she is faced with a horrifying realization, it is too late. Gunshots ring through the air.