by Max Hudson
She yelped and reeled back, her eyes snapping to her window.
An SS Officer bent over and eyed her. When his hat slid forward a bit, he grabbed the edge of it to keep it from falling. His colleague stood beside him, his attention flickering between the car and something down the street.
Auta stayed frozen.
“Open the window,” the SS Officer said, knocking on it again.
Auta jumped. Shakily, she did as she was told and rolled it down. “I—I…”
“Hello, sir,” Martin said, face flushed and smile wobbling. He panted for show. “Is everything all right?”
“This isn’t a brothel,” he said. “This is a place of work. Find a more appropriate place to…be affectionate.”
Auta had turned bright red.
Martin also blushed. “Of course, sir. I apologize. See, we’re newlyweds—or, I mean, we’re going to be—”
The SS Officer straightened and walked away, his colleague spared Auta one last curious glance before walking away, too.
Martin glanced back at the personnel office. Emmerich’s car was still there. “Roll up the window,” he whispered.
“What do we do?” she whispered back, voice pitchy.
“Roll up the window.”
“Oh, yes.” She rolled up the window. “But do we just…leave? Can we do that?”
“Not yet,” Martin said, turning back to her. “We stay a little while, fidget, whisper, act embarrassed, and then when we really can’t get away with waiting a second longer, we will go. With or without Emmerich.” He rubbed her arm. “Once he’s finished here, he’ll go back to the apartment.”
She watched his hand moving up and down her arm, her gaze distant. “If he doesn’t come back?”
“Then I’ll deal with it. Giggle.”
She furrowed her brow. Then—clearly remembering what they were doing—she smiled and released a breathy giggle.
“You’re doing great,” Martin said. “Take deep breaths. Everything will be fine.” He glanced down the street again.
They managed to stay there for over three minutes before instinct nagged at Martin to flee. And just as Martin whispered to Auta to drive away, Emmerich exited the building, a blank expression on his face.
Auta hesitated, eyes wide. “He’s early, isn’t he?”
Unease sank into his bones, but Martin schooled his features. “We’ll find out later.” Forcing a smile on his face, he kissed her cheek and patted her arm—as if comforting her. “We don’t need to worry about your wedding dress any longer today. Let’s go talk to your parents. Maybe seeing your grandmother’s dress will help you decide.”
Nodding, she pulled out of the parking spot.
Martin looked in the rearview mirror. A few bystanders glanced at them, but only for a couple of seconds. Nothing to worry about.
***
Remarkably, that hadn’t been the most challenging part of the day.
Auta drove them to her parents, Martin met them, they all chatted, and then General Achter grabbed Martin’s throat and smashed him against the wall—framed paintings juddering in response.
Martin’s hands snapped to the General’s wrists, instincts flaring at him to strike back. He wheezed instead, surrendering to helpless pain and playing the weak victim.
General Achter’s face contorted with rage, flesh turning red and beady eyes blazing.
“Papa!” Auta hovered by her father’s shoulder, but based on the way her hands quivered, she was too scared to touch him. “Papa, what are you doing?!”
Auta’s mother, Edda, crossed her arms and glared at Auta. “We’ve raised you so much better than this, Auta. This is—” Edda pressed her lips together, cheeks coloring. “I can’t even say it.”
“Say what?!”
Martin’s throat burned, head spinning. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to suck up some air, only to inhale mere wisps of it. If the General squeezed any harder—
“Being with a man before marriage,” Edda snapped, nostrils flaring. “Auta Achter, this family has a reputation—an invaluable reputation in this entire country, and you being reckless and disgusting doesn’t do your father right.”
Ah. Planning a wedding from the fiancée’s apartment…a fiancée who grew up in a strict Catholic family…a very foolish oversight.
“We’re married,” Martin tried to get out, but his voice came out small and raspy. He tried again, vision graying out around the edges.
Edda didn’t even look at him.
The General did nothing but look at him, but he clearly didn’t hear him.
“Married,” Martin gutted out. With one hand, he released General Achter and reached for Auta. “Mar—”
Auta’s eyes lit up with comprehension. “But we are married! We got married the moment he came here.”
Edda’s eyes bulged. “What? Without your family?!”
“I love him, Mama! We had been apart for our entire relationship—if you want me to be happy and proper, then you have to understand why we did it.” Auta bit her lip, her hands fluttering to her mouth. Her eyes darted between Martin and her mother. “We’re planning another wedding, aren’t we?! We thought about you and the church, too. We’re making this right.”
General Achter grunted, releasing Martin and turning to face his daughter.
Martin fell to his knees and massaged his scratchy throat, wheezes and coughs making his entire body shudder. He wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Oh, Auta,” Edda whined. “This was still very foolish—and disrespectful! What will we tell Father Dieter? This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. You know your father pursued me for four months, proposed, and then we didn’t see each other again until our wedding day, five months and thirteen days later.”
That probably wasn’t true, but Martin wasn’t going to say anything. Slowly, he stood, one hand still massaging his throat. He forced himself to smile nervously and apologize. “I do love your daughter, and I respect the sacrifices you’ve made for the good of this world, General. I’m sorry my eagerness hurt you.” He bowed a little. Silly as it sounded, the General seemed like the kind of man who preferred a bow over a handshake.
