PART 8 — The Rapids
The stone struck Julian's shoulder with a dull thud. He let out a cry of pain and let go of the case. He stumbled backward into the muddy ground.
I didn't hesitate for a second. I grabbed the metal case, scrambled up, and threw myself into the swaying rowboat.
"Push off, Elena! Push off!" I screamed.
Elena used the wooden oar to push away from the bank with all her might. The boat broke free from the muddy edge and was immediately caught by the strong, wild current of the rushing river.
Julian scrambled up the riverbank cursing. "Mother! Come back! You won't survive out on the water!" he shouted, while two of his men stepped up beside him with flashlights.
One of the men pointed his weapon at the boat.
"Don't shoot, you idiot!" Julian roared. "If the case sinks to the bottom, we have nothing!"
That was the last thing I heard before the darkness of the river swallowed us up. The current was tremendously strong from hours of torrential rain. The little wooden boat was tossed back and forth on the waves like a matchbox. Rain battered our faces, and water splashed over the side of the boat.
"Maria! I can't steer!" Elena cried panically. She tried to keep the oars in the water, but the current was too strong, ripping one of the oars right out of her hands. The wooden oar vanished into the darkness.
"Let go of the oars!" I called back, desperately trying to bail the seeping water out of the boat with an old can lying on the floor. "Hold on to the side!"
We drifted at breakneck speed downstream, away from the monastery, away from Julian. But the dangers were far from over. The river narrowed, and the trees on the bank hung low over the water. Branches whipped against the boat and scraped across our faces.
After half an hour of mortal terror on the wild water, the current slowly began to calm. The river widened and flowed into a quieter canal bordering a Belgian border village.
The boat ran aground with a gentle jolt on a sandbar near an abandoned pier.
We lay motionless in the boat for minutes, soaking wet, shivering with cold, and utterly exhausted. The only sound was our heavy breathing and the pattering of the subsiding rain on the water.
"Are we… are we still alive?" Elena whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Yes," I exhaled, clutching the metal case to my chest. It had stayed dry. "We're still alive."
We climbed laboriously out of the boat and trudged up the pier. We were in a small, quiet harbor. In the distance, I saw the lights of a 24-hour gas station.
We walked to the gas station to warm up. The young attendant behind the counter looked up in shock as two soaking-wet, mud-covered old women entered his store in the middle of the night.
"Good heavens, ma'am! Is everything alright? Should I call an ambulance?" the young man asked worriedly.
"No, no ambulance," I said kindly but urgently. "Do you have a telephone we can use? And a warm cup of tea?"
The young man nodded quickly and poured two large cups of hot tea. I took a sip; the warmth slowly spread through my chilled body.
I picked up the gas station's landline phone. I knew who I had to call. In his diary, Thomas had mentioned the name of a police officer he trusted until his final moment: Inspector De Vos of the Federal Criminal Police in Brussels.
I dialed the number written in the diary. It took a long time before someone picked up.
"De Vos," a sleepy but stern voice sounded on the other end of the line.
"Inspector De Vos… My name is Maria. Thomas's wife," I said.
A brief silence fell on the line. Then the inspector's tone shifted instantly. "Maria…? Good heavens. Thomas told me years ago that if you ever called, the world would be on fire. Where are you?"
"I'm in a border village near Baarle," I said. "I have the documents from Antwerp 1978. And… I need to report the murder of Thomas."
"Who is the suspect?" De Vos asked urgently.
My voice faltered briefly. It took all my willpower to force the words out. "My son. Julian. He's trying to destroy the documents."
"Stay right where you are," De Vos said harshly. "I'm sending an unmarked team to pick you up within twenty minutes. Trust no one else. Not even the local police."
Thirty minutes later, a black civilian car pulled up in front of the gas station. Two men in plainclothes stepped out and showed their criminal police badges. We got in and were escorted to the Federal Police headquarters in Brussels.
Around seven in the morning, we sat in a secured interrogation room. Inspector De Vos—a middle-aged man with graying hair and a tired but honest look—sat across from me.
The metal case lay open on the table. Forensics experts were examining the microfilms and documents.
"This is incredible," De Vos said as he flipped through the papers. "This proves a network of extortion and corruption active for forty years. Your husband did fantastic work keeping this safe. With this, we can arrest dozens of high-ranking figures."
"And Julian?" I asked with a heavy heart.
De Vos looked at me with pity. "We've issued an arrest warrant. My teams are on their way to his apartment and office. He has nowhere left to go."
At that exact moment, the interrogation room door opened. A younger investigator entered and whispered something in De Vos's ear.
De Vos's expression turned rigid and solemn. He looked at me.
"What happened?" I asked with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
"Your son wasn't found at home, Maria," De Vos said slowly. "He's on the run. But an hour ago, he announced a press conference at the political headquarters. He's going to claim you're mentally incompetent and were kidnapped by a terrorist cell."
I clenched my fists. Julian wasn't giving up. He wanted to use the media to destroy my credibility before the police could arrest him.
"When is this press conference?" I asked.
"In half an hour," De Vos replied.
I stood up from my chair. The fatigue magically vanished from my body. "Take me there, Inspector. It's time for the mother to speak."
* * *
