7. Champagne and Secrets

The forest on the eastern slope of the mountains was unlike the northern wilderness where Kovac had hidden. These woods were older, denser, the trees twisted into shapes that seemed deliberate, as if the landscape itself was watching. Elina limped through the underbrush, her swollen ankle screaming with every step, the briefcase clutched against her chest like a shield.

The sun had risen fully now, but the canopy was so thick that only fragments of light reached the forest floor. She had no map, no compass, no idea which direction led to the coast. The burner phone still showed no signal. She was navigating by instinct and desperation.

She walked for what felt like hours, following a stream that wound downhill through the trees. The water was clear and cold, and she stopped to drink from it, cupping her hands and splashing her face. Her reflection in the pool was unrecognizable: a woman with matted hair, a bruised cheek, and a bloody bandage above her eye. She looked like a fugitive. She looked like the person the news said she was.

The stream led her to a road. It was narrow and unpaved, barely more than a logging track, but it was the first sign of civilization she had seen since the train. She crouched behind a fallen tree and watched. No vehicles. No voices. Just the wind in the branches and the distant cry of a hawk.

She checked the burner phone again. One bar of signal, flickering in and out. She typed a message to the number Ruben had given her:

Train compromised. On foot east of Nordsol. Heading toward coast. Where is the broadcast?

The message sent, finally, after three attempts. She waited, watching the road. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The reply came:

Broadcast airing at 7. Stay hidden. Contact when safe.

Seven o'clock. She checked the sun's position. It was maybe half past six. Thirty minutes until the truth reached the public. Thirty minutes until everything changed—or didn't.

She found a sheltered spot beneath an overhang of rock and settled in to wait. The briefcase was still sealed, the documents dry. She opened it and spread the contents on the ground: Kovac's affidavit, the financial records, the photograph of Hagen, Dahl, and Karel at the hunting lodge. She had risked her life for these papers. People had died for them. In thirty minutes, they would either be the foundation of a new Federation or the evidence in her own criminal trial.

She pulled out the cassette tape last. Olga Karel's voice was trapped inside that plastic shell, a confession that had been buried for twenty-five years. She wondered what Olga had looked like. Whether she had been afraid. Whether she had known, in that small police station room, that her words would echo across decades.

The burner phone buzzed. Another message from an unknown number.

Turn on the radio. Any channel. Now.

Elina stared at the phone. Then she fumbled with the device's settings, switching to the FM receiver. Static, then a voice.

"—extraordinary development in the capital this morning. We are receiving reports that the Free Current network has begun broadcasting an exclusive interview with a former Ministry of Justice employee who claims to have evidence of a vast conspiracy involving senior government officials and organized crime. We are working to confirm these reports now."

The broadcast was airing. Katrin had done it. The story was live.

Elina pressed the radio to her ear, her heart pounding. The anchor's voice continued, describing the interview, the documents, the allegations. Then a clip played. Her own voice, recorded in that warehouse studio, speaking to millions of listeners across the Federation.

"My name is Elina Voss. Until recently, I served as personal secretary to Minister of Justice Magnus Hagen. Three weeks ago, I received a letter from a death row inmate named Miro Kein. What I discovered after reading that letter has led me to believe that Minister Hagen is guilty of evidence tampering, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy to protect the real murderer of Lidia Baer."

She listened to herself speak, hearing the fear beneath the steady words. She sounded braver than she felt. She sounded like someone who believed in justice.

The anchor cut back in: "The Free Current network has also released a series of documents, including what appears to be a sworn affidavit from a former police detective and financial records linking the Karel crime family to multiple political campaigns. We have not yet been able to independently verify these documents, but they are being circulated widely online. The Ministry of Justice has issued a statement calling the allegations 'a malicious fabrication' and reiterating that Elina Voss is wanted for questioning."

A malicious fabrication. Even now, with the evidence pouring into the public sphere, Hagen was still denying everything. Still hiding behind the authority of his office. Still betting that his version of reality would win.

But the voices on the radio were multiplying. Callers were phoning in, their tones ranging from shock to fury. A woman from the coastal provinces demanded Hagen's resignation. A man from the border region said he had suspected the Karels for years and no one had listened. A retired judge called for an immediate parliamentary inquiry.

The story was spreading. It was too big to contain. Even if the Federation's domestic broadcasters refused to cover it, the international outlets had picked it up. Katrin's backup plan was working.

Elina allowed herself a single moment of relief. Then she gathered the documents, closed the briefcase, and started walking again.

By midday, she reached a village. It was a small settlement, maybe two dozen houses clustered around a stone church and a general store. The kind of place where strangers were noticed and remembered. She kept her head down, pulled her coat collar high, and walked as if she had a destination.

