Whoever Kills The Innocent

by Lothar Birkner

  Whoever Kills the Innocent

  INTRODUCTION

  Born into the aftermath of World War II in Dortmund, Germany, Lothar Birkner

  earned a Masters in Philosophy at Münster College and studied Theology.

  After a successful career as a head Accountant for a public trading company his employment was terminated because he refused to trick fellow employees out of their severance pay

  Birkner’s loss of fortune led to a stint as a taxi driver and his first book, “God is Silent,” a fiction about the human condition entwined with today's war on terrorism, inspired by several events in recent past. It’s a thriller about things that could happen every day, but it’s a message too, that hatred is never the right way and there is no order of God to fight each other.

  Sandy and the war against terrorism

  Sandy's life swung off its hinges on THAT DAY that terrorism came to New York City and D.C.

  Every day since, Sandy’s first and last thought of the day is about THAT DAY, the world held its breath united in shock and awe.

  Nestled in her well-worn chair, Sandy repetitively massaged her temples in clockwise circles and pressed her lips tightly until she erupted. “How long does it take until I can forget?”

  The pins that had been holding up her long auburn hair fell out as she shook her head and moaned, “No! Forgetting is the wrong way!”

  Her emerald eyes overflowed with tears until she consciously slowed her breath and regained her composure. Sighing loudly, Sandy turned on the big screen television and stared at the images that pass across the screen: advertising.

  Numbing minutes passed until the talking heads reappeared along with the images from September 11, 2001 already emblazoned in her mind: planes crashing into the World Trade Center, buildings falling, clouds of smoke, people screaming, crying, dead and dying. Hell on Earth.

  Sandy whispered as she reverently picked up a framed picture of her father and wailed, “I miss you so much! I miss you too much! I vow to God that I will not rest until my goal and sacred duty has been accomplished! I solemnly swear on this September 11, that your death in the rubble of the World Trade Center, will not be in vain!"

  *******

  The two Ambien Sandy swallowed when she boarded the redeye from JFK to Düsseldorf airport graced her with eight hours of dreamless sleep.

  After downing two cups of black coffee, she was wide awake and biting her lip as she waited to pass through Customs.

  She told the Customs agent that she was on a business trip and held her breath until her passport was stamped.

  As she exited the terminal door to the taxi stand a cold whipping wind chilled her, but it was not due to the weather. Sandy felt eyes upon her and told herself, “Quit being so paranoid!”

  Sandy scanned the scene around her and smiled with relief at a diminutive Asian standing at the passenger door of a light yellow Mercedes who greeted her in halting English. “Hello! Welcome Germany! Where I take you?”

  Sandy laughed and asked, “How did you know I spoke English?”

  Bian replied with a sly smile. “You look it!”

  Sandy shrugged as Bian began piling her luggage into the back end and asked, “Where you staying, Miss America?”

  Sandy laughed and decided to be grateful for an unexpected diversion, which begins immediately after Bian started the engine and recalled her birth in Vietnam, the chaos that erupted with the withdrawal of US troops and her family’s migration to Germany. Sandy learned without asking a question that Bian also studied the arts, philosophy, and Asian history.

  Sandy finally asked, “Why do you drive a cab?”

  Bian replied without expression, “I fell in love with Bruno.”

  The women fell silent until they reached the hotel Sonderfeld in Grevenbroich.

  On impulse Sandy said to Bian, “Keep the meter going. I will check in and then you can show me the town!”

  Bian smiled beatifically and began imagining how many American dollars she could end the day with, beginning at the Castle.

  When Sandy returned she told Bian, “I am starved and craving a cappuccino!”

  Bian nodded and drove to her favorite cozy coffee, wondering why this American felt like an old friend. Sandy’s innate compassion and curiosity uncorked the normally reticent Bian who told her, “In recent days Bruno is late every night. I have a worried feeling from my guts. I'm worried. I am very worried.”

  Sandy assumed he was having an affair and put her hand on top of Bian’s restless twitching fingers, saying softly, “Men are mysterious…But then again, so are women.”

  *******

  Bruno`s hair had thinned in his thirties, just as his athletic build began to turn into flab, shortly after taking the job to man the taxi stand called Orken.

  During his twenties, Bruno played revolutionary and at 54 he relished his memories and loved Bian in the present. When she wasn’t around, Bruno often muttered out loud, quoting Martin Luther King, Jr. and launching into his chant:

  “Most people work hard and it results in nothing but hard work. Some are rich without effort. Many live a life of short straws. Damn those bankers and their big bonuses!”

  Abruptly the passenger side of the cab door opened and in slithered a tall thin tanned man with piercing black eyes and graying black hair. He sat down in the front seat and through a blinding white smile and purred, “Hello Bruno! Long time no see! What’s it now since we last met? Sixteen years?”

  Bruno exclaimed, “Martin! How is it that you still look like Omar Sharif but I look like his great-grandfather? Since when are you back in Germany?”

