Sander's Courage Page 6

  I turned and saw Marge and Sander in the car;

  Marge was obviously doing her best to cheerlead the

  moroseness out of Sander. He wasn't buying it, and who

  could blame him? It was my fucking job that got us into

  this mess, and if I had never allowed him to go along on

  that first assignment, none of this would be happening. I

  was sure of it.

  "So what happens now, Signe?"

  "Here's what I know. The fuckers that bombed the

  duty free shops in Flensborg are from the Sands of Time,

  an al Qaeda splinter group that works all over Europe."

  "So what do you think happened?"

  "It was no accident that you happened to be at the

  bombing site. The SVR and the FSB have been trailing you

  guys since a week after you left the hospital in Antwerp,"

  she explained. "Their terrorist financing, well a lot of it

  anyway, comes straight out of Eastern Europe. Name any

  old Iron Curtain state, and chances are these sand jockeys

  have their own personal ATM in the form of a Russian

  that's working under direct orders from the Kremlin."

  "So why does this have anything to do with us?

  Surely you don't mean that they arranged a bombing just

  to snatch a kid. If they've been watching us so closely, why

  didn't they just take him on his way home from school or

  something?"

  "I don't know if they knew that the boy would be

  the target," Signe said. "I think at the end of the day it was

  opportunistic. It could've been any of you. The way things

  shook out, the boy fell into the snare. Point is, they wanted

  to cause you a world of hurt, and from what I gather,

  they've succeeded."

  "So you do have any actionable intel?" I asked,

  hoping against hope that she did.

  "More than that," she said. "There's someone on the

  inside that told my guy all the details. He's scared shitless

  and just wants it over so he can disappear back into his

  hole. It is, how shall we say, a semi-sanctioned affair. I

  mean, the Kremlin's boys upstairs know about it, but the

  real driving force is a mid-level guy who ran the op that

  you guys busted. And by all accounts, he's major pissed."

  "Do you know where they're keeping him?"

  "I do. And I'm ready to get him home. It won't be a

  walk in the park, but I think we have more than a Vegas

  chance to get the little guy back. I'm all in if you are," Signe

  said. Like she had to ask.

  WE REJOINED SANDER AND MARGE in the rental, and

  pulled away from the truck plaza. A reflective silence filled

  the car until we crossed into Finland.

  "Where do we go?" Sander asked.

  "To Murmansk," Signe answered without emotion.

  "We know where your brother is, and we have a plan."

  "Oh, thank you, thank you so much! Fuck, I'm

  scared," Sander sobbed. "Will we..."

  "Yes, Sander, no worries. It's in hand. The best

  thing you can do is to be here, ready to hug your brother

  when he's back with us. But you have to stay strong,

  okay?" Marge said.

  "Yes. I promise," Sander said, trying his best to curb

  the tears. "I am always here for him. Johnnie will say, right,

  Johnnie?"

  "Of course, Pokey. Everybody knows. None of this

  is your fault. It's nobody's fault but the criminals who did

  this," I said, doing my best to reassure him.

  "In the meantime, try and get some sleep, Sander.

  You're gonna need to be rested when everything goes

  down and we get the boy back," Signe explained. "We'll be

  there in a few hours, and it'll be over sooner than you

  know it."

  MURMANSK IS A SHITTY, ICY TOWN that's penultimate

  purpose is as the home port for Russia's submarine navy.

  It's isolated, and this time of year it's nearly dark all the

  time. Night lasts for eighteen hours, and the town sport is

  called Drink the Vodka. Nobody is happy in Murmansk.

  We drove in a little after sunrise and parked near

  the wrecking wharf, a disgusting place that even rats

  wouldn't be caught dead at, even if it wasn't below zero

  most of the time. The rusted hulks of semi-dismantled

  nuclear subs lay in a way that looked as if one day

  everyone working on them just up and walked home,

  never to return. The place smelled like petroleum, and

  even the seabirds had no reason to do anything except

  pass by on their way to somewhere else.

  "Why here?" I asked Signe. She shot me a 'shut the

  fuck up' glance in the rear view mirror, and turned to

  Marge.

  "We will leave you here, with the keys to the car,"

  Signe said to Marge. "I need you both to stay right here

  until four o'clock today. If we are not back by then, you

  need to go to this address and call this phone number and

  tell whoever answers what's happened." Signe scribbled

  the info on the back of the road assistance pamphlet she

  found in the seat pocket. Marge just listened, never

  interrupting Sig once.

  "Is there a specific contact I need to ask for?" Marge

  added.

  "No. Just tell them the whole story and wait there.

  Someone will come for you. And we'll have to regroup

  somehow, but that's only if things don't go our way," Signe

  said. "But they're going to go our way!"