The general store had a television mounted on the wall behind the counter. Elina paused at the window, pretending to examine the goods on display, while her eyes fixed on the screen.

The capital was in chaos. The footage showed crowds gathering outside the Ministry of Justice, some holding signs demanding Hagen's resignation, others waving Federation flags in support of the Minister. Police in riot gear had been deployed, their shields forming a thin blue line between the factions. The banner beneath the footage read: CRISIS IN THE CAPITAL: MINISTER DENIES CORRUPTION ALLEGATIONS.

Then the screen split. On one side, Magnus Hagen stood at a podium in the Ministry's press room, his face composed but pale. On the other side, Viktor Dahl, the Interior Minister, was speaking at a police headquarters, his heavy jowls trembling with indignation.

"We are witnessing an unprecedented attack on our democratic institutions," Hagen said, his voice steady despite the chaos behind him. "These documents are forgeries. The so-called confession is a fabrication. And the woman who claims to be a whistleblower is a disgruntled former employee who has been manipulated by forces that seek to destabilize our Federation."

Dahl was more blunt: "The Federal Police will find Elina Voss and bring her to justice. We will not rest until the perpetrators of this smear campaign are exposed and punished."

Elina felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. They were coordinating their responses, presenting a united front. And they were still calling her a criminal. Still promising to find her.

The television screen shifted again, showing a third location. This one was unfamiliar: a concrete building surrounded by high fences and razor wire. Ironwood Correctional Facility. A crowd had gathered outside, holding signs that read FREE MIRO KEIN and JUSTICE FOR LIDIA BAER. At the front of the crowd stood Anya Solvig, her dark hair whipping in the wind, a megaphone in her hand.

"My brother is innocent!" Anya's voice crackled through the television's speakers. "The real killer has been protected for twenty-five years. The evidence is public now. Everyone can see it. Release Miro Kein!"

The general store's proprietor, a gray-haired woman with thick spectacles, had stopped stocking shelves to watch the screen. She glanced at Elina as she entered. "Terrible business, isn't it? The capital's gone mad."

"It has," Elina said quietly.

"You look like you've been traveling. Can I get you something? Coffee? Bread?"

"Coffee would be appreciated." Elina pulled a handful of coins from her pocket, the last of the money Lukas had given her. "And a map, if you have one. I'm trying to reach the coast."

The woman poured coffee from a pot that had been sitting on a hot plate for what looked like hours. "Coast is another hundred kilometers. There's a bus that passes through at three, if you can wait."

"I'll walk."

"In your condition? Your ankle's swollen. And there's blood on your collar." The woman's eyes were sharp behind her spectacles. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

The woman studied her for a long moment, and Elina braced for the inevitable recognition. But the woman only nodded, as if she had seen fugitives before and learned not to ask questions. "Take the footpath behind the church. It follows the old canal. It'll get you to the next town in about four hours. There's a hostel there where they don't ask for identification."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I just don't want to read about you in the papers."

The old canal path was overgrown and muddy, but it was hidden from the road and offered shelter from the wind. Elina walked with a stick she had cut from a fallen branch, using it to take the weight off her injured ankle. The coffee had helped, but exhaustion was settling into her bones like a cold fog.

The burner phone buzzed again. A message from the same unknown number:

Interior Minister Dahl's office just announced an emergency session of Parliament. Noon tomorrow. They're going to vote on a resolution declaring the broadcast a national security threat. If it passes, they can shut down the Free Current and arrest anyone who distributed the documents. Including you.

Elina read the message twice. An emergency session. A national security resolution. Dahl was using the state apparatus to protect himself, wrapping his corruption in the flag and calling it patriotism.

She typed a reply: What about the international outlets?

The response came quickly: Federation doesn't have jurisdiction. But they can block access domestically. Firewall the entire country. It's been done before.

She had to reach the coast. Not just for her own safety, but because the coastal provinces had their own government, their own police force, their own broadcasters. They were part of the Federation, but they had always maintained a degree of autonomy. If she could cross into their jurisdiction, Dahl's arrest warrant might not reach her. And from there, she could continue the fight.

She walked faster, ignoring the pain in her ankle. The canal path curved through farmland and abandoned orchards, the trees bare and skeletal against the winter sky. A flock of crows rose from a field and scattered, their cries echoing across the empty landscape.

As the sun began to descend, she saw the next town in the distance. It was larger than the village, a market town with a train station and a church spire that rose above the rooftops. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lights glowed in windows. It looked peaceful, ordinary, untouched by the chaos in the capital.

But as she got closer, she saw the police cars.

