Chapter 5 - The First Strike
The cold mountain air bit at my exposed cheeks as I stood on the back porch of the cabin,
wrapping the thick wool blanket tighter around my shoulders,
staring out into the dense,
impenetrable forest.
Three days had passed since my escape,
three days of absolute,
deafening silence from the outside world,
and the isolation was beginning to play cruel,
terrifying tricks on my mind.
Every snap of a twig,
every gust of wind howling through the ancient pines,
sounded like Gero’s heavy,
deliberate footsteps approaching the front door.
My father stepped out onto the porch,
holding two steaming,
oversized ceramic mugs of dark,
bitter tea,
handing one to me with a reassuring,
gentle smile.
"You need to eat something,
Beate,"
he murmured softly,
his eyes scanning the tree line out of deeply ingrained,
unbreakable habit.
"The baby needs nourishment,
and you need your strength for what is coming next."
I took the mug,
letting the heat seep into my frozen,
trembling fingers,
but I couldn't bring myself to take a sip.
"Papa,
why hasn't the detective called?"
I asked,
my voice a thin,
fragile whisper that threatened to break at any moment.
"You said she had enough evidence to arrest him immediately,
but he is still out there,
he is still free."
My father’s jaw tightened,
a muscle ticking angrily in his cheek as he looked away,
staring hard at the distant,
snow-capped peaks.
"I drove down to the valley this morning while you were sleeping,
found a secure public phone,
and made a few calls to my old contacts,"
he admitted,
his voice heavy with frustration,
anger,
and a dark,
simmering promise of violence.
"Gero’s father got to the police commissioner,
and they are intentionally stalling the warrant,
claiming they need time to verify the digital authenticity of the video footage."
A cold,
paralyzing wave of pure dread washed over me,
freezing the blood in my veins.
"They are going to bury it,"
I gasped,
stepping back,
nearly dropping the hot mug of tea onto the wooden deck.
"They are going to say I made it up,
and he is going to come find me,
Papa,
he is going to kill me."
My father moved faster than I thought possible for a man his age,
closing the distance between us and gripping my shoulders firmly,
forcing me to look directly into his fierce,
unyielding eyes.
"Listen to me,
Beate,
and listen to me very carefully,"
he commanded,
his voice a low,
steady anchor in the middle of my rising,
frantic panic.
"I anticipated this move,
which is why I did not leave our survival entirely in the hands of a corrupt,
bureaucratic local police force."
He guided me back inside the cabin,
locking the heavy,
reinforced wooden door behind us,
and walked over to a small,
locked metal case sitting on the rustic dining table.
He opened it,
revealing a sleek,
black satellite phone and a stack of printed,
highly detailed dossiers.
"If they want to play a dirty,
underhanded game of influence and power,
then I will show them exactly how a ghost operates,"
he stated grimly.
He picked up the satellite phone,
dialing a long,
complex string of international numbers,
his eyes never leaving mine.
"When I was stationed in Berlin,
I saved the life of a very prominent,
very aggressive federal prosecutor who owes me a debt he can never repay,"
Thomas explained,
the phone ringing loudly on speaker.
The line clicked open,
and a sharp,
crisp voice answered in German,
demanding to know who was calling on this encrypted,
secure channel.
"It's Brand,"
my father said simply,
his tone carrying a weight of history and unspoken,
dangerous promises.
There was a long,
stunned silence on the other end of the line,
followed by a heavy,
resigned sigh.
"Thomas,
you old ghost,
I thought you were happily retired and fishing in the Alps,"
the voice replied,
a hint of genuine,
deep respect coloring the words.
"I have a target for you,
Marcus,"
my father stated bluntly,
skipping all pleasantries,
his military efficiency taking total,
absolute control of the conversation.
"Gero von Stein,
and his father,
Heinrich,
who are currently obstructing justice and corrupting the local police commissioner."
I heard the sharp,
quick intake of breath from the prosecutor on the other end of the secure line.
"The von Steins are untouchable in that region,
Thomas,
they practically own the local government and the judiciary,"
Marcus warned.
"They are only untouchable if you fight them in their own backyard,"
my father countered smoothly,
a cold,
predatory smile finally touching the corners of his mouth.
"I am sending you a secure,
encrypted file containing a video of Gero beating his pregnant wife,
along with proof of the local commissioner stalling the arrest."
He paused,
letting the gravity of the situation sink in completely.
"I want federal warrants issued by tonight,
Marcus,
and I want the state police kicking down Gero's door before he even realizes the game has changed."
"Send the file,"
Marcus agreed immediately,
the hesitation gone,
replaced by the eager,
hungry tone of a prosecutor smelling blood in the water.
My father hung up the phone,
turning back to me,
his eyes blazing with a fierce,
protective fire that made me realize Gero had no idea what kind of war he had just started.
"The first strike is ours,
Beate,"
he said softly,
May you like
packing the files away.
"Now,