  "Pokey, just stay with Marge and be ready to go

  home, okay?" I said. He leaned over and hugged me

  tightly and whispered how much he loved me. The girls

  heard his every word.

  Chapter 10

  f we indeed truly 'won' the cold war, I am

  thoroughly convinced that much of the reason for

  I that is due to Signe Haraldsdóttir. It's cliché but true: Signe has forgotten more about the Russians than the

  Russians themselves ever knew about themselves.

  "Okay, handsome, here's what we're gonna do,"

  Signe said. "One of my elves left some togs for us behind

  that state liquor store over there." With a quick nod she

  indicated the pinkish, decrepit building. Spies never point.

  "We'll change at the park next to the entrance to the port,

  and I'll school you on the back-story when we're ready to

  rock." Hey, I was just the passenger on this bus. Anything

  she said would be the gospel that I would staunchly

  follow.

  "Where is he exactly?" I asked.

  "In a distillery they shut down. They used to make

  some pretty good hooch in there, but everybody buys their

  high octane spirits from the west when they can, so there

  wasn't any reason to keep it going. Lately the FSB's been

  using it as kind of a wannabe black site," she explained.

  "Is it far?"

  "Maybe five minutes. But the good thing is, once

  we're out, the way back to the car is through a couple of

  alleyways that should keep us covered until we're ready to

  cross the road back to the car. We'll be coming out right

  there," she said, indicating a small portal that workers in

  another time once spent great pride and care to build. It

  used to be an access lane to their comrades' apartments.

/>   What remained now was a crumbling wall, guarding piles

  of garbage and a single discarded shoe.

  "Time's-a-wastin'..." I said. Without a word, she led

  the way.

  The clothes and the props were waiting for us as

  promised. We would be area electrical workers

  investigating a dangerous power surge in the block of

  buildings. Signe spoke perfect Russian. I would be her

  silent lackey. To make the story play even better, we

  stopped at about five buildings across the street, clearly

  acting the part of government utility workers. This was so

  the security camera that we knew was logging our every

  move would reveal that we just hadn't made a beeline for

  the goal. No, we were just a couple of workaday schlubs

  doing our best to get through the day with the least energy

  expended.

  We spent a good twenty minutes at each location,

  examining the electrical boxes, inquiring whether anyone

  had noticed any odd dimming or power flicks. "Well, now

  that you mention it..." was the usual reply. Nothing like

  official suggestion to make the mark think like you wish

  him to think.

  With a pleasant spasiba to our helpful office

  manager, we'd move on to the next building. Until finally

  we arrived at the distillery. Before we got to the door, a

  curious man came around the corner of the building,

  smiling as he approached.

  "Good morning!" Signe began. "Are you employed

  here?"

  "Yes. What seems to be the trouble?"

  "There has been a serious electrical problem

  discovered that could cause a fire, or worse. So we're

  checking every electrical box on each property to isolate

  the issue. We just need a few minutes at your box and we'll

  be on our way," she said so coolly and off-handed that I

  felt like we could really be who she said we were.

  "Yes, yes... The box is right inside," Mr. Helpful

  said, directing us through the door. He led the way to the

  electrical box, and the second he turned around to show

  us, Signe got him with her Taser. A second later I had him

  in zip ties, and gagged. He was trussed like a pig. Signe

  followed it up with a nosefull of chloroform. Then it was

  hide and seek until we found where they were keeping

  Jannik.

  The chatter of Arabic assholes wafted from a room

  that had once been the employee break area, and they

  were easily subdued with a small gas grenade that put the

  fuckers to sleep. Guaranteed at least four hours, promised

  the nerds in the field equipment department. We shared a

  smile when she quickly shut the door and mouthed night

  night to the tumbling terrorists.

  The next step was to determine the holding place,

  take a breath and consider the options, and decide when to

  go. We didn't have that much time because somebody

  somewhere would likely head to the break room in search

  of their missing idiots, so we had to make every second

  count.

  We left the central hallway and turned a corner that

  led us to the main floor. There we saw three large

  masheries and the primary water line from the mash

  kettles to the still. Behind that was the only area other than

  the break room that was lighted. From its position in the

  room, it looked like it could have been a storage area for

  the finished bottles. It would have had secure doors to

  discourage worker theft, and so it would make an excellent

  place to hold someone captive. A gray-haired man

  wearing a typically ill-fitting Russian suit sat in an

  adjoining office, his head down. He was either reading

  something or taking a catnap.

  Signe indicated that I follow her lead. In

  milliseconds she transformed herself from sneaky spy to

  confident government electrical worker and walked

  straight toward him, with me doing my best to keep up. I

  just walked and stared at my clipboard. She banged on the

  side of a vat and offered a cheery hello. He wasn't just

  startled; I think he shit his pants.

