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The Secrets of the Castle (Thunder and Lightening Series) (Volume 1)

By Aaron M Zook Jr

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Chapter 1

Driving Disaster

I fumed inside. As an explorer and adventurer I craved action. But the splatter of raindrops on the windshield followed by moments of thin sunshine warming the steamy road we traveled promised another boring vacation. Bound by a seatbelt for hours on end, I dozed from unwelcome inactivity until I got my wish—sort of.
Mom screamed as our van slid sideways down the four-lane road and Dad yelled, “Hang on!” He struggled to gain control of the steering wheel, but the van swung into the passing lane on our side of the German Autobahn. A shrill car horn blasted. I clapped my hands over my ears. A quiver of fear ran through my body when I glanced out the window.
“The guardrail,” I cried out.
“Gabe, quiet.” Mom silenced me.
I strained against my seatbelt and clenched Dad’s headrest with sweaty hands. My eyes felt like they were popping out of my head. 'We’re out of control.' I pictured metal shrieking against metal as we impacted the guardrail. I envisioned glass shattering in my face and blood pouring out of my punctured body. 'That’s not gonna happen to me.' I set my jaw and stiffened my arms in a brace position, ready to duck if the windows got smashed. Our van jerked back and forth across the roadway. We sped toward the metal barrier in the highway’s center. The scene burned into my mind.
Mom, face pale, pushed her hand against the front dash.
“Hold on, Thunder,” my older brother, Alex, shouted. He wedged his dog between captain-style seats. Alex clutched his dog’s neck and pushed his knees against Mom’s seat.
I dropped one hand’s death grip on Dad’s headrest and pulled my dog, Lightning, off the floor and held him tightly to my chest.
At the last instant, Dad swerved away from the guardrail. The sudden move slammed my cheek against the window. Sharp pain jarred my senses to full alert. I tasted blood as I saw gray metal rails flash within inches of my eyes before we zigzagged away from the highway center and toward the thirty-foot drop-off on the Autobahn’s edge. 'We’ll be tossed around like rag dolls if we go over the cliff.' I jammed my feet against a wall panel and Dad’s seat, teeth locked down tight. Backpacks lying on the rear bench seat smashed against the window behind me then flew over to the other side. I smelled burning rubber and heard the sound of Dad pumping the brakes. My heart jumped into my throat as we rocketed toward the edge of the roadway. 'Dad…don’t wreck!' My muscles screamed from the tension.
Horn blaring, a gray Mercedes sliced the air next to my window, splitting the gap between the guardrail and us. I jumped at the sound and lost my grip on Dad’s headrest. My gut churned. I bit back the stinging in my throat, gulping intensely to keep my breakfast where it belonged.
Dad jerked the steering wheel left to keep us on the roadway while swerving to avoid cars darting around us. My seatbelt cut hard into my chest, and pulled my body to the right toward Alex and Thunder. A red Porsche followed by a gray-green Volkswagen slipped past us. Muscling the steering wheel, Dad battled our van to a stop on the shoulder of the road.
I zoned out, aching all over. 'We made it. I’m alive.' Pulse racing, my mind went in every direction at once. 'Safe. Cheek pain. Blood taste.' When my eyes focused again, I pulled my legs up to my chest, hugged Lightning close, and ran my fingers along my teeth on the left side. They came out a little red. I wiped them on a tissue. Lightning went into a frenzy of licking my cheeks and nose, but I didn’t care. Other than my cheek and mouth, everything seemed to work fine as I scrambled out of my seatbelt and stuck my head between the front seats.
Sweat rolling down his cheeks, Dad seemed frozen for a moment. Then he loosened up and looked at Mom. His shoulders pressed into his seat and he let out a big breath of air, slapping the steering wheel.
“Is everyone alright?” Mom asked, twisting around to check. She hugged me, then pushed me back into my seat. She inspected each of us for broken bones and cuts. “Gabe, why are you rubbing your face?”
I explained what had happened. “My cheek’s sore. I could have a broken cheek bone.” I opened and closed my jaw a couple of times. My fingers were tingling.
“I’m fine,” said Alex.
I looked at my fourteen-year-old brother. His face was tight and his lips pinched. Always the rock-solid, unexcitable boy with common sense and steady nerves, he was completely my opposite. He stroked Thunder, whom he had freed from the earlier death grip around his neck. Thunder now sat back on his haunches and watched what was happening.
Mom untangled herself from her seatbelt and moved through the gap between the front captain chairs to kneel beside us. She put her hand on my chest and bent my head sideways to look at my cheek. I showed her the blood on the tissue.
