"Cold-Blooded Murderer on the Loose' is the headline of the March 22 Berlinerzeitung," explained Aaron Adams, the principal of Boston High School. He was addressing Owen Feldman and Isaac O'Leere, two teenagers who devote every bit of their free time to solving local crimes. They were both dubbed 'Super Teenage Sleuths' by the major, Charles Garmann. They won sever awards for their ability to help others, and were Confirmed very early. "I want you two to attempt catching this man." He flashed a picture of a very sinister-looking man, with icy-cold eyes, and a wicked grin, the kind you only find on escaped convicts. The man had a heavy mustache, and a Goatee. Above the picture, the two teenagers read 'Cold-Blooded Murderer on the Loose.' "I've already reserved you two a flight to Tegel Airport next week. You will spend the whole summer in Berlin, excused from any summer homework you are assigned. You are to focus all your attention on solving this crime, so don't get sidetracked or anything." He slammed his fist down on his special principal oakwood desk as he said this. "Are you two up to this challenge?" The two teenagers felt all-smiles about missing homework, and solving a crime (which they adored doing), but a little hesitant about the journey overseas, and the search in a foreign land. Solving crimes in Boston was one thing, because they knew their way around. This would mark the first time they left the city of Boston, and go anywhere.
Absentmindedly, Isaac replied, "Sure. It may be exiguously more challenging then the help we give around here, and a little farther away, but I believe we can handle it." He sounded very uneasy, though. His voice was a little shaky.
"Me too," agreed Owen. But he was erroneous as well. Going to the extreme of facing a cold-blooded murderer, something they had never enacted before, wasn't nothing. In fact, they didn't know that they might end up dead if they made any kind of mistake. Owen was excellent in math, while Isaac's specialty was English. If they combined their two talents, they wouldn't have enough to face a serial killer.
To their surprise, the week finished up pretty quickly. It was the night before the trip, and Isaac was sleeping over at Owen's house. "I'm really, really nervous about this trip," blurted out Owen. "I mean, I've never even seen a murderer before, besides in the papers." "I agree, I feel a little queasy right now, but I'm sure we'll be OK. I mean, the worst that could happen is that we'll end up dead. How bad is that?" asked Isaac. "Pretty bad, in my opinion. What you said doesn't make me feel any better about this trip," replied Owen, sounding very nervous. The talking eventually , and they dozed off.
The next morning, they awoke, and were headed to Boston/Logan Airport
at 5:30. "It is a long flight. I read that it takes about six to seven hours to get there, and if we don't hurry, we'll get there late. That's not good," explained Owen to a half-asleep Isaac. They stood an hour in line to check-in, and another hour to rid of their unneeded luggage. For once in the whole week, they were shivering with excitement, not fear. "I'm so excited!" exclaimed Isaac, seeming very awake now. His brain was definitely not functioning right, though. Neither was Owen's brain.
"Lufthansa Flight 7726 to Berlin is now boarding," announced a seemingly disembodied voice. This announcement got the blood pumping in Owen and Isaac's brains. They speedily proceeded through security (no hassles or anything that would hold them up, and into Gate 7, where they were departing. They quickly stumbled onto the plane, just before it was going to take off.
"Whew, we made it just in time!" exclaimed an out of breath Owen.
Panting, Isaac returned, "But we could have got here earlier if you hadn't taken so darn long to get up."
"Me!" Owen defended. "I wasn't the one who took a half-hour long shower!" As the boys slumped into their seats, the head stewardess came on the PA system.
"Good morning everyone!" she cheerfully said in a thick German accent, opposite the moods of the two friends. "Welcome aboard Lufthansa Flight 7726 to Berlin! Our approximate landing time will be 5 pm. Have safe and wonderful trip." The aircraft jetted off, only the commencement of Owen and Isaac's long, and hazardous, adventure in Europe.
Both of the two had fallen asleep during the first hour of flight, but the vexing sound of the wheels on the food cart, which, to their delight was serving lunch, woke them up.
The agility of the plane had brought them over Great Britain in only 5 hours, instead of the usual 5½, the head stewardess explained to the all of the travelers.
After Owen and Isaac swallowed the last bit of their delicious lunches of chicken and pasta, the plane began to sink toward the runway of the Tegel Airport. But as they were just getting ready to land, something totally unexpected, something totally out of whack occurred.
Fritz von Haig was notorious for murdering innocent bystanders. He was also notorious for being extremely evasive. Evasive of all police officers trying desperately to catch the cunning criminal. He had already murdered six people, but today would be his seventh. Today, he had gone too far.