  "Good morning, sir! Your assistant let us in. We're

  with the power board and we're checking to see if..."

  "Fuck! You're that fucking..." Oops, guess he

  recognized me! But he didn't actually manage to say so,

  because by that time he was on the ground, frothing at the

  mouth from the sting of the Taser. Well, we did tell him to

  beware of an electrical problem, right?

  Again with the zip ties and the gag. Again with a

  nice big huff of chloroform. Then it was just a matter of

  moments before we found Jannik huddled in a darkened

  corner of that horrible room. He was so shocked that he

  just stared at us. It's all he could do. Then he truly believed

  what he was seeing and his winsome face changed to one

  of complete relief and joy.

  "Johnnie! Johnnie! Take me wit you home now! I

  shall not be here no more..."

  "Jan! We're here to get you. We have to leave now.

  Are you okay to walk?" I asked him as he gripped me in a

  bear hug. I had to lift him up or we couldn't have moved

  anywhere. While I was attending to Jannik, Signe was

  calling someone in to collect the kidnappers, and by the

  time we left the building they were already there in an

  unmarked van, backing in to the loading dock just outside

  the old storage room where they had kept Jannik. It wasn't

  going to go very well for the bastards; at least I hoped not.

  One thing I've noticed with my job is that no matter

  how intense things get when you're in the thick of it, once

  it's over, it's over. We had Jannik back in our safe

  possession. We walked out into the morning as cars were

  passing by, people on their way to work. Shops were

  opening. There was a group of school kids huddled

  together, some on their phones, many with earbuds

  probably checking out tunes or obnoxious videos on

  YouTube. That's if YouTube is even allowed in this poor

  excuse for a country.

  And there we were, now hidden, well within the

  labyrinth of alleyways, a mere three hundred or so yards

  from the car and Sander's waiting arms. In minutes we'd

  be heading for Finland where Marge arranged a jet

  helicopter to ferry us home.

  There's the car. I can see Marge in the back seat.

  And then I saw Pokey's face in the side mirror. His eyes

  brightened when he saw us walking across the road, and

  he bounded out of the car and ran to us. He cried tears of

  relief as I passed Jannik to him. They both went into

  hundred-mile-an-hour Danish, and their happiness was

  really something to see.

  "You're okay, mister! We're heading home right

  now! We're gonna ride on a helicopter and everything!"

  Sander said, laughing.

  "What the hell took you so long?" Jannik play-

  scolded. "That place was a real dump!"

  "Soon as we go we'll call Mama! Get in the car,

  Cracker Jack! We've got places to go!"

  "Yeah, just so it's the fuck away from here
!" Jannik

  laughed. "Hello, Marge. I'm here!"

  "Isn't it fantastic?! We've missed you!" And Jannik

  climbed into the car and hugged her around the neck.

  Soon Signe joined them in the back seat, and Sander and I

  took the front and beat cheeks the hell out of Murmansk.

  Murmansk could kiss our collective asses!

  Chapter 11

  e crossed the border into Finland later in the

  afternoon and drove to a football pitch that was

  W about twenty kilometers in. The chopper was

  waiting for us. We had already dropped Signe back at the

  truck plaza where we'd left her car, and Marge was going

  to drive the rental car down to Malmö and leave it with

  Hertz. She said she'd drive by the church before she did

  that to make sure she still had a car waiting for her.

  The highlight of the post-rescue drive was when

  Sander dialed the phone and passed it back to Jannik.

  "Hello, Sander?!"

  "No, Mama. It's Jannik."

  "Niels! They have him! It's baby!"

  "Hi, Pop. We're gonna fly on a big helicopter and

  Pokey says they will land it tonight at Beldringe. Will you

  and Mama come and say hello? And can you bring Grini,

  too, maybe?"

  And so went the call. It was on speaker and we all

  shared in the simple beauty of our family's love for one

  another, and the intoxicating relief that our little fallen bird

  was back in the nest.

  On the drive down from Murmansk, Signe

  described how she'd put the whole mission together.

  Marge and I were both amazed at the speed in which she'd

  accomplished it, and how on target her intel was. Marge

  told me later that Signe's reach was so wide that she could

  give Putin a colonoscopy and he'd never know she was

  there. After today I had no doubt.

  THE S-61 HELICOPTER WAS luxurious, and the sight of it

  began to return Jannik to his boyhood. While Sander and I

  knew that the trauma he had undergone would be a

  long time healing, the anticipation of riding in such a

  stately aircraft at least took his mind off of it for the

  immediate future.

  Marge sent us packing with hugs and kisses, and

  we three took a row of seats with Jannik safely ensconced

  between Sander and me. In a jiffy we were flying as the

  crow flies over the darkening northern day bound for

  Odense's little airport. In a little over four hours we'd be

  home.