Sander's Courage Read online

  "What do you think?"

  "See you in a few." And then she hung up. At least

  now we had something to go with. And I knew that Pokey

  and the family could use any sliver of hope that we could

  mine.

  Chapter 7

  ama, I'm so sorry that we lose Jannik but we are

  " gonna find him," Sander sobbed into the phone, on

  M the drive to Malmö from the ferry landing at

  Trelleborg. "Johnnie has a friend at his work and together

  they think maybe they can know where he is." Sander

  turned to me. "She want to talk with you."

  "Hi, Mom, it's Johnnie."

  "Tell me the truth. Have I lost my son?" Magda

  cried.

  "No. I promise that you haven't. We're going to be

  out of range for a few days, but please trust that we're

  gonna get him home again," I pleaded.

  "I believe that you think you can, Johnnie. But what

  do the police say? Are they helping at all?" Magda asked, a

  tremble in her voice.

  "I can't say. But I'm meeting my boss in Malmö,

  and we're getting Jannik back. Here's Sander. I love you,"

  and I handed him the phone. If I'd talked to her a second

  longer, I wouldn't have just lost it

  emotionally—I would have lost all hope.

  We were on tenuous ground as it was, and

  anything more could have triggered an earthquake of

  despair that would only be counterproductive. "...Yes,

  Mama, we love you too. We'll call later in the night, but

  like Johnnie says, we can't say when. Good-bye."

  "That was very hard," I noted. "I didn't know what

  else to tell her, Pokey."

  "I know. You did fine. Better than me."

  "We're in this together," I said.

  "I know. I know that we are, for all time," Sander

  said, taking my hand. The thunder struck loud and

  reverberated across the sky, closely followed by the first

  tentative raindrops that beaded on the freshly waxed

  bonnet of the rental car.

  "The last time we drove across Sweden it was a

  different ride," he recalled. "It seems a very long time ago."

  We had collected a BMW company car in Ystad on

  the way to my very first assignment, which was to

  transport one of our most tenacious agents on a mission

  dubbed Operation Mango. The trip required a meet-up

  with the asset in Warsaw, Poland, followed by a fast dash

  across Germany to Belgium, where he was supposed to

  board a car carrier bound for South America. Once there,

  his job would be too unhinge a hit planned for the Iranian

  ambassador that was designed to look like it was officially

  sanctioned by the American government. It was intended

  to derail the Iranian nuclear weapons treaty that was

  scheduled to be signed later the same month.

  It turned out that the whole affair had been devised

  by the Kremlin for fear that middle eastern peace would

  drive down Russian oil prices, as well as Russian influence

  in the region.

  Quite by accident, Sander had discovered that the

  asset we were meant to transport had been exchanged

  with an imposter. As events developed, my supervisor,

  Marge Stuplemann, discovered that a rogue CIA station

  chief was helping the Russians. She put a stop to it, but not

  before the imposter tried to murder Sander and me outside

  the central train station in Antwerp. While the details were

  scarce, Marge was convinced that Jannik was taken as part

  retaliation for our having exposed their attempt against the

  Iranian diplomat.

  Only time would tell if there was any validity to

  Marge's theory, but I believed it was definitely possible,

  and each journey—especially one to the truth—starts with

  a single step. Pulling off the motorway into Malmö was the

  first of what would likely become a marathon run. But the

  possible outcome dictated that we try.

  "There she is," Sander exclaimed, pointing at the

  church car park. We pulled up next to Marge's no-

  nonsense form, and she climbed into the back seat with her

  worn leather case.

  "Hello boys," she said, tossing the case on the floor

  behind my seat. "You're right on time. Hi, Sander, sure

  sorry you're going through all of this bullshit. We're gonna

  try and make it better," she said, giving his hair a little

  tussle and his shoulders a little squeeze.

  I threw the car into gear and the clock started. We

  were a 'go'. "Why'd you pick a church?" I asked her. "That

  didn't work out too well the last time, you know."

  "I needed to park my car where it wouldn't be

  towed," she responded. "I figured it wouldn't be very

  Christian of 'em to fink on me to the cops or the towing

  company. We'll see."

  "Thanks so much for coming to help Jannik,"

  Sander said. "I can't even think very good right now. If it

  not for you and for Johnnie I am lost."

  "You're welcome, baby. We're gonna stop for the

  night at a place I know in Haparanda, just this side of the

  Finnish border. I have somebody who can help us, and she

  knows the lay of the land. It's a good place to start,

  anyways," Marge explained.

  "How do we want to go?" I asked.

  "Take the E4 the whole way. We'll be there by ten

  tonight if the weather doesn't go all kooky on us."

  Chapter 8

  he boy was keenly frightened. He did his very best

  to keep his wits about him, but along with the

  T setting sun, the experience was turning darker by

  the minute. He had given up orienteering hours ago.

