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
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