Angelica von Haig was the only waitress that brought her lunch to Der Restaurant Prima, the most popular restaurant in Berlin. Unfortunately for her, her husband had deposited a tiny grain of cyanide into her only drink, a thermos of tea. CLUMP! Her frail body hit the floor. "Angelica, what's the matter? What's wrong?" asked the manager of the restaurant, who rushed to the scene, hysterically. He shook the pale- skinned 34-year-old slightly, as if trying not to break her head off. "Please get up Angelica, please. Don't be gone. Please get up." He was in the state of crying now. Angelica had been the best employer he ever had, and he didn't want to lose her. Then, he half-screamed, "Would somebody like to tell me what is going on here? What kind of prankster could have done something this extreme?" He was talking about death. It seemed to have crept up on Angelica unexpectedly. "Well, sir," answered a small waitress, meekly, "I have a hunch that it had to do with her lunch. Maybe she swallowed something she's deadly allergic to, by accident, or something." "Perhaps you are right, Renate, perhaps you are right." He thought about it. Then, he quickly rushed into his office with Angelica's lunch bag, while everyone else in the facility dragged the body into the kitchen for further inspection. CREAK! The gargantuan oak wood doors screeched open as Owen and Isaac entered the small, café-like restaurant, seeing only a waitress ready to seat the next guests. "Hello! Are you two smoking or non-smoking?" she questioned in flawless German. "I don't know what the heck she said, but I sure am hungry," Isaac whispered to Owen. "I speak German, so I'll handle this," was all Owen replied. No answer to what the question meant, no answer at all. So Isaac stood there amazed how his best friend hadn't answered one of his questions, very unlike Owen. "We are both non-smoking, of course. We are only fifteen-years-old, much too young to smoke," Owen answered in semi-perfect German. He hesitated a couple of times, not sure what to say. The woman began laughing at his remark, for no reason, while picking up two menus. Swiftly, she guided them to their table, weaving between tables to do so. But little did any of them realize, including the waitress, the exact table they sat down to, was the table nearest to the fall of Angelica von Haig, the latest victim, and wife, of Fritz von Haig, the murderer they were after. "What are you gonna get?" Owen asked, weaving his Boston and New York accents together to form some weird dialect of English. Owen, born and bred in Staten Island, had moved to Massachusetts when he was six, only nine years ago. On the contrary, Isaac had resided in Massachusetts all his life. "I was thinking about getting bratwurst and sauerkraut, as a snack," answered Isaac. "What about you?" "I was gonna get the same thing as you, except with mustard too. I love sausages and mustard," said Owen. Just moments afterwards, the waitress arrived to take their orders, which they did nimbly. While waiting for their food, Owen and Isaac caught up on all the gossip at Boston High.
In fifteen minutes or so, the bratwurst arrived. Owen and Isaac veraciously devoured the sausages, like a hungry dog tailing a weak rabbit. They finished quite quickly, actually, the bill arriving only ten minutes after their plates were placed in front of their watering mouths. They quickly paid the bill, while some of the guests who had dragged the body into the kitchen appeared. Now, the teenagers' stomachs were prepared for any challenge they must face, even one involving an assassin.
They stepped out of the restaurant, onto the road in the scorching air of Berlin. A heat wave had just made its way through central Europe, stopping right over Berlin and all its neighbors. Temperatures were through the roof; the highest temperature recorded this week was 103°. This was the highest calefaction in German history!
The two began ambling down the streets, turning a ten-minute walk through town, into an hour-long hike through the streets connecting with their hotel, Celebrity Mansion. It was about six o'clock pm when they first approached a humungous sign reading 'Die Villa von Berühmheit,' or Celebrity Mansion. They quickly ran through the now cooling air to their hotel. They raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Finally, they arrived at their room, number 278.
"You got your key?" asked Owen in his New York accent again mixing with his Boston one.
"Yeah, one minute. I need to find which pocket I left it in," was all Isaac responded. He rummaged through all the 12 pockets he had in his shirt, pants, and windbreaker, but none of them stowed the credit card like key. "I don't have mine. I probably left mine in the room, but I'm pretty sure I had put it in one of my pockets before we left. Oh well, we can just use yours then."
Owen was reluctant to answer and his mouth was twitching. "I- I left mine in the hotel room, 'cause I figured you would bring yours to the restaurant." There was a long pause before anyone spoke. It happened to be Owen who broke the silence. "I think we should retrace our steps back to the restaurant to find your key." He accented your, making it sound like it was Isaacs fault.
"I think that's a good idea, only we wouldn't have to if you had brought your key," Isaac shot back, stressing 'you' and 'your.' They did this often, arguing about whose fault it was if something went wrong. So they bickered all the way back to the now-closing restaurant where they had bought their snacks. They bolted into the restaurant and quickly scanned under they tables, and on the ground to find the key. A pile of garbage and food lay beside each and every table, and sure enough, Isaacs key was in one of those piles. He darted over to the pile, plucked his key out of the microscopic hill of junk, and made for the door, with Owen right in front of him.
