Chapter 4: Journey to the Heart of Darkness

Nathaniel's boots crunched against the gravel of the Bavarian Alps as his team made their way toward Falk's last known location—a secluded villa tucked deep into the mountains. The journey had taken them through the remnants of a war-torn country, the roads littered with broken-down tanks, abandoned outposts, and displaced civilians. But now, as they climbed higher into the thick forested hills, the world grew eerily silent, as if the war had never touched this hidden corner of the world.

The mountains loomed tall, their snow-covered peaks standing against the backdrop of an overcast sky. The air was cold, crisp, and still, the only sound coming from the occasional chirp of a distant bird or the rustle of leaves underfoot. Nathaniel felt a strange sense of foreboding as they approached the villa, its stone walls partially hidden by the dense forest that surrounded it. The isolation of the place made it feel untouched by time, as though it had been forgotten by the world.

Sergeant Tom Mitchell, ever the pragmatist, was the first to break the silence. "Think the old bastard's still holed up in there?" he asked, his voice low but laced with his usual sarcasm.

"If he's not, we'll find out soon enough," Nathaniel replied, scanning the perimeter through binoculars. The villa was heavily fortified, much more than they'd expected. A high stone wall surrounded the property, with only one visible entrance guarded by what looked like remnants of the German military.

"We'll have to move carefully," Nathaniel continued, lowering the binoculars. "If Falk is here, he'll know we're coming."

Tom nodded, checking his rifle. "I don't like it. Feels too quiet. What's a man like Falk doing holed up in a place like this when he knows everyone's gunning for him?"

Nathaniel didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere—on the image of Falk, on the last photograph of his father. The closer they got to finding the man responsible for so many atrocities, the more Nathaniel felt the pull of his own personal vendetta.

As they advanced through the trees, staying out of sight, Nathaniel's thoughts kept drifting back to his father's journal. There were entries that hinted at secret meetings with high-ranking Nazis, at dangerous projects that went beyond mere rocket science. But what haunted him most was the possibility that his father hadn't been just a passive observer, as he had always assumed. What if his father had been a willing participant in whatever horrors Falk had created?

The villa came into full view as they approached a ridge overlooking the property. Nathaniel signaled for his men to take cover behind the trees. From this vantage point, they could see the guard patrols and the layout of the villa's defenses.

"We'll split into two teams," Nathaniel said, motioning to Tom and the others. "I'll take point with Mitchell. The rest of you circle around and create a diversion. We'll move in through the east gate while they're distracted."

His men nodded in agreement, readying their weapons. But Nathaniel couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The villa looked abandoned, yet it was too well-guarded for a man on the run. Was Falk waiting for them, or had they walked into a trap?

The diversion team moved first, circling the perimeter and taking up positions behind the trees. A few moments later, a burst of gunfire echoed through the air, and the guards scrambled toward the west side of the villa, leaving the east gate unguarded.

Nathaniel signaled to Tom, and the two of them sprinted through the open gate and up to the villa's side entrance. The door was unlocked, and they slipped inside unnoticed.

The interior of the villa was dark and cold, with thick stone walls and high ceilings that made every sound echo. The hallway they entered was lined with old portraits of stern-faced men and women, their eyes seeming to follow Nathaniel as he moved deeper into the house. The air smelled of dust and neglect, as though the place had been abandoned for years.

Tom checked the rooms as they went, finding nothing but empty spaces and discarded furniture. "Looks like no one's been here in months," he muttered under his breath. "Maybe we missed him."

"Or maybe he's deeper inside," Nathaniel replied, his voice tense. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as they approached the far end of the hall, where a heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar. A faint light flickered from the room beyond.

Nathaniel pushed the door open, and there, sitting behind a large oak desk, was Dr. Wilhelm Falk.

The man was older than Nathaniel had expected, his hair a thinning silver, his face lined with age and stress. But his eyes—sharp, cold, and calculating—hadn't lost any of their intensity. He was dressed in a simple suit, the picture of calm, as if he had been expecting them all along.

"You're here," Falk said in perfect English, his voice carrying an eerie calm. "I was wondering when you would arrive."

Nathaniel stood frozen for a moment, staring at the man who had been at the center of his father's past, the man who held the key to the truth he had been searching for.

"Dr. Falk," Nathaniel said, stepping forward, his voice tight with barely concealed anger. "You're coming with us."

Falk smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was a smile of someone who knew too much, someone who had lived through horrors and come out on the other side with no remorse. "I assume this isn't just about the rockets."

Nathaniel's grip tightened on his rifle. "It's about everything. You're going to answer for what you've done."

Falk leaned back in his chair, unbothered by the threat. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Captain Harper. You see, there are things about your father that you don't know. Things you wouldn't want to know."

The words hit Nathaniel like a punch to the gut, but he kept his face hard, his expression unreadable. "We'll see about that."