Sander's Courage Read online

Page 3


  had come as far away as Sweden. Sure, there might be an

  appreciable savings, but they must have known that any

  money saved was just plowed right back into the gas tank,

  or for ferry tickets. So they probably just used it as an

  excuse to get out and have a fun day trip.

  As soon as we parked and took a traveler's piss, we

  organized a lunch of German sausages and potato salad.

  Jannik even managed a funny crack about how this was

  the "wurst lunch I ever have—brat wurst, vienna wurst,

  sauer wurst, liver wurst..." Even the folks at the table next to

  ours found him funny.

  "What Lego set do you want?" I asked him.

  "Oh, I don't buy the sets," Jannik replied. "Those are

  for ones who gots no maginashuns."

  "Imaginations," Sander corrected him.

  "Yes, teacher. I buys just the big boxes of Legos

  with all different kinds, then I build what I want because

  it's better that way," he said. "I can make everything. I

  make Pokey a car before and it really goes. It have a motor

  and everything!"

  "He did! It's a good car; very pretty, all green and

  yellow with little guys inside," Sander said. "I show it to

  you when we get back to our place."

  "How come I haven't seen it before?"

  "I was afraid Slinky might break it, so I keep it in

  the garage," Sander explained. He had a point about the

  cats. I'm convinced that Slinky and Klaus are secret agents

  from some hostile nation that has programmed them to

  wreak havoc wherever they can. They probably watch us

  sleep while coolly planning our demise. Of course, they

  demand multiple daily feedings, spotless litter boxes, and

  at least two hours of petting and behind-the-ears massages

  before they will allow us to clock out. It's tough being a cat

  slave, but thankfully I have Sander to join me in this feline

  punkery.

  "We should put it on the mantle," I suggested. "We

  need to display art like that. Show it off! The cats will just

  assume we've bought them a car, anyway."

  "You know what a cat's favorite kind of car is?"

  Jannik asked.

  "Tell us," Sander said.

  "A Jaguar!"

  That's when the bomb exploded.

  Chapter 4

  ll I did was tell Pokey and Johnnie a joke. Why

  would they hit me like this? It hurts so bad! I have

  A glass in my face! Why did they break a bottle on my

  head? I thought they loved me.

  There is glass in my face, and my shirt is gone.

  Why would anybody take my shirt? I should probably

  sleep now. That's what I'll do, and when I wake up, I'll be

  home and it will be Friday morning and this stupid dream

  will be over.

  THREE BOMBS WENT OFF WITHIN moments of each

  other. The first one destroyed the duty free liquor market

  above the picnic tables, causing glass and splintered

  lumber to rain down upon the unwitting travelers.

  The next pair exploded simultaneously; one was a

  car bomb—or so it appeared—parked next to a tanker

  rig—thankfully the tanker didn't blow—and the other one

  was planted in the Hofbräu meant to detonate at a time it

  was certain to be packed with diners. That one was a dud,

  but the charge caused some damage.

  The

  abnormally

  elongated

  minutes

  were

  accompanied by multiple sirens sounding their approach

  from all points of the compass. An eerie quiet descended

  upon the scene, with only the occasional muffled sobs or a

  crying baby to be heard.

  First to arrive was a hook and ladder pumper that

  immediately swung into action. Emergency Medical

  Technicians swarmed out of the extended cab on the truck

  and fanned out, forming a number of triage sites. Soon

  after, five emergency vans dispatched from a naval station

  in Flensborg rolled in, and both public and private

  ambulances formed a perimeter as close as was safe,

  considering the destruction. The emergency responders

  were also concerned that there might still be more bombs

  timed to thwart any attempts to help the wounded.

  Evac helicopters landed in the massive parking

  area, and traffic on the motorway was rerouted onto access

  and ring roads as far from the scene as possible, which

  created a traffic nightmare in the city center.

  In all of the frantic movement, no one seemed to

  pay much mind to the olive-skinned young man with the

  scruffy beard wearing the green army fatigues. He walked

  slowly amongst the chaos, with his bad teeth highlighting

  a far off grin. He climbed onto one of the few picnic tables

  that had managed to remain unscathed and began reciting

  Arabic prayers.

  Looking down and to his left, he recognized the

  form of a young boy who appeared to be sleeping. Maybe

  he was dead; only Allah the merciful and benevolent

  would know this, God willing, praise be unto Him.

  Whatever the case, he must help the Prophet and Allah the

  magnificent in this mighty quest and fatwa to vanquish the

  infidels. No matter the age—because little infidels grow to

  be adult infidels—he knew he must do his part to bring

  glory unto Allah, peace be upon Him. He stepped from the

  table onto the bench seat and, with the Prophet's blessing,

  bent down and retrieved the boy.

  He again sat on the tabletop, holding the boy

  against his heavy fatigues. When he finally caught the

  attention of the police, right after they drew their guns on

  him, he opened his jacket to reveal the explosive vest,

  raising the hand grasping the triggering device over his

  head for all to see.