  Johnnie had taught him the tradecraft—listen to the

  roadway because road construction methods each sound

  different. Concrete has a different feel than asphalt; steel

  grating means that you're on a bridge.

  In their orienteering games, he had learned to

  position the sun, to look for flags for wind direction, and to

  estimate the time of day by taking the geometric height of

  the sun into consideration. Even the birds could tell you

  where you were if you could differentiate their birdsong.

  Since the ferry landed he'd done his best, but it was going

  on eight hours—Johnnie had also taught him how to keep

  an inner clock as accurate as a Rolex—but the little guy

  had finally tuckered out.

  He was very hungry, and the water they had

  given him throughout the journey was warm and caused a

  belly ache. But he knew three things for certain. One, he

  was definitely in Sweden (or at least he was this morning)

  and headed north. Two, he knew that he'd been

  kidnapped. And three, he knew that his brother and

  Johnnie would move Heaven and Earth to find him.

  THE FINNISH FRONTIER was bathed in the murky

  orange glow of what they liked to call sustainable lighting

  from green energy. Approaching the border station

  appeared like something from a sci-fi movie, and the arctic

  darkness would have seemed disconcerting in any event.

  Marge directed me to leave the E4 motorway at the

  final Swedish exit,
which would lead us into the little town

  of Haparanda which housed most of the customs and

  immigration officers. It was here that we would meet up

  with Marge's contact and hopefully decide the next steps

  to take that would ultimately reunite us with Jannik.

  "Signe will meet us at the lorry plaza on the other

  side of town," Marge explained. "If you just keep to the

  right and follow that slip road, we'll be there in a jiffy."

  "How do you know her?" Sander asked.

  "She was my first field agent I ran back when the

  old Soviet desk was alive and kicking. Say what you will

  about communism, but we always had job security," she

  said. "What I know about Sig is that she always maintains

  her contacts, even when they're not useful anymore. I

  think she might be able to reach out to the ones who know

  what happened in Germany. And more important, find

  out why."

  "I hope you're right," I said. "Is that it there?" I

  asked Marge, at the sight of a sodium lighted break in the

  horizon.

  "That's the place. You'll see a sign for cars one way,

  and trucks the other. Take the truck sign and park in the

  far southeast corner. You'll see some wash stands for the

  big trucks, but they'll be empty now," Marge instructed.

  "Have you gone here before?" Sander asked.

  "Once. Never thought I'd be back."

  "I wish so much that your friend can help us, you

  know?" Sander said. "I really wish it very greatly."

  "Yeah, kid. Me too. There's the sign, Johnnie. Take a

  right."

  "ALLAH IS IN EVERYTHING you see; He is everything

  that you are. He is the One who is great and merciful, and

  he will dissolve the west of its self importance and cleanse

  its evil deeds," the one Jannik called Smelly Breath said.

  "If the Allah man is so good I shall be whit mine

  brother and family, not here. So I am thinking he not is so

  nice. Maybe you are love the wrong man," Jannik said.

  "This is why you are a stupid child. You shall show

  reverence to Allah the wise and merciful or pay the price!"

  "Why is there such a price? Why he even care

  whats a boy from Danmark is saying? He need you to

  make trouble for me so he can feels better? He is one who

  is stupid then," Jannik reasoned. "If he so big, he shall not

  worry so much what I think."

  "When you stand before Him you will change your

  words; you will know the truth and will beg for mercy and

  forgiveness, none of which you will receive! Stupid boy!"

  Smelly Breath hissed.

  "He sound like a bully, and so I do not be afraid of

  him. First, because you make it all up, it's just a very bad

  story; and next, because I don't beg from bullies. So I think

  I just minding my own business and not worry so much

  about your play friend."

  That did it. Smelly Breath slapped Jannik across his

  face and then laid a punch right on his mouth, which drew

  blood. He began to cry as blood filled his mouth and ran

  onto his chin. The terrorist pulled back, retreating to a

  corner of the room they both occupied. He felt a flash of

  regret, but that passed as soon as he started reciting a

  mumble of prayers, leaving the boy to deal with his pain

  on his own.

  "You hurts me so much! You are a very bad man

  and you shall hope your fucking Allah will helping you

  when my brother find you! Asshole!" Jannik cried.

  "Jannik Mads Hansen? It is Jannik, yes?" the new

  man asked. He was stocky, gray hair, casual suit. He was

  white; he spoke English with an accent; he definitely

  wasn't Arab. "Here, let me help you," he said, offering the

  boy a cold, wet washcloth. Jannik took the rag and did his

  best to feel where most of the blood was, but it hurt when

  he put pressure on his skin. His lip had been sliced by his

  teeth when Smelly Breath punched him.

  "Will you shut up that fucking gibberish!" the white

  man yelled at Smelly Breath. "Get out of here!"

