For three days, they existed in the shadows of a city that was itself a ghost of history. The chaotic energy of Istanbul was a world away, replaced by the cold, precise silence of Berlin. Their small apartment in Friedrichshain became their sanctuary and their prison, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee, old books, and unspoken anxiety.
They watched, they listened, and they felt the pulse of the new city. On the first day, they were tourists. They walked through the city, deliberately visiting the most crowded, most monitored places—Alexanderplatz, the Brandenburg Gate. They wanted to be seen. Sara bought a cheap souvenir, a small model of the Fernsehturm, her hands trembling slightly. She told herself to act normal, that she was just a scholar fascinated by history. She knew every camera was a potential enemy, every friendly face a potential mask.
Jerome was in a state of high alert. To be surrounded by so much integrated technology and not be able to touch it was a form of torture. The security here was on another level, he reported that night, his voice tense. He showed them a digital map on his screen, covered in a complex web of network diagrams.
"It is not just physical; it is digital," he explained. "Every public camera, every network, is part of a single, integrated system. It is a spiderweb. One wrong move, and we will be caught before we can even blink."
The scale of the challenge was daunting. It was on the evening of the second day, amidst this tense atmosphere, that Mayra finally laid out her audacious, almost insane, plan.
"This time," she announced, her voice cutting through the quiet tension, "we will go through the front door."
Jerome, who had been trying to coax a weak signal from his portable satellite dish, jumped up. He was visibly nervous. "Have you gone mad? Completely mad! As soon as you use your real name, the Syndicate will know in a second where we are! Eleanor Vance will have her agents waiting for us at the Pergamon's door with a welcome party!"
"Yes," Mayra said calmly, her gaze unwavering. "They will. And that is exactly what we want. In Istanbul, we were the mice. In Berlin, we will become the hunters. We will be the bait."
Sara was also worried, her brow furrowed. "I do not understand, Mayra. It feels like walking straight into the lion's mouth."
"No," Mayra explained, her eyes burning with a fierce intelligence as she began to pace the small room. "It is the opposite. It is calculated. Think like Eleanor. She is arrogant. She believes she is ten steps ahead of everyone. She will be looking for us in the shadows, expecting us to sneak around, to use fake identities. The one thing she will not expect is for us to walk right into the light."
She stopped and looked at them. "When her entire team is focused on us, then Jerome, you will do your work."
A slow glint appeared in Jerome's eyes as he began to understand the dangerous logic of the plan. "You want me to get into their network?"
"Yes," Mayra confirmed. "We have to use their greatest weapon against them—information. When the hunter is completely focused on its prey, its own nest becomes the most vulnerable. We need to know what they know. And most importantly, we need to know what their next move will be."
The plan was set. The third day was a whirlwind of meticulous preparation. Mayra spent hours drafting the email to Doctor Klaus Richter, perfecting every word to appeal to his intellect and his ego. Sara practiced her German pronunciation and memorized the layout of the Pergamon Museum, becoming an expert on a place she had never visited.
Jerome was the busiest of all. He transformed their small living room into a listening post. He set up a portable, high-gain antenna near the window, aimed at a major telecommunications hub. He explained, more to himself than to them, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
"When Eleanor gives the order to her team in Berlin, she will have to use their encrypted communication app. The signal will be bounced through multiple satellites, but for a fraction of a second, it will have to pass through a local server. That is my window." It was like trying to catch a single drop of rain in a hurricane. His hands would not stop shaking; he forced himself to focus.
The reply to Mayra's email came the next morning. An invitation. Doctor Klaus Richter would be delighted to meet them. The bait was set.
Dressed as professional researchers, Mayra and Sara walked into the lion's den. The Pergamon Museum hall was grand and quiet, the air smelling of polished marble and old history. Mayra could feel the invisible eyes on her back. She told herself to stay calm, that she was just a scholar, that this was her world.
Doctor Klaus Richter greeted them in his office. He was a tall, precise man with a cultured German accent. "Doctor Nassar, Doctor Haddad. Welcome to Berlin. I must admit, your research proposal is… most intriguing."
The conversation was a delicate dance of academic pleasantries that lasted for over an hour. They spoke of cuneiform translations and Mesopotamian trade routes. Richter tested them, asking sharp, insightful questions.
"You mention the influence of Akkadian metallurgy on early Anatolian cultures," Richter probed, his eyes sharp. "But you neglect to mention the Hittite counter-influence. A significant oversight, would you not agree?"
Sara responded smoothly. "An intentional omission for the sake of brevity in our proposal, Doctor. We believe the Hittite influence, while significant, was more of a refinement of existing techniques rather than a foundational shift."
All the while, in their hidden apartment, Jerome listened in, a small beep sounding in his headphones every few seconds as his software scanned the airwaves.
Finally, Doctor Richter led them down into the archive, a massive, temperature-controlled vault. The air here was different—cold, dry, and silent. Sara's voice was a hushed, awestruck whisper. "This is… incredible."
A rare, proud smile could be heard in Richter's voice. "It is. The pride of German archaeology."
He showed them the section containing the tablets from Babylon. As Mayra and Sara pretended to research, they felt Richter's demeanor change. His posture became that of a warden, watchful and tense.
"Doctor Nassar," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "You are not just here to research German-Mesopotamian relations, are you?"
Mayra's heart skipped a beat. He knew. How could he know? She felt a cold dread, but kept her voice firm. "I… I do not understand."
Richter took a step closer. "You are looking for the tablets. The ones from eighteen ninety nine. Robert Koldewey's discovery."
It was a direct accusation. The trap was closing. The low hum of the vault's environmental controls seemed to grow louder, amplifying the oppressive silence.
Richter chuckled, a cold, humorless sound that echoed slightly in the vault. "Oh, I think you do."
He leaned towards the cuff of his shirt and pressed a small, hidden button on his watch. He spoke into it, his voice low and clear. "Eleanor. They are here. The trap is set."
A loud, heavy, metallic clang echoed powerfully through the large room as the vault door slammed shut. A heavy pause followed.
The vault locked.
A heavy silence descended. They were trapped.
Then came the soft, almost silent click of the safety being taken off a silenced pistol. The vault lights dimmed. Richter's smile was the last thing they saw.