Episode 5. The Naked Ensign

Angie and I are two hundred meters underground. We enter the fortified den: NATO Bunker No. 1. It bears that number because it is located on the outskirts of Brussels, both the capital of Western defense and the nerve center of European command.

In a way, a European Pentagon.

This colossal underground structure, spread across several cubic kilometers, is designed to protect thousands of people from nuclear threats. Since the early years of the Cold War, NATO has undertaken the construction of similar complexes in the major cities of its member countries, ensuring an invisible presence ready to act at any moment.

We make our way through the maze of corridors. Watching officers file through the passageways, I can't help thinking about the freedoms our democracies have given up and the sacrifices they've made to keep all these secrets.

The threat is very real. The world has changed profoundly over the past twenty years.

The Russian giant has reclaimed much of the former Soviet territory lost after the fall of the Wall and continues its expansion toward the Global South, now under the control of mercenary-governor Dmitri Utkin, a loyal servant of Grand Tsar Putin. Southern Russia has become a chilling reality.

At the same time, China is growing increasingly threatening, with Emperor Xi Jinping aligning himself with North Korea and expanding strategic ties with Moscow.

The Middle East, for its part, has gone up in flames. The few remaining partners capable of calming tensions no longer have the means to intervene.

In this global chaos, only the countries of Central and South America remain on the margins of the conflicts. Since the dissolution of the United Nations in the mid-2000s, a direct consequence of the fiasco of the Iraq War, freedom as we knew it is now seriously threatened.

Angie opens the door, and we enter the locker room. I can only observe that she was, once again, right. The atmosphere is clearly festive.

A guy, naked as the day he was born, is dancing in the middle of a delirious crowd. Some are partially undressed; laughter and exclamations echo through the air. Officers in uniform mingle with others in underwear, and a few bold women are even bare-chested.

I love moments like this, when I get to show a little authority. In situations like these, we know exactly what to do.

Watch the real pros at work.

The racket instantly gives way to an almost divine silence. The officers instinctively snap to attention.

Even the famous nudist dancer, suddenly much less flamboyant, and clearly more ridiculous.

I step toward him and stare him straight in the eyes.

Like a perfectly synchronized ballet, the crowd resumes its activities. Once calm returns and the way is clear, we head for our lockers.

Despite the lack of privacy inherent to the place, we get out of our civilian clothes. As usual, Angie draws the eye with her candy-pink underwear. I have told her a hundred times to avoid colors that are too bright, but she does whatever she wants.

Given how late we are, we do not dwell on those unimportant details and throw on our respective uniforms at top speed: black trousers, a dark turtleneck sweater, a long black overcoat, and matching ankle boots. It is an austere outfit, almost administrative, with nothing seductive about it, but designed above all to be functional. What can you do, that's how it is. It is the regulation uniform of the Special Fleet officers.

Once we're ready, we leave the locker room and head back into the maze of corridors, where it's easy to get lost—even for me, and I know the place by heart. The complex is enormous, spanning no fewer than fifty levels and seemingly going on forever. Brilliant white walls reflect light from invisible sources, creating an almost unreal atmosphere. The technology used here is highly advanced and far beyond anything available to the public, a clear sign of just how sophisticated and prepared NATO really is.

Finally, we reach an imposing door leading into the hangar. We pause for a moment, fully aware that once we step through, we'll officially be on duty.