  “Later I will tell you all. For this meeting, you only need to know that I am no longer Martin, I am Saleh bin Mohammed. And I am a devout Muslim.”

  Bruno guffawed. “What happened to Martin the devout atheist? What about religion being the opiate of the people?”

  Mohamed loudly sighed before replying, “I have deeper insights now. Later I will tell you of my conversion to God, which now compels me to fight this lousy system devoted to God, the one true God, and Mohammed is his Prophet. It is the love of money that is at the root of great evil and their prophets are bankers. Our boyhood struggles in the Red Army Group were directed against the right enemy, but we lacked God back then, my friend. Today I am on God’s side because God is on mine and we will destroy this greedy, murderous system and force US imperialism to its knees!”

  With urgency Bruno interrupted. “Man, you know I only hovered in the background in the Red Army and way out of sight of the police. I have grown old and comfortable and I drive a cab all day so I can be with my love every night! My revolutionary days are distant memories. I like my life just as it is and want no part of yours anymore.”

  Now among the top echelon of radical Islamist terrorists, Saleh bin Mohammed had mastered the art of masking his anger with calm. “Bruno, you were always a good friend. I am not pressuring you and never will. I only want to thank you and talk about old memories as old friends. I am indebted to you for all the many times I escaped arrest by the pigs because of you. We must meet about old times and I will only share new developments, if you are interested.”

  Bruno thought of Bian but blurted out, “I get off work at 8!”

  The Arab smoothly exited the cab and through a Cheshire-grin replied, “I will meet you at the Station Diner.”

  ********

  The hard-working student from Yemen had become arrogant through his connection to the influential Saleh bin Fareed, whose wealth helped him to live and study in Germany.

  Before Saleh bin Fareed, who always wanted to develop talented young men of his country, had entered Anwar’s life, he had lived like a nomad as his father and
grandfather had been.

  Anwar was jolted awake at 3 a.m. when the cell phone he kept under his pillow began receiving text messages from his favorite uncle in Yemen that began:

  “Al Majalah attacked! Goats, sheep, and dead people everywhere! Burned bodies of humans and animals everywhere! Your mother, your brother, and your two sisters, all dead.”

  Numbly Anwar turned on Al-Jazeera news and within minutes heard Admiral Mullen, Chairman of the United Forces, smugly claim a successful anti-terror action in his hometown of Al Majalah.

  Anwar’s body trembled. He had tears in his eyes: He felt overwhelming sadness and unrestrained rage at the same time. Nobody knew better than him, that his mother and his siblings had absolutely nothing to do with terrorists. They only wanted a life in rest and peace. Now there was only one feeling and one thought in him: VENGEANCE!

  Anwar's rage erupted and he wailed, “God knows that until THAT DAY in 2009, I wanted to have nothing to do with Al-Qaeda or any terrorist organization. But God demands the crimes of the American Devils and their lackeys must be avenged. I know which way I have to go. Which way I must go…”

  ********

  In the back room of the bistro Saleh, Bruno, and Anwar sat on plush maroon cushions around a low cherry wood table. They sipped pungent Turkish coffee from gold-rimmed china cups and Bruno had held his tongue until he erupted, “Nothing changes except for the worse for all who have nothing to lose but their chains, car, condo, and savings!”

  "Because we lacked divine inspiration, we were destined to lose in the 1980s. But the times have changed because of blessings from Allah,” Saleh replied.

  Saleh’s eyes appeared to be burning coals, which mesmerized Bruno and sent a shiver up his spine as he whispered, “My study of the development of scientific revolutionary theories and sociological analyses of Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Mao have led me to conclude there can be no victory of any good without Allah!

  “Mohamed and the first Caliphs had no scientific analyses, but they had divine inspiration and with Allah on their side they conquered half the known world. Belief in Allah will triumph over the faithless and over consumers! Death to American imperialism!”

  Anwar twitched and shook but kept his voice low, snarling, “My people have had enough of plundering Crusaders and corrupt Arabs in power! Too many millions of people suffer because the West extends its greedy hands into lands that belong to Muslims! The fight has only begun to wake up the masses and chase away those who call themselves believers but are not--those who serve the interests of infidel imperialists and fill their own pockets!”

  As Bruno listened to the two men, he felt the familiar energizing spark from his toes to his ears, a feeling he had lost since comfort and laziness had taken hold of him. When he remembered to check his phone, he learned it was almost midnight and groaned as he clumsily rose and said, “I have to be at work at 6 a.m. and so this is good bye and good night!”

  Saleh and Anwar murmured a good night and as soon as Bruno was out of ear shot Saleh slyly smiled and said, “I know my old friend and confidently assure you that we have won it!”

  *******

  Bruno was chagrined to find Bian sitting upright in their bed in the room only illuminated by the full moon and sheepishly inquired, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  "Because I'm worried about you, Bruno.”

  “Worried,” he guffawed, then leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “My dear darling Bian, you have not the slightest reason to be worried about me.”

  Bian snapped as Bruno nuzzled her neck. “I worry much about you! I worry about the peculiar people who keep you away from me! I don’t like them!”