“We almost crashed. Did you see how close we came to the guardrail? Another foot to the left and we would have…” I winced as she pressed on my cheekbone.
“I think you’re going to live.” She patted my knee.
“No fractured bones,” Mom announced. Some color returned to her cheeks. Her voice was less shrill and she had slowed down a bit. She turned to Alex and put her hand on his chest.
“Both of your hearts are racing,” she said.
“Let’s go out and inspect the damage,” Dad said as he opened his door and slid his feet to solid ground. Mom opened the side door and jumped out.
“Boys, stay inside with the dogs,” Dad said.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and leaned my head out the window to hear my parents talk as the cars flowed by. An unexpected shiver ran through me. The cool air that flowed in through the window on this partly sunny day didn’t cause the shakes. It was visions of mangled wreckage with our bodies lying crushed underneath which kept crowding into my brain. The traffic steering around our candy-apple red home-on-wheels distracted me until Dad spoke.
“That left front tire looks like it blew out,” Dad said, looking up from the ruined mess.
“We put on new tires before we left Texas to come to Germany.” Mom rubbed her furrowed forehead. “They’re speed rated for the Autobahn.”
As they talked, a German Polizei’s green and white sedan pulled up in front of the van. Two men wearing tan and green uniforms got out and walked over to Mom and Dad. After brief introductions, Dad explained what had happened. Both policemen squatted down to examine the tire.
The short, older cop with a mustache stood up. “Mr. Zanadu, we did not see any oil or liquid spill on the road near the skid marks of your tires. The road was slightly wet from an earlier rain. There also weren’t any sharp objects that might have cut your tire. Because these are new tires, that means someone must have intentionally slashed your tire to make it fail at highway speeds.” Crouching next to the tire, he pointed out the evidence to Dad. “Where do you normally park your vehicle?”
“We keep it in a parking garage or on the Army base where I work.”
The short cop tapped his mustache. “Maybe a criminal bypassed the security system in the parking garage.
The second policeman nodded in agreement. “Do you need any assistance?”
“No,” Dad said. “I can put on the spare tire. We’re only a few kilometers from the Esso station. I can buy a new tire there.”
“Good,” the older guy said. “My partner will call ahead to ensure they have the right size. Who is with you?” He opened a notebook and moved closer to Dad. The young, black-haired man went back to the Polizei car to make a call.
“This is my family,” Dad said, pointing to each of us. “You’ve met my wife, Rachael. In the van are my two sons, fourteen-year-old Alexander and twelve-year-old Gabriel.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a Major in the United States Army.”
“Ah, I see.” The policeman smoothed his gray hair back over his head. “You and your family must be careful. Are you sure there is not another reason for an attack? Something you do at work?”
Dad looked at the ground, his face tightening for a second. He kept his answer simple. “I work for military intelligence, but I can’t talk about my activities. You understand.”
'Hmmm. On a phone call he got from work during breakfast, didn’t he make a whispered comment—something about suspects—two young men who rode motorcycles?' When I had asked him what was going on, he had told me not to worry.
“Alright,” the policeman said. “I understand. These questions are for my report.” He closed his notebook, checking the other tires for tampering. He didn’t find anything wrong. He walked back to his police car.
“The Esso station has the tires you need,” said the younger cop as he rejoined Mom and Dad. As the cop with the mustache came back, the younger one excused himself. Mom said goodbye and climbed into the van. I stayed in the driver’s seat to catch more of Dad’s talk with the cop.
“Mr. Zanadu,” the policeman said, “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
Dad nodded his head. “Go on.”
The policeman noticed I was listening. He grabbed Dad by the elbow and moved him further away.
It was hard, but by closing my eyes, concentrating, and ignoring the sounds of cars and trucks zipping past us, I could hear them.
The cop continued. “This is a tense time in Germany. The Berlin Wall may fall this year as we work to reunify East and West Germany by the end of the next year, 1990. This political tension has increased the activity of extremists, especially against American military members, in order for them to get greater news coverage.”
“Okay,” Dad said. “Is there anything else?”
“My heart went cold at what I heard next.
“Mr. Zanadu, someone may want you and your family dead.”

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