I have to admit, I've been terrified by the news of refugees streaming into Europe. I'm ambivalent towards a lot of what's going on over there. I think the concept of taking in refugees is very good and should be followed by any country that can afford to do so. It still seems terrifying though, when the sheer numbers of people coming in becomes so overwhelming that all control is lost and total chaos ensues.
In this story the tables are turned, Assad is like Merkel and the Syrian people have become like the Germans. The epicenter of conflict and strife is centered around the Benelux states, ensnaring Tintin and his friends and forcing them to flee their homeland.
"It's José isn't it?"
Tintin asked the bearded guerilla. He smiled at the scruffy looking man who stared back at him in a cold hard way. He recognized José as one of the Picaros, with whom he had led a bloodless coup against the dictator Tapioca. These past few years had been anything but bloodless in Western Europe. Tintin remembered José as having been a devout Christian back in San Theodoros. He had surely now come to Europe to join C.R.I.S.I.S, the Christian Resistance of International Solidarity of Independent States. CRISIS had been waging a bloody war against what they perceived as anti-Christian values in Europe. Tens of thousands had already been killed, and the conflict was getting worse by the day.
"Si, it is I, José, senor Tintin. I have come to demand food and lodging for my men. They are hiding back there," he pointed with his thumb in the vague direction of the Marlinspike entry gate.
"Of course, have them come inside," Tintin replied with a hint of nervousness in his voice. The Picaros had been kind hosts in the past, and even though men like José had lost all semblance of morals in Tintin's opinion, he wasn't about to turn away an old acquaintance.
Later that evening Tintin, Haddock, Calculus, José and several of his bearded fighters sat quietly in the Mariner's Hall after dinner. It was a tense atmosphere; no one seemed to have anything to say. José's fighters wandered about the estate, making Haddock and Tintin very nervous. Suddenly one of the fighters appeared at the doorway, holding the thousand-armed Avalokiteshvara statue Tintin had been given as a present by Wang Chen-Yee after rescuing his adoptive son Chang in Tibet.
The CRISIS fighters roared with disapproval.
"You keep this heathen garbage in your house," José screamed. He got up and grabbed the beautifully crafted statue. He looked at it with disgust and flung it against the wall. What happened next took everyone by surprise.
It was all over within seconds. José and his men lay dead on the floor of the hall. Haddock had in one swift motion grabbed a machine gun from the fighter sitting next to him and with lightning precision dispatched of the unwelcome guests.
"Well, I guess that settles that," he said calmly.
"Look Tintin, in case you're wondering, those iconoclastic anacoluthons would not have hesitated one minute to slit our throats. I had to act fast, or else…"
"No Captain, that's quite alright," the boy reporter replied bravely.
"But I believe this is it, we have to get out of here. We're going to have to leave everything behind. I'll go up to the attic and fetch Irma and Signora Castafiore. We'll leave tonight."
Wagner, the Milanese Nightingale's accompanist had been beheaded for his gambling activities in front of a crowd at the Grand Place in Brussels recently. Castafiore and her personal assistant Irma had since been in hiding in the Marlinspike attic. Castafiore's singing was considered by the Christian fundamentalists to be a form of sinister pagan devil worship. Although the Captain was inclined to agree, he could never actually condone any act of physical violence against the famous opera singer. If she were to stay in Western Europe any longer, there was a good chance she would be stoned to death by the fanatic crowds.
Later that night, Tintin, Snowy, Haddock, Calculus, Nestor, Castafiore, Irma, Thompson and Thomson lay in wait at the port by the dockside. Earlier they had met with Allan, Haddock's old nemesis.
"No, no, I assure you, you have nothing to fear," Allan had told them.
"Business is business. I have nothing against any of you personally. You've paid me the sum of 800,000 €, that's 100,000 for each of you, the dog comes along for free, and in two weeks I'll let you off at Izmir. From there you should have no trouble getting through Turkey and into Syria. Good old uncle Assad as they call him, he's been laying out the welcome mat, you'll be fine. Just wait here and I'll be back later to help you hide somewhere on board."
Allan thought of keeping the money and letting the despicable refugees while away on the dockside, but he told himself he had a heart, and besides, Haddock still carried enough clout to cause trouble if he cheated him. At dawn he went back to the huddling group and barked commands at them.
"Alright you guys! Come with me! Come on, hurry up! Let's move!"
There was really no hurry, but he loved the feeling of having power over others. He led them to a storage area where cans of paint were kept. The room reeked of chemical fumes. Even one minute in there seemed unbearable. How could they survive for two weeks? Haddock began to protest, but there was really no choice, they couldn't risk getting caught. Without another word they were ushered into the small space, and the massive metal door slammed shut behind them.
For the two week journey to Izmir, Allan had left them 16 liters of brackish water in old turpentine canisters, which meant they had only about 0.14 liters of water per person per day, not counting Snowy. For food they had two boxes of moldy biscuits.
The ship sailed towards the Strait of Gibraltar and the Mediterranean. Tintin and Haddock managed to shatter the filthy glass of the tiny porthole to let some fresh air into their dungeon. The refugees had no choice but to defecate in one corner of the room. They collected their urine in plastic bags and drank it to supplement their meager water rations. The days went by and they were all close to death. Castafiore, who could be demanding when times were good, had so far braved the ordeal remarkably well, trying to lift her party's spirits by telling jokes and singing quiet lullabies.
Finally Allan and some men came one night and freed them from their floating prison cell. They were dragged outside and forced into a small, not fully inflated rubber dinghy. They had no idea where they were. As the sun rose an hour later, the Captain did his best to move them towards it, towards the east, towards hope and safety. He was swimming outside the craft, kicking and pushing with all his might to keep the dinghy headed in a straight line. There must have been a leak though. Soon water was seeping over the edges and they had to abandon ship. Irma and Thompson drowned, but after four hours of swimming, the others made it safely to shore but barely alive.
The next two weeks were spent at a temporary refugee camp in Anatolia. They lived under the constant threat of being sent back to Europe, where death at the hands of either Christian extremists or corrupt and violent government death squads was nearly certain. Finally they made it overland to the Syrian border.
The hordes of refugees fleeing the violence, primarily in the Benelux states, had placed enormous strains on the generosity of the Syrian people. Assad, the benevolent ruler of Syria, was under enormous pressure to at least curb the influx of European refugees. The border at Turkey had been temporarily shut. The crowds became angry. A riot ensued. Tintin and his friends finally managed to break through the barricades to safety.
A few weeks later Thomson and Calculus were walking along a path next to a small stream in a small Syrian town to do their laundry. They had been separated from the others after having been taken to a processing center after arriving in Syria. While most Syrians were very welcoming towards the European refugees, some were distraught by the barrage of foreign influences and saw their lifestyle and culture under threat by the newcomers. Many were scared by the radicalism associated with Christianity. The Syrians mostly practiced Islam, which although it had its own radical elements, was usually practiced in a low-key relatively unobtrusive manner. Unfortunately Thomson and Calculus were beaten to death by a gang of unemployed Syrian youths.
Tintin and the others had been more lucky and had been sent to a suburb of Damascus, which had an international flair and generally tolerant people. When peace was restored in Europe, Tintin and Haddock were among the first to return to help rebuild their homeland. Many others did not return willingly, which led to further conflicts. Many of the Europeans wished to remain in Syria, where they were well looked after and enjoyed comparatively lavish lifestyles with many benefits.
THE END