They were parked at the town's main intersection, two black sedans with the Federal Police insignia on their doors. Officers in dark uniforms were stopping vehicles, checking identification, questioning drivers. Roadblocks. Dahl's people were expanding their search.

Elina ducked behind a hedge and watched. The hostel was on the other side of town, but reaching it would require passing through the roadblock. She could try to circle around through the fields, but the open ground offered no cover, and her limp was getting worse.

She needed another way in.

The train station. If she could reach it, she could hide among the passengers, board a train heading east, and slip through the police perimeter unnoticed. But the station was likely guarded too. She would have to wait for dusk, when the light faded and the officers grew tired.

She found a drainage culvert near the canal and crawled inside. It was damp and cold, but it was hidden. She wrapped herself in her coat and waited, watching the shadows lengthen across the fields.

The burner phone buzzed again. Not a message this time. A call.

She answered, her voice barely a whisper. "Who is this?"

"It's Katrin." The producer's voice was tight with tension. "We have a problem. Someone inside my team has been feeding information to Dahl's people. They knew about the train route before you even boarded. They knew about the safe houses Lukas had prepared. They're one step ahead of us on every move."

"I figured that out when they stopped the train. Do you know who?"

"I have a suspect. A researcher who joined the team six months ago. Background check was clean, but I'm digging deeper. In the meantime, don't trust anyone. Not even people who seem friendly."

Elina thought about the woman in the general store. The coffee. The directions. The friendly advice. Had she been genuinely helpful, or had she been gathering information? The thought made her stomach clench.

"What about Lukas?" Elina asked.

"Still in surgery. They're moving him again, to a facility outside the capital. Anya's handling it. He's stable, but he won't be able to help us for a while."

"And the broadcast?"

"We're still on air. The international outlets are running the story nonstop. But Dahl's national security resolution is gaining support. Several MPs who were on the fence are now backing it. They're scared."

"Of what?"

"Of the Karels. Of Dahl's police force. Of Hagen's allies in Parliament. The Federation is built on fear, Elina. Always has been. The border taught them that."

Elina leaned her head against the cold concrete of the culvert. "What do I do?"

"Stay alive. Get to the coast. There's a contact waiting for you in the port city of Ostmark. Her name is Elin Berg. She's Lukas's aunt. She runs a shipping company that operates outside Federation jurisdiction. She can get you somewhere safe."

"Berg. Lukas's family?"

"He told me to give you her name if things went wrong. She's been waiting for him to call in that favor for years. She's old, she's stubborn, and she doesn't scare easily." Katrin paused. "There's something else. Something you need to know before you make any more decisions."

"What?"

"Magnus Hagen called a press conference for tonight. He's going to announce something. My sources say it's big. They say he's going to try to flip the narrative completely."

"What could he possibly say that would change this?"

Katrin was silent for a moment. Then: "I don't know. But whatever it is, it's coming. And we need to be ready."

The sun set, and the town's streetlamps flickered on one by one. The police roadblock was still in place, but the officers had grown more relaxed, their attention focused on a heated argument between two drivers rather than on the dark fields beyond the canal.

Elina crawled out of the culvert and made her way toward the train station, sticking to the shadows of hedgerows and garden walls. Her ankle was worse now, the swelling pressing against her boot, but she forced herself to move. Every step was a calculation. Every shadow was a potential threat.

The station was a small, single-platform building on the eastern edge of town. A train was scheduled to depart for the coast in twenty minutes, according to the timetable posted outside. A handful of passengers waited on the platform, their breath fogging in the cold air.

No police. Not yet.

Elina bought a ticket with the last of her coins, keeping her face hidden beneath her scarf. The ticket clerk barely glanced at her. She found a seat in the last carriage, pressed herself into the corner, and waited.

The train pulled out of the station just as a Federal Police sedan pulled in.

She watched the officers run onto the platform, too late. The train accelerated, and the town dissolved into darkness. The carriage was nearly empty: an elderly couple in the front, a young man with a backpack in the middle, and Elina in the back. The overhead lights flickered with the motion of the train, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.

Her phone buzzed one final time before the signal faded. A message from Katrin:

Hagen's press conference is starting. I'm watching now. Will update when I know more.

Elina stared out the window at the dark countryside, the fields and forests blurring into an indistinct smear. She thought about Hagen, standing at his podium, preparing to speak to the nation. What could he say? What narrative could possibly rescue him from the evidence that was now circulating across the world?

The train rumbled on, carrying her toward the coast and toward a woman named Elin Berg who might be her last hope. Outside, the night stretched on, full of secrets and dangers she couldn't see. And somewhere behind her, in the capital, a man who had built his career on lies was about to speak.

She closed her eyes and waited for the next move in a game she had never wanted to play.