"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
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.
Sander's Courage Page 5
