Episode 4. Racing Against Time

The July sun flooded the apartment with soft golden light. A light breeze slipped through the half-open window, gently making the curtains dance. It was one of those summer mornings that make you want to take your time, to linger a little longer over a cup of coffee.

But when I glanced at the clock, I understood that this luxury was not ours.

Now, dear reader, follow me into the garage, and don't pay too much attention to the mess. Angie has been piling all her odds and ends in there for years...

There, here we are... Watch the little step...

On the left, you can see an authentic Motobecane from the 1950s. It is completely rusty and covered with oil stains. Apart from its flat tires, it is in perfect working order. I used it when I was still a student.

On the right is my little marvel: a customized Ducati Diavel 1260 S. I won that beauty off an MI6 agent who'd put it up in a stupid bet—a bet I obviously won. It's packed with high-tech gadgets developed by the Americans and the British.

Angie nestles against my back, creating a physical and emotional connection that I can't help but feel. I press the garage door opener and start the engine.

The engine roars through the air as I launch at full speed into the streets of Brussels. Passersby see only a fleeting flash as I skillfully weave through the maze of cars.

Boulevard Leopold III appears on the horizon. That is where NATO's imposing headquarters stands, the place where this afternoon's annual summit will decide the course of events in the Ukrainian crisis. Fear and anxiety gradually fill me as we approach the heart of Western power. Angie, for her part, does not seem affected yet, either because she is not fully aware of what could happen, or because she is hiding it remarkably well.

In front of the colossal building, I turn into a small, discreet side alley leading down to the basement. In this underground parking lot, I zigzag between parked vehicles before reaching the entrance to a dark tunnel stretching for several kilometers.

As I plunge into the darkness, the rumble of the engine echoes against the damp walls of this endless passage. After twenty kilometers, I finally reach our destination. I park my Ducati beside the vehicles of the other officers who have already arrived, then we continue on foot to an armored door a little farther on.

As you can imagine, in this kind of place, security is particularly strict and access severely limited. One of us has to submit to a retinal scan to pass through this protected barrier. Angie hates the procedure because it tickles her iris. So I take care of it.

I step up to the device, my eyes scanned by advanced technology. The indicator turns green, confirming my identification.

The door opens with a metallic rumble, revealing to us a secret world that extends far beyond anything the average citizen can imagine...