The old man grunted again, puffy lips curled downward.
Edda grabbed Auta’s left hand and shook it. “At least wear your wedding rings! It’s better to be known for a rushed marriage than no marriage at all. Silly girl.”
Auta’s gaze lowered. “Yes, Mama.”
“And we need to make this wedding perfect to make up for…” Edda swiped out her hand and glared at Martin.
Martin kept smiling nervously. “Again, I’m sorry for—” He winced as his aching throat flared with a sharper pain. He swallowed.
“I’ll arrange everything,” Edda said. “You’ll wear your grandmother’s wedding dress, of course, and we won’t tell relatives that you and Martin are already in union.” She smacked Auta’s arm. “So, make sure no one sees you two enter the same apartment. Not ever. In fact,” she turned to Martin, “maybe you should live in a different place until you’re properly married.”
“No!” Auta blurted.
Her mother jumped.
Her father narrowed his eyes and growled.
“I love her,” Martin said again, voice naturally cracked because of his damaged throat. “I can’t fall asleep without her by my side. Please, we’ll be careful, I promise. Please.”
Both her parents sneered at him.
“Please,” he said again.
Edda bellowed out a sigh and threw her hands in the air. “Impossible,” she said, going into a different room of their large house.
The General’s facial muscles lost some of their tension, though he didn’t even glance at his daughter as he followed his wife.
Auta pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
***
“It could’ve been a lot worse,” Martin croaked on their way back to the apartment. The sky darkened, sparking stars peeking out b
etween the gaps in the clouds. “For a moment, I thought my cover was blown.”
“Me too,” Auta said. Her arms were rigid as she drove, shoulders high and eyes glued forward. “I used to work so hard not to make my father angry—not even a little annoyed—because of what we just saw. To see him like that all over again…”
Martin tugged at his shirt collar. “You did good,” he said, like he always did. He tried to think of something comforting yet new to say, but he came up with nothing.
They stayed quiet for the rest of the drive. Once she parked in front of their apartment building, she said, “What about wedding rings?”
“The OSS can provide some.”
She released a long breath. “All right. All right.” She opened her car door, only to stiffen. “Wait, should we…walk in separately? Or should you sneak in through a window?” She bit her nails.
“Tonight?” Martin ran his teeth over his lower lip and thought. “Do you have the spare key on you?”
She took it out of her purse and shoved it into his hand.
He frowned at it, then at her. “You know…you are a young woman, and it’s the middle of the night. Escorting you inside wouldn’t be unheard of. In fact, your parents might be angry if I don’t do that.”
She snorted. “You don’t know them well enough then.”
“I know plenty about your father, wordless as he is. Your mother…”
“She says enough words for the both of them. Papa is a man of action. And control. She…she works more subtly.” Auta opened the door the rest of the way. “Come on, let’s just go inside. I need some sleep.”
“Yes. And I need some pain medication.” He forced out a chuckle and nudged her shoulder.
It got her to smile, brittle as it was.
As she got out of the car, he took out his gun from the glove box and hid it beneath his jacket.
***
It was dead-quiet in the apartment, so Martin opened the door without any kind of preparation. He went into the kitchenette to get some water, and his eyes landed on the open cupboards. He stopped, Auta inhaling sharply behind him.
Soft sounds—static, slurps—emanated from down the hall. From the surveillance room.
Martin took out his gun and quietly hurried down the hall, each step precise—not making the floor groan or creak beneath his weight.
Auta followed until he swiped out his free hand. “Wait here,” he whispered, and she nodded jaggedly in response.
He continued forward. His heart hammered, blood roaring in his ears and limbs going cold. He followed his training—aimed his gun accordingly, breathed deeply, and then burst into the surveillance room. He nearly fired at the man sitting in front of the speakers before he realized that said man was— “Emmerich?”
Emmerich, feet propped up on the table and pushing against the equipment, craned his neck back to stare at Martin from an awkward angle. There were a couple of wine bottles in his lap, one empty and one half-empty.
For several seconds, the two men merely blinked at one another. Adrenaline still seared through Martin’s veins and made his heart beat wildly. It took a surprising amount of strength to lower his weapon.
Auta crept up beside him. “Did you say—?” She peeked into the room. Two seconds later, she bared her teeth at Emmerich. “Are you insane?!”
Emmerich winced, pressing one hand against one ear—his other hand clutching a wine bottle. “Are you? Why are you shrieking?” He rubbed his ear. “Hurts.”
Slowly, Martin set his gun aside, eyes never leaving Emmerich. Every inch of him burned, his senses drowning in animalistic rage. He tried to breathe slowly—think clearly—but before he knew it, he was grabbing Emmerich and dragging him out of the room.
Emmerich dropped the bottle and swore. “Hey, hey—!” He smacked at Martin’s arms. “Let me go, you pushy American bastard.”
Martin threw him to the ground and seethed, “I’m trusting you with my life—with all our lives.” He motioned toward Auta in the hallway and then back at Emmerich, gawking up at Martin. “And now I can only assume that you want us all killed.”