  Smelly Breath complied, pulling the steel door

  behind him, leaving the man alone with the small prisoner.

  "So, here we are," the man said. Jannik just looked at him

  without response, still dabbing his swelling mouth and

  cheeks with the cool cloth. "You never told me if you are

  Jannik," he added.

  Jannik nodded in the affirmative and cast his eyes

  to the floor. Not one to abandon hope, he was fast coming

  to the conclusion that none of this was accidental, and for

  the first time he doubted if he would ever see his family,

  his friends, his toys, or his cats ever again. He wondered

  how they planned to kill him. Would it hurt? How sad

  Sander and Johnnie would be; he knew they would blame

  themselves. He had an assignment due on Wednesday

  that he had been working on for a month with his mate,

  Nikolai. They had built a working volcano and were

  supposed to show it in the science class.

  "I apologize for that idiot, my young friend," the

  man said. "I am Niklaus, and it's only fair that you know

  why you are here, and what will happen." Niklaus

  Mitrokhin of the Russian FSB and SVR-RF was in

  possession a young citizen of Denmark who had no idea

  that this was the man behind a rogue plot to assassinate an

  Iranian ambassador last year. And that his agent was the

  man who had tried to kill Johnnie and had put Sander in

  the hospital with a gunshot to his arm.

  "So by way of explanation, Jannik, we brought you

  here because by hurting you, we can in turn hurt someone

  who caused us great damage last year. Do you know the

  incident I speak of?" Mitrokhin said, arrogance framing his

  every word.

  "I don't understand all of that," Jannik replied. "I

  don't know you and you shall not steal me from mine

  family if you are any good."

  "Do you know Johnnie Allen?"

  "Yes, of course. He is my brother's man."

  "Your brother and his man make big trouble for us,

  and now they will pay for that. Do you understand that,

  my young friend?" Mitrokhin snapped.

  "Johnnie and Sander make no trouble ever. They is

  both such very good peoples and what you do is to make a

  wery big mistake," Jannik said, through the pain in his

  mouth.

  "We shall see what happens. But first, are you

  hungry at all?"

  "You make poison for me now?" Jannik asked,

  betraying fear despite his determination to refuse this

  asshole a sliver of satisfaction. "I think I wait for home to

  have food."

  "Yes, well. I will check on you later," Mitrokhin

  barked before turning to the door and leaving the boy

  alone and frightened. Being alone was awful, Jannik

  thought. But that wasn't the worst of it. That happened

  when the light was switched off and he found himself in

  near blackness. A great and powerful nation of hundreds

  of millions of people was expending resources to hold

  captive a boy who had done nothing except to spend time
/>   with the brother he worships. What an awful chain of

  events, and for what? He found the floor, leaned against

  the cold, stark wall, and wept.

  Chapter 9

  ig! Over here!," Marge called to the slim, red haired

  " woman walking purposefully across the expansive

  S truck park. The overpowering diesel fumes mixed

  with the cold night air, and the rumbles from the idling

  semi-truck motors and the occasional burst of laughter

  from drivers huddled together exchanging lies and stories,

  created a scene worthy of a David Lynch film. Everything

  that surrounded this odd chain of events had no rhyme or

  reason to it, and definitely nothing that anyone—even ones

  of Marge and Signe's vast experience—could compare it to.

  "Wish I was here for a good thing," Sig began.

  "Why is it we only seem to get together when the world

  decides to take a dump?" she added. Marge smiled.

  Sig turned to Sander and offered her empathy,

  sympathy, and sadness at the loss of Jannik. Then she

  asked me if I would walk with her to her car. Marge and

  Sander returned to the rental and turned up the heater, the

  car's exhaust steam mixing with the yellow glow of the

  truck plaza.

  "I have a good idea of what happened," Signe said.

  "But if we're going to do what has to be done, it's gonna

  put Margie in a real bad position."

  "How come?" I asked.

  "Because in order to get the boy back, we're gonna

  have to pull some dirty tricks that in any case, even this

  one, would cause a diplomatic incident with the Russians."

  "Why? They took a kid! Who's gonna be pissed

  about that if we get him back? And who gives a fuck,

  anyway?"

  "Marge needs to have deniability. So I'm gonna let

  you in on what I know, and she's gonna keep big brother

  over there from going nuts while you and me do the dirty

  work," she explained. "But before I make another move, I

  gotta know that you're okay with it. And you can't fuck me

  over on it, no matter what happens."

  "Yeah, yeah... So what do you know?"

  "Serious. I gotta know you're not gonna go off the

  reservation on this once we put it into motion," she

  exclaimed. "Cuz if you do, I promise you there'll just be

  one end to it, and it won't be the one we all want."

  Like I had a choice. Of course I'd do anything she

  demanded, even though I didn't have a clue about what

  she had in mind, or what she really knew.