  Once everyone saw the bomb, and he was

  convinced they all believed it was real, he pulled the boy

  closer to him and zipped up his jacket with the boy tucked

  inside the coat. If anyone dare attempt a takedown, the

  boy—and approximately one hundred meters surrounding

  them—would be instantly vaporized.

  THE RESPONSE WAS TEXTBOOK in every way. There

  would be no Monday morning quarterbacking or 20/20

  hindsight reported by the media, or anyone else, looking

  to gripe. Just an hour after it all began, an Arabic translator

  was in place.

  "Brother, what are your needs? Please, help us

  understand the great mission you have undertaken on

  behalf of Allah, the wise and merciful?" Amir Mohammed

  asked the man.

  "Who is 'us', traitor? You conspire to aid the

  infidels, much to your own destruction. You will meet

  death and it will be of your own cause, praise be to Him,"

  the suicide bomber answered.

  "You are right, my brother. I have strayed. How

  can I return to His benevolent grace? Can you help me

  with this—may I know your name?"

  "I am called Abdul Hamid," he said warily. "And

  you?"

  "Ahhh, your name means Servant of the Praised

  One!" the negotiator noted. "This is a name for one of great


  faith and heart, brother! Praise be to Allah!"

  "Your name? Is it Steve or Günter or perhaps

  something else worthy of approval to the Great Satan?"

  "Nothing like that, Abdul Hamid... I am Amir

  Mohammed. We shall be brothers, you will see!"

  "You know nothing. You are lost to Satan's cause,

  my friend. I grieve for you, my lost brother," the terrorist

  declared.

  "Oh, but you must help me. We must honor Allah

  together. We must show our hearts to be of great purity

  and sanctity, does the Koran not say this?"

  "I HAVE TWO SHARPSHOOTERS with a clear bead on

  our target, sir. We just await the order," the unit

  commander whispered into his headset. "Wind and

  lighting factored, and are optimal."

  "Hold fast, Commander. We're trying to figure out

  what to do about the kid," came the terse reply.

  "What if we can take a shot that will disable the

  trigger wire?"

  "What's the percentage?" the coordinator asked.

  "A good seventy percent, I'd say."

  "Not good enough. Stand by."

  "SANDER? WHERE ARE YOU? Where'd you guys go?" is

  what I remembered saying or thinking—I don't know

  which—when I came out of whatever had happened.

  Maybe some kind of gas explosion?

  I found Jannik's shirt; there was blood on it. Then,

  when I tried to stand up, I felt way dizzy. Like the room-

  spinning kind of dizziness that you get from a good drunk

  or a ride on that spider thing at the fair. So I had to sit back

  down before I fell down.

  There's Pokey's shoe! Where's the rest of him? Shit!

  Not this fucking crap again! I almost lost you once, Sander!

  It ain't happening again! What the fuck!

  I turned around and there he was, lying on his

  back, his eyes closed.

  "Sander! Are you hurt?!"

  I stumble-crawled over to him, hoping against

  everything that he was alive. God, can't they quiet down

  those fucking helicopters?

  "Sander!" I shook him and even slapped his face a

  little. Well, they do it in the movies, so it probably works,

  right? "Love bug, please wake up! Please!"

  "Love bug? Are you crazy, man?" He spoke clearly

  enough, but he kept his eyes closed and tried to turn on his

  side. "That is the dumbest thing you ever have called me

  before!"

  "Do you hurt anywhere?"

  "My leg is really very sore. Does it bleed?" he

  asked. I gave it a quick once-over and both legs seemed

  okay to me.

  "Can you move them? I don't think they're broken

  or anything," I said.

  "Where's Jannik?" Sander asked, perking up at the

  importance of the question. "Where's my little brother?!"

  "I don't see him. Sit here for a minute and I'll see if I

  can find him."

  "I HAVE A SHOT ON THE trigger cable. I'm taking it."

  Phhheewww! The silenced weapon and its shooter

  performed flawlessly. The cable was sliced just below the

  terrorist's wrist, and before he could register what had

  happened, he was surrounded and driven to the ground in

  a singular motion. The balaclava-clad kill squad instantly

  turned rescuers of a frightened boy who never understood

  what had transpired these last hours. To say he was in

  shock was more than an understatement.

  "Get the boy! Get the boy!" the team leader

  shouted, while two squad members pinned back the arms

  of the terrorist, and a third took an assault knife and

  expertly exacted a vertical cut down the jacket, releasing

  Jannik into his arms. The instant he had the boy free of his

  captor, he handed him off to the translator who then

  spirited him over to the closest medi-van. It was when the

  rescuer ran across the car park toward the van that Sander

  and Johnnie caught sight of Jannik's wispy form.

  "There he is!" Sander cried.

  Jannik's savior tossed him into the van and it

  kicked up rubber as it sped away from the carnage, sirens

  blazing.

  Chapter 5

  nd you are?..."