“Hey, hey, that’s not fucking true—not even a little fucking true. You’re not trusting me with anything. I’M trusting my life to YOU, and YOU keep leaving me alone with these sick, murderous pigs with too much power.”
“You agreed to it.”
Emmerich barked out a chortle. “Yeah? Well, fuck you. Where’s the wine?” He glanced over his hands before patting his torso. “I need more of it.”
Martin grabbed Emmerich’s arms and hauled him up. “Get out.” He shoved him toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if your stupidity has compromised our positions.”
Emmerich dusted himself off. “Fuck you,” he repeated. He wiped his nose with the back of his wrist. “If I have to talk to my brother’s killer—I can get drunk whenever the fuck I want.”
Auta gasped.
Martin withheld a groan. “If Bosch killed Adalric Hubar, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
Emmerich stumbled over to the wall and pressed his shoulder against it. Scratching his cheek, he sniffled and said, “Don’t know if it was Bosch, but it was one of his men. Or a bunch of them.”
“Emmerich—”
“They took him out of his office, shot him a bunch of times, and then took a fucking picture of it. I saw it—my father showed it to me and told me never to come back. Now…” Emmerich slid to the floor, eyes going blank as he blinked at his own knees. “Why? Why did I do this?”
Martin took a deep breath. Adalric Hubar had been reported missing, and it was generally understood that he had fled the country like Emmerich had. Though the lack of any evidence that this was the case… Martin asked, “When did they do this, exactly?”
“During my trial,” Emmerich rasped. “Before I even got the fucking verdict. Because if I was gay, it meant every single one of my relatives was.” Tears crawled down his cheeks, and he leaned forward until his forehead rested on his right knee.
There was no time for sympathy or emotional breakdowns. Martin pushed away his own emotional state and gritted out, “Go to your apartment and sleep this off. We’ll talk again later when it is safe to do so.”
Emmerich remained where he was.
Martin grabbed his shirt and dragged him to the front door, which he opened to throw Emmerich into the hallway. As Emmerich grunted and crawled over the floor, Martin—very, very quietly—shut the door.
Auta exhaled shakily. “There are other ways to cure a disease. No one had to be shot.”
Martin clenched his teeth, each breath scraping his throat and lungs. Before he snapped, he spun around and stormed into the surveillance room. This time, he didn’t stop himself from slamming the door behind him.
Folded blankets and a pillow sat in the corner.
***
After listening in to make sure Emmerich had returned to his own apartment, Martin paced and fumed for a little under an hour before calling Charlie and updating him on everything.
“Remember,” Charlie said, “papers can be torn and burned.”
“I know.”
“Then know that you can do it prematurely, if need be. Do anything you can not to get compromised.”
“Understood.”
“Anything more?”
“No.”
Charlie hung up.
Martin closed his eyes and listened to the dial tone. His grip on the phone tightened and tightened until the device started to crack.
Chapter Six
The next morning, before he got ready for the day, Martin sat on the floor and called Emmerich—to check on him, as well as get a more thorough report in regard to Emmerich’s meeting with Bosch.
“He wants to put me through a trial run,” Emmerich said, voice crisp and full of bitterness. If he had a hangover, he certainly didn’t sound in pain. Developing a tolerance. “The bastard even said I was a good soldier before I ‘pushed my luck’ with the syste
m. Bastard, fucking piece of—”
“Focus, Emmerich.”
“The point is he wants me to report in this coming Monday and…test me, I guess. He didn’t get specific, and I got out of there before I gave in to the urge to strangle him.”
Martin cradled his own throat, sore and bruised. He would need to put some makeup on it that day.
“I should’ve always hated these people,” Emmerich said. “What took me so damn long?”
“Em—”
“Oh, hold on. I’m getting another call.” He ended the call.
Martin lowered the phone to its receiver and leaned back against the wall, his eyes fluttering closed. Absently, he was aware of Auta moving around in the apartment—getting ready, making breakfast. If she found out that Martin was similar to Emmerich, how would she react? Would she turn him in? Martin rubbed his clavicle and shifted.
She wouldn’t find out, so speculating about the possibility was pointless. Martin chose loneliness over…those kinds of activities. It was a moral way to live, at least. It was also safer.
He waited a few minutes before calling Emmerich again.
“It was my mother,” Emmerich said, groaning. “She’s accepted that I’ve changed, but now she’s setting me up with a lady so that people don’t make ‘the same mistake again’. My God, I hate it here.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Having a strange woman snoop around?”
Martin glowered. “So long as you don’t endanger yourself or the rest, then yes, showing evidence that you’re not who you really are is a very good thing. It might end up saving your life against any doubters.”
“If it’s such a great idea, then why didn’t you suggest it sooner?”
“I did,” Martin snapped, biting his tongue a second later.
“No, you didn’t.”
He had, actually, to his superiors, but they had wanted Auta to work with Martin, not Emmerich. Letting loose two assets without any kind of supervision wasn’t wise.
“Martin?”
“Forget it. Just…think before you make any decisions from now on. If you endanger myself or Auta—” The threat died on his tongue. Emmerich didn’t respond to threats, he fled from them. Frustration simmered within Martin. “Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”