Fifty kilometers away from Daniel and William's location, a black armored van sped down the road, escorted by a police cruiser clearing the way. Inside the vehicle, a young woman with brown hair and green eyes lay tied to the floor, helpless.
Around her, five men wore police uniforms. They were robust, well-trained individuals, their physiques pressing firmly against the fabric of their uniforms. A sixth member drove the vehicle.
Among them, the tension was palpable: one of the agents bore a severe bruise on his face, the result of a recent punch; two others displayed only superficial scratches, while the rest remained unscathed.
The group's hostile atmosphere converged entirely toward the injured man.
— I'm dying to kill that bastard! Why did you stop me?! — roared Ralf, one of the six subordinates of Michel, the feared director of the CIA.
Upon hearing the outburst, the man seated in front of Ralf spat on the floor, his gaze overflowing with fury.
— That miserable piece of trash! Because of him we couldn't have some fun with that bitch! — exclaimed Alan, outraged.
The three uninjured men briefly glanced at their bruised colleague.
— Rafael, you've gone way too far protecting our target... I'll personally report this to Director Michel! — threatened John. He was the veteran of the squad and enjoyed Michel's trust, which was why he had been assigned as the operation leader.
Rafael trembled at the threat, but did not back down; his fists clenched so tightly that veins bulged along his arms.
— You wanted me to let those filthy dogs abuse the girl?
— You bastard! Who the hell are you calling filthy dogs?! When Boss Michel finds out, you'll be the next little bitch to be put down! — shouted Alan, lunging forward to strike him, only to be restrained by Josef, who stood beside him.
— Alan, don't waste your breath on this useless trash. After this mistake, his remaining hours are numbered — Josef declared coldly.
Ralf, who was about to insult him again, suddenly remembered something and smiled maliciously.
— I heard you've got a wife... and a seventeen-year-old daughter...
Bang! Thud!
In an explosive impulse, Rafael leapt forward and drove his fist into Ralf's mouth, sending blood and a tooth flying across the van. Grabbing him violently by the shirt, Rafael snarled:
— Lay a finger on my wife or my daughter, and I'll hunt you down even in hell, you filthy piece of garbage!
Romeu, who was driving, slammed his hand hard against the metal grid separating the cabin from the rear compartment.
— Can you idiots control yourselves, or do you want me to crash this damn thing?!
Demi, who had been silently watching, delivered a brutal kick to Rafael's chest, forcing him to release Ralf and return to his seat. With a murderous glare, he threatened:
— Stay quietly in your place. Otherwise, I'll personally make sure to drive a knife into your wife and your daughter.
°°°
Rafael was furious, yet it was difficult to hide the deep concern etched on his face. When he had been assigned to that last-minute mission, he believed the objective was to capture a dangerous criminal, as reported by Director Michel. However, upon arriving at the location, he found a young woman who looked as though she had recently gotten married.
When he questioned John, the leader stated it was a strategic kidnapping to control someone with classified information. But upon discovering that the target was merely the wife of a clean-record American astronaut, Rafael tried to persuade the team, aware they were dealing with innocent civilians. He was completely ignored.
He had been about to leave the scene when he overheard the sick conversation between Alan and Ralf about Michel granting them permission to "have fun" with the hostage. Rafael had served his country for twenty years protecting citizens; he could not walk away from a civilian about to be violated by corrupt agents.
Inside the house, the young woman reacted with unexpected desperation, throwing a radio that barely missed its mark. Ralf chased her as she tried to create obstacles using chairs. When he grabbed her, she clawed at his face. As she attempted to run upstairs, Alan tried to stop her, only to be scratched as well. Furious, Alan struck her violently in the face.
As he prepared to continue the beating, Rafael restrained him by force. The girl seized the opportunity and ran to the upper floor, leaving behind a trail of blood from the cut on her eyebrow. Her desperate screams echoed through the house:
— Will, help me! Will, help! My love, help me!
Driven by lust, Alan and Ralf rushed to the third floor. Rafael, sensing the imminent tragedy, quickened his pace, ignoring John's furious orders and shouts. When he entered the room, he saw bloody finger marks on the door—and the scene of horror: the young woman lying on the ground, her face disfigured by bruises, while her attackers tore at her clothes.
In that instant, Rafael saw the faces of his own wife and daughter. If it were them, wouldn't he expect a man of honor to act?
He lunged at his colleagues to protect the victim, initiating a confrontation that was only interrupted minutes later by the other agents.
Even while restrained, Rafael noticed the girl's gaze. Amid tears and pain, her lips moved silently, forming a "thank you."
Now, Rafael had acted according to his conscience—but the price would be his life and the safety of his family. He knew Michel's nature—a bloodthirsty psychopath who did not tolerate defiance. In silence, he prayed for something to change the situation, though despair was already beginning to consume his soul.
°°°
On the floor of the van, Juliane's eyes overflowed with fear and despair. She still couldn't process what was happening. Those men, disguised as police officers, had invaded her home without warning with the sole intent of kidnapping her.
Panic took over instantly, and her instinct was to fight—but the more she tried to escape, the more terrifying the situation became.
Since she lived in a rural area, far from the city, there were no neighbors within at least five kilometers. There was no one she could call for help. In her mind, only one image surfaced: her husband, William.
She screamed his name in a vain hope that he would save her, even though she knew it was nothing more than desperate wishful thinking.
If it hadn't been for one of the kidnappers intervening on her behalf, she would have been violated by two of those criminals.
Juliane was determined: if the worst had happened, she would have bitten off her own tongue and committed suicide. She would never be able to keep living—much less face her husband—if such an atrocity had been carried out. She felt that God had been kind to her by touching one of the men's hearts at the last moment.
Juliane loved her husband deeply. At the beginning, their marriage had been wonderful, but lately she couldn't understand what had changed. William had begun to distance himself, making excuses to avoid spending nights with her.
Whenever he was home, he did everything he could to avoid her. That distance hurt her deeply, and although she tried to talk, he remained silent.
If it weren't for his gaze, which remained the same, she might have suspected another woman. She considered it briefly, but quickly dismissed the idea.
The love and affection in his eyes could not be faked—it was the same glow, perhaps even more tender than when they were just engaged.
In her insecurity, Juliane began to think the problem was herself. Believing she had gained weight, she started dieting and running, but even so, her husband continued to avoid her. Every night, she cried in silence. She avoided telling her parents anything, as they greatly admired her husband and she didn't want to tarnish his image over what might just be a difficult phase.
She had planned a trip for when he returned, hoping they could rekindle their former intimacy.
William himself had gained considerable weight and seemed to be aging rapidly, which worried her. After consulting some specialists, she was told it could be stress and that they needed time to relax.
Everything was ready. She was about to prepare a special dinner to celebrate his return when the invasion happened.
From her perspective, it was unlikely that the kidnapping had anything to do with William. How could it be connected to an astronaut who had spent months in space and was still preparing to return home?
°°°
Juliane was still trying to understand the situation when a deafening crash echoed—and in an instant, she found herself violently spinning inside the van. Even tied up, her body slammed against the five men and the vehicle's interior structure.
Yet she was stunned—she felt no pain at all. It was as if she were rolling over a soft mattress. In contrast, she saw blood spraying from one agent's head; she saw another's arm bend unnaturally, a sharp bone piercing through the skin. All the others bore severe injuries.
When the van finally stopped rolling, she could only hear the men's agonized groans. Lying on what was now the ceiling of the overturned vehicle, she stared at them in shock.
— What just happened? — she thought, bewildered.