  "I'm his brother-in-law," I explained to

  "A the intake nurse at the Malteser

  Krankenhaus Sankt Franziskus Hospital in central

  Flensborg. The place was crazy; even the famous German

  aptitude for turning chaos into order was non-existent and

  likely would be in the coming hours. The wounded were

  spread over three hospitals, so if Jannik wasn't here he'd

  have to be at one of the others.

  "Would he have had any identification on his

  person?" she asked.

  "His passport's in our car, so unless he had a school

  I.D. on him, or something, I don't think so. I know he has a

  red motorcycle wallet, and there are a bunch of Lego

  coupons inside of it," I said. I took note that the nurse

  became less officious the moment I mentioned the Legos.

  She must have kids of her own, I thought.

  "Have you been seen yet?" she asked.

  "No. I'm okay. My partner hurt his leg, though.

  "And her name?"

  "His name is Sander Lars Hansen. He's resting on

  one of the gurneys down that hallway," I said.

  "Okay, Mr. Allen. I will put you on a list to be

  checked out. I want you to see a doctor before you leave

  here," she said. "You go and wait with your man and I

  promise you that I will contact every possible place that

  might have Jannik. Fair enough?"

  "More than fair. And... I thank you, ma'am," I said,

  as much for her respectful and considerate treatment of

  Sander and me as gay people, as for her promise to follow

  up on Jannik.

  I tried to find a quiet place to call Magda and Niels

  before sitting with Pokey. I ducked into a vacant doctors'

  lounge and poured a glass of water from an iced carafe,

  settling onto a wide divan used for surgeons' catnaps.

  Magda answered on the first ring.

  "Johnnie! We've been so worried! You heard about

  the explosion at the duty free mall, yes? Are you all okay?"

  "We were there, Mama. We were in it, and Jannik

  became a hostage for a while but they got the man who'd

  taken him so now he's at the hospital. I'm here with Pokey,

  too," I said.

  "Niels! Get on the other phone!" I heard her yell. "So

  is he hurt? Please tell me he's okay, Johnnie!"

  "Hello, Johnnie, it's Pop. What's happened?"

  "Pokey's fine. He hurt his leg, but it's not broken or

  anything. They just want to make sure. The head nurse is

  tracking down where they took Jannik. They've got

  everybody at three different hospitals, but Jannik was the

  first one they took in the ambulance and—listen to me—he

  wasn't hurt. He's probably just a little scared and we'll go

  to him as soon as they release us from here, okay?"

  "Are you in Flensborg?" Niels asked.

  "Yes we are, but if you're thinking of coming, the

  frontier is closed, they stopped the trains, and the

  motorway is stopped, too," I said.

  "Yes, we've seen the reports on the television," he

  agreed. "
So it won't do us any good to try to get there?"

  "If you guys can just stay there by the phone, we'll

  call you the second anything changes. We won't leave you

  hanging," I promised.

  "Yes, that's a good idea," Magda said, with great

  optimism in her voice. "I feel good that you are there.

  Please take care of our boys."

  "We'll be home soon. I promise," I said, and then

  rang off. It was more than a promise to me. They were my

  family, and they are meant to never be in harm's way—

  ever.

  "POKEY, I TALKED WITH Mama and Pop and they know

  we're okay."

  "What about Jannik? He's okay, too, yes?" Sander

  asked, near tears.

  "The lady is finding him at whatever hospital he's

  at, and then we'll go and get him."

  "He must be so afraid. Why did this happen?" he

  cried. "He was meant to buy a toy and we were to be at the

  cinema tonight. It's not fair!"

  "I know. But it will soon be over and we'll be home

  safe," I promised. "Did they say how long until they see

  you?"

  "It'll be some time because I'm not really hurt so

  bad. I would just go if we could get out of here."

  "They said they want to check me, too. But I'm

  okay. I just had some scratches and my back's a little sore

  from landing on that curb, but I'm just fine," I said.

  "So what the fuck are we still doing here?" Sander

  hissed. "Let's find Jannik and go home!"

  I instinctively sized up the situation with a furtive

  glance up and down the hall. We could do it. No problem.

  But we'd have to get the car, and that wouldn't happen

  because there's no way they would have finished

  processing the crime scene so soon. A car could be rented,

  and we could get home through Puttgarden. So it would

  just be a matter of scooping up the little guy, and the Three

  Musketeers would be Denmark bound and we could be

  done with this shit day. Depending on the ferry schedule,

  we might even get home late tonight.

  "Let's do it!" I whispered to Sander.

  "You don't have to say it twice, Johnnie Bond! I've

  had it with Germany and their fucking shitty bombs!" he

  said, disgusted by all of it. "And I never got to finish my

  lunch!"

  A quick check revealed that the Hertz car rental lot

  was exactly two miles from the hospital, and the other

  hospitals were all within a three mile radius of where we

  were. "Let's call 'em and get a ride, rent the car, and get the