As they scampered out the door, they crashed into a very grotesque and evil-looking man. They looked toward his face, the same face that Principal Adams had showed them prior to the journey. His vile countenance promised a haunting chill for the rest of their long lives. It was none other than Fritz von Haig.
"Well, well, well. Would you look at what I have found!" he wickedly exclaimed, his English strung with a German accent. "The two little children that come to find me. Well, let me tell you, you won't be getting off easy!" His lack of grammar, and humanity, paralyzed the two. Fritz pulled a Swiss pocketknife out of his pocket, and lunged at Owen, giving him a gash on his cheek. Warm blood trickled down his face, and dripped down to the concrete sidewalk. Then, Fritz turned toward Isaac, and repeated the process of what he did to Owen. Isaac ducked, but not in time. A slash across his forehead brought great pain, and the same crimson fluid flowing down Owens face.
The manager of Der Restaurant Prima walked out of his office, locked it, and turned around. He saw a man with a knife seriously injuring two teenage kids. "Oh my, the poor kids!" Traumatized he was, he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket, only to drop it, and break it. "Oh no, these children are in trouble, what should I do?" He was on the verge of hyperventilating from shock, but rushed over to the phone anyway. As soon as he heard the dial tone, he dialed 911. He only briefly explained when someone picked up the phone.
"An evil-looking guy is seriously injuring two teenagers with a knife at 726 Braunstrasse. I repeat 726 Braunstrasse," was all he needed to say to explain what was going on. By this time, the two boys had a couple more wounds on their hands and faces.
"There is absolutely no way two kiddies can get them out of this now!" exclaimed a delighted Fritz, again with improper grammar. Of course, two kiddies refer to Owen and Isaac, who actually aren't little kiddies. After a couple more slices at their faces, he gave up, and turned around to be confronted by three police officers. They speedily grabbed his arms, and Fritz tried to get free.
"You cannot break free from us. You are arrested for seven counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder," a police officer asserted, with authority. Fritz kept struggling to get free until they managed to get him pinned to the hood of one of their cars, and his hands pinned to his back. One of the police officers started lecturing him about his crimes, but of course, Fritz wasn't paying any attention. After the officer started wrapping up his speech, Fritz blindly kicked him in the shin, letting loose the tight grip. The officers, writhing in pain, had slumped over, holding his shin. Fritz smiled and grabbed the police officers shotgun and pepper spray. First, he sprayed them all in the eyes with the pepper spray, then shot them all with the shotgun. They all collapsed in pain, slowly and painfully dying.
"Let's make that 10 counts of murder!" he laughed, standing amidst the dead bodies on the ground. He glanced over at the restaurant, to see the two boys had disappeared from fright during the confrontation of the police officers. Fritz swore out loud, in German, and then absconded into a dark alley.

"Man, he was trying to kill us, and almost succeeded!" Owen recalled as they opened the door to their room. "I mean, one more blow and I would have been unconscious or something!"
"No kidding!" Isaac agreed. "Good thing the police showed up. I wonder what happened to them. I heard three gunshots, so they must have killed him."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Either that or the other way around."
"How could he have murdered them?" Isaac argued. "They had him pinned to the hood."
"Look, let's just be glad we came out of this thing alive, OK?" Owen tried to settle the now heated argument. "Let's just forget it happened and go to bed. It's 10 o'clock now."
Unfortunately for the two, Fritz von Haig was not dead, not even in custody. He was, however, still lurking in the shadows like a leopard, scooping out and stalking his prey until ready to go for the big kill. And his next victims were them.
The boys woke up in the hospital the next day, to find the restaurant manager waiting by the door. A nurse entered the room with breakfast trays, which contained oatmeal, a bagel, orange juice, cereal, and milk. As they started eating, the manager began telling them what they had missed when they eloped from the scene of Fritz next deadly crime. The story was all over the news, as Owen and Isaac saw, when he showed them the front page of the freshest Berlinerzeitung.
'Three Police Officers Next Victim's of Von Haig. Two Americans and Restaurant Owner Saw It All!' was the headline of the page.
Apparently, Fritz von Haig had been spotted again, in an alley off of the main street in a neighboring town called Wandlitz. Police had finally captured him and sent him to his trial in Munich, a city in southern Germany. He was sentenced to life in prison and exile. He was sent to Alcatraz in the US, banished from Germany, and Europe.

Two months later, in August, Fritz impossibly broke out of Alcatraz, and headed for New York. He was placed on the polices most wanted list, him being number one.
Owen and Isaac had recovered from all their injuries by then, and were ready to fly back to Boston. There was triple security now, thanks to Fritz. The two heroes had saved Germany, and Europe from von Haig and death, but can they do the same in America?
In mid-September, Fritz was spotted at a nightclub in Manhattan, and was accused of three more deaths. He was sentenced to the death penalty for murdering 13, and holding two juveniles against their will, and seriously injuring them.