  “But Bian, you don't even know them. Martin has been my friend since before I even knew you existed! We never talk politics and I never missed it until Martin showed back up. We are old friends, and tonight I met one of his old friends. I lost track of the time listening to them discuss political situations.”

  Under his breath Bruno added, “I did not realize how much I missed that kind of dialogue.”

  Bruno closed the bathroom door and Bian closed her eyes. After a few deep, heart-centered breaths, she imagined Bruno as an old dog who had not hunted since his prime but then suddenly sniffed the scent of the wild.

  Bruno was damp from his shower and slid swiftly under the covers close to Bian, who put her thin arms around him and begged, "Please be careful, Bruno.”

  Bruno snored in response.

  *******

  Mike Halderman, Sandy`s supervisor at the Secret Service, peered over his horn-rimmed bifocals at Sandy and through an incredulous smile said, “Take a deep breath and tell me this story again.”

  Sandy took three deep breaths then slowly explained, “Okay, here is why I feel this connection is a God thing! The first taxi driver I approached at the airport que was a tiny Asian. Since we would not meet until today, I engaged her to show me the city but she told me her life story. When she got to her worries over her boyfriend Bruno, I wasn’t ready to make that connection to our Bruno. However, by the end of my city-wide tour that little lady told me much more, which confirms our data!”

  Mike interjected, “I won’t quibble about God with you, but do not talk God talk around here! Keep your sights on Bruno and out of sight of the girlfriend! You need to know that current intelligence confirms massive preparations for an attack and at the moment it comes down to this: when we have the leader in our sights we will act and act alone. If your Bruno turns out to be a small fish, we will leave him to the Germans to deal with. However, the big fish always require our quick decisive action. We cannot risk allowing any Al-Qaeda leader the opportunity to a fine life in a German prison! Why, he could even fuck the German judiciary and be set free because of bumbling investigators! No, we will put bullets through the heads of big fish or else lock them up in a black-ops prison so we can interrogate them in peace and quiet.”

  Sandy was crestfallen listening to her first supervisor on her first assignment as a special agent but she nodded approvingly, committed to her fight against her father's murderers.

  *******

  Anwar and Saleh talked after Bruno left.

  “He is important for us, " Anwar said. “Are you really sure that he will join us?”

  "But yes, I've known him for many years in old days and I could always count on him. I've seen his eyes and I know that he is still the same. He loves justice and hates the imperialists.”

  Anwar weighed skeptically, "He is not a Muslim. Is he not corrupted by Western life? Does he really hate the Crusaders as much as we do? Greed, lust, and delusions of grandeur are the characteristics of the U.S. Crusaders and their servants. I'm dying to kill finally as many of them as possible. Will he really be ready for unconditional battle?”

  Saleh put the hand soothing on Anwar's shoulder.

  "I have no doubts. Bruno will serve our interests. We need him. My friend, I talked with Suleiman and he said that is important for the success of our action. Suleiman says he will be personally present.”

  Anwar looked at Saleh wide-eyed.

  “Suleiman will be here? With us here in Germany? And he will lead our action? Wonderful! With Allah's help and under the leadership of the great Suleiman, whom we have sworn loyalty, we will give a blow to these infidel pigs, they will have to think about forever. They will pay with blood for their crimes.”

  Saleh smiled, satisfied. Now Anwar shared his confidence. Yes, they would lead an attack with worldwide attention. And Bruno would be very useful for them.

  The important leader, who is called the great Suleiman, would lead this very decisive attack personally. Suleiman the mysterious number 2 of Al Qaeda. He`s the person all Western secret services would like to have dead or alive, but they have little knowledge about his real identity.

  ********

  Bruno's working day began as he liked it, with a big fare.

  He went to Mr. Gerster, the best of his regular customers. He was an apparently successful
young man, mid-thirties, often taking long taxi trips at company expense.

  He picked him up at his family home in the countryside. Bruno was glad about those rides going to long distant aims, sometimes even abroad. He had often taken him to Belgium.

  Bruno didn’t know what`s Gerster’s special job was. Although his passenger liked to chat with him, he never talked about his professional activity, and Bruno would not ask.

  Of course, Gerster was one of those Bruno would call under other circumstances a thick fat cat. He probably earned much money despite his young age. He owned a great house in the countryside, and drove an upper class car. But he used the cab, if he wanted to go to professional appointments and he didn`t seem to worry about the cost.

  Several times, Bruno took Gerster to different nuclear power plants. While Bruno wondered what he did there, Gerster was very busy in the back seat of the car and worked on his laptop. No problem for Bruno, he made good money with these fares. Of course, what was for Bruno a good payment might be only a tip for Gerster.

  But it didn’t matter. Gerster seemed to be a nice person. When Bruno noticed how the young manager said goodbye to his little son, who stood in his pajamas in the front door, he was sure that he was a loving father. Bruno couldn't help himself, even if in his old retracted terms, he was a class enemy, Gerster was certainly not a bad man.