"...we're going to interrogate Norse. We think he's key to what your son's been up to... second only to the influence of that... man who usurped you as father."
"That sounds appropriate, Harold. However, won't I get a briefing on what I've missed since my capture? And about the capture itself?"
"All in good time. It's important, but that bad seed of your can do so much harm and has done so much harm - with no offense. We need to puzzle him out, and we need all the pieces ASAP. Especially with you out of the game for so long."
"None taken, Harold, but this is ridiculous. How can I interrogate Norse if I don't know who I am, where I am, what I am?"
Ray could hear Harold sighing impatiently into the phone. "FINE. I don't think it will help, and I don't care about your emotional needs, since you know as well as I that those have no place in our work. But out of respect to you as my superior, I'll provide you a 30-minute schmorg with me before the subject is brought in. That will be at 1100 hours on June 6th, 2015, approximately 3 hours after your flight from JFK lands in Hamburg. Lufthansa LH 180; your flight number is 0 220 2100257541. I repeat, 0 220 2100257541. You will find your passport in the passenger side of an unlocked Ford Taurus in section B8 of the airport parking lot. It is currently 1100 hours on the 5th, and yes, you are in the state of New York. Naturally I'm certain you can arrange land transport on your own. In Hamburg your English-speaking driver will transport you to the village of Wümme. You recognize him by your name card: Stanley Firston. You will be visiting Wümme to visit your brother, with whom your first activity after your reunion will be a picnic on the Wümme river, just before it enters Wümmepark. Note that Wümme can hardly be found on a map; if you'd like to check one, look for the adjacent town of Tostedt. Any questions?"
"I sure do have a question, young man. Why in the *hell*" - Ray uncharacteristically lost his composure and glanced furtively around - "Lord please forgive me. Harold, *why* are we meeting up in Germany??" He hoped he was being vague enough. By this point he might be followed... He also wondered if he should be something about those drugs he was sure were in his system. But one thing at a time.
"The subject was brought into custody in that location - damn globetrotters - and it's easier to discreetly transport you than him."
"This had better be a good family reunion, Harold. I'll see you there." He slammed the receiver down. He was in a foul mood anyway, but he felt the SBLAM fit well into an act of an angry ending to an angry family call.
A day and a half later, Ray was in place according to the relayed orders (Marston Smith was never clever enough to come up with such elaborate plans on his own, these must have been from higher up), and was a little the wiser. Everything he could fact-check matched up. It certainly was 2015, for example. And he certainly was just outside Wümmepark, and that certainly was Marston there waiting for him.
"You've certainly put me through the wringer, young man. Let's begin the schmorg.
Like every good schmorg that Ray had been in since elementary school, this one began with a 3-minute morsalampi. (Where Ray grew up, schmorg terminology was in French; for example the first *tableau* in a schmorg was the morsalampi, and the second was the smooge. Not like those Commies in Cali with their Italian schmorg phases.) It was enlightening... it really made Ray remember why he'd picked Marston to serve under him. They morsalampid as they walked out onto the frozen river. Ray allowed himself one positive emotion - the sheer pleasure one always gets from walking out onto a frozen river in the summer.
Marston spread out the tablecloth and asked if they could move on from the morsalampi to the smooge.
"Naturally," Ray replied, and so Marston pulled out a saw and cut the frozen Bart out of the ice. A tough kid, that Bart. It's not like a few hours of encasement in midsummer 70-degree ice would kill a kid, but he might be looking more uncomfortable than he was. The ice cracked open quickly and smoothly when given a swift rap. "As 70-degree ice tends to do," Ray thought.
"So, kid, what do you have to say for yourself?"
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