Keller slipped a five-euro note into the valet’s outstretched hand and set out along the street. He had registered at the hotel under a French alias—management was under the impression he was a freelance journalist who wrote about films—and stayed only a single night. He had spent the previous evening at a modest hotel called the Seifert, and before that he had passed a sleepless night in a grim little pension called the Bella Berlin. All three establishments had one thing in common: they were near the Kempinski Hotel, which was Keller’s destination. He was going there to meet a man, a Libyan, a former close associate of Gaddafi who had fled to France after the revolution with two suitcases filled with cash and jewels. The Libyan had invested $2 million with a pair of French businessmen after receiving assurances of a substantial profit. The French businessmen were already weary of their association with the Libyan. They were worried, too, about his past reputation for violence, for it was said of the Libyan that he used to enjoy pounding spikes through the eyes of the regime’s opponents. The French businessmen had turned to Don Anton Orsati for help, and the don had given the assignment to his most accomplished assassin. Keller had to admit he was looking forward to the fulfillment of the contract. He had never cared for the now-deceased Libyan dictator or the thugs who had kept his regime in power. Gaddafi had allowed terrorists of every stripe to train at his desert camps, including members of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. He had also supplied the IRA with arms and explosives. Indeed, nearly all the Semtex used in IRA bombs came directly from Libya.

Keller crossed the Kantstrasse and headed down the ramp of an underground parking garage. On the second level, in a part of the garage untouched by security cameras, was a black BMW that had been left for him by a member of the Orsati organization. In the trunk was a Heckler & Koch 9mm pistol with a suppressor; in the glove box was a cardkey that would open the door of any guest room at the Kempinski Hotel. The key had been acquired for the price of five thousand euros from a Gambian who worked in the hotel’s laundry department. The Gambian had assured the man from the Orsati organization that the cardkey would remain operational for another forty-eight hours. After that, the codes would undergo a routine change, and hotel security would issue new passkeys to all essential employees. Keller hoped the Gambian was telling the truth. Otherwise, there would soon be an opening in the Kempinski’s laundry department.