Secret Allies

by Max Hudson

  It was more of an apology he had ever expected to get from her, a weak apology as it was. He smiled, tension fading from his shoulders. “To be fair, Auta,” he said, “I once thought of it as an illness, too. But then I…” Awe sprouted in the pit of his chest, anxiety and exhilaration swirling around it. “I fell in love,” he breathed, “like you said. And I must tell you that I was wrong. If love is something to be eradicated—” He shook his head. “No. I was wrong. And so were you.”

  She kept her gaze on her fingers. After hesitating a few seconds, she walked away. “I’ll get Mama to prepare an invitation for Emmerich, too.”

  “Good,” he said absently, still reeling from what he had just learned.

  He loved Emmerich. The first person he had fallen in love with. Martin’s eyes stung as the weight of it wrapped itself tighter around him. He hadn’t even dared to hope for such a thing to occur.

  He loved Emmerich Hubar.

  Martin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and leaned into the table before him.

  The time, the place—it couldn’t have been worse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was surreal how fast time went after that. Though Martin had gone over the plan with Emmerich and Auta multiple times throughout the week, he still felt stunned as he stood in the Achters’ large house. Achter relatives, all in fancy and proper attire, mingled with one another as they stayed in the confined space of the first floor.

  Martin’s smile was automatic. He smiled and nodded at every person who walked by. All the while, his shoulder bumped into Auta’s repeatedly, who stood close to her mother and father. The General frowned at the glass of wine in his hand, brow wrinkled. Edda, on the other hand, was chatting away with anyone who came within earshot of her.

  “They should be separated, I know, I know,” Edda said to a young man who hadn’t said a word to her, “but Auta insisted that they be together for as long as possible—until she gets into her wedding gown, obviously. We can’t have the groom see her then!” She giggled and swatted her hand toward Auta. “My girl, so in love that she breaks tradition. I didn’t have the heart to go against her wishes.”

  Auta looked away, her smile twitching and her eyes blazing.

  Martin gave her a comforting smile in return. “Love does strange things to us all,” he said in defense.

  “Apparently,” Edda said, giggling again.

  The young man she had been speaking with had already wandered away.

  Edda started up another conversation with an older couple—two people who actually stopped to listen.

  Martin glanced around, looking curious and nervous. He didn’t let his gaze linger on Emmerich, near the back doors, whispering to his lovely date. The woman giggled, Emmerich’s mouth still close to her ear.

  Martin’s gut clenched, a hint of anger tinging his blood. He bit his tongue hard behind his forced smile. The sharp pain was only a brief distraction though, the sight of Emmerich and that woman—

  Martin glanced at other people and forced himself to breathe deeply. Jealous? Him? He had meant it when he told Emmerich that to feel this way in regards to this particular situation was beyond ridiculous. And it was. But…

  Martin glanced back at Emmerich. Now, with his hand in her hand, he and the woman walked into the adjacent room, the kitchen. Near there was a hallway which led to the General’s office, the staircase, a guest bedroom—a guest bedroom with clean sheets, flowers, a lock on the door—

  Martin blinked hard and faced forward, smiling at a couple and their two young daughters as they all congratulated him and Auta. Auta crouched down and waved at the little girls, who both blushed and hid behind their parents.

  They all had a nice laugh from that.

  Martin glanced back to where Emmerich had been—still not there—and forced himself to face forward again. His heartbeat quickened, frustration clawing at his torso.

  He was being too obvious, too jealous.

  He wrapped one arm around Auta, who jumped and widened her eyes at him. “Love you,” he said.

  She laughed, a grimace contorting her face. “Love you, too.”

  Her mother cooed. “Save it for the wedding.” She gently grabbed both of Auta’s arms and pulled her out of Martin’s grip. “There is plenty of time for love and romance later.”

  Martin nodded. “Yes, there is.” He fought against the strong urge to glance behind him again, the strain of this nearly making his smile twitch.

  ***

  Emmerich and that woman still hadn’t reemerged when Edda announced it was time for the bride and groom to part ways and prepare for the wedding. She grabbed Auta’s wrist and waved toward Martin. “My husband will take you, Martin. Be sure to look sharp.”

  The General huffed, taking out a cigar and lighting it.

  All the relatives were all saying their goodbyes—some cheering—when Martin stepped back from the crowd and shook his head. “I think both the Achter parents should go with their daughter.”

  Edda laughed. “What? Her father in the bride’s dressing room?”

  “Or outside it,” Martin said with a sheepish shrug. “I still have to drive my own car there, and I just—” He glanced at the General, smoking and looking bored. “I remember Auta saying how much she wanted you both to be there to see her finally married right. It’d mean the world to her, even if she’s too proud to admit it.”

  Auta glared at him, her smile quivering as anger simmered in her eyes.

  “That she is,” Edda agreed. She patted her daughter’s arm. “We are very proud of you, sweetheart. You’re our only one, and that makes you the most important one.”

  Auta blinked owlishly. “Oh, Mama, that’s—”

  Edda tugged her along while motioning toward General Achter. “Come on, dear. Your daughter needs both of us.”

  The General trudged behind the two women. He never looked up as people said their goodbyes—just kept puffing smoke and grunting.

  “I need to use the powder room,” Martin told the people around him—smiling, waving, brows furrowing—as he gently pushed his way past another group of people and into the kitchen.

  Empty.

  He strode through the hallway, shoes padding over the long rug which covered the wooden floors. Large portraits of various people—from Hitler to Edda’s maternal grandmother—filled the walls, all painted eyes following Martin. His skin crawled, and he kept looking behind him to make sure no real eyes were upon him.

  He peered through one doorway as if he was looking for the powder room. Then he walked onward and peered through another. He knew the General’s office was at the end of the hall, in the corner of the house, but he had to make it look—

  A feminine, pitchy moan erupted from the end of the hall.

  Martin froze. A distilled kind of rage flushed down his chest, and it took a lot of effort to look down the hall—at the open door which led into the office. Controlled by some primal instinct, he walked forward, all need for pretenses evaporating.

  A breathy giggle, another moan, shuffling of paper—

  Martin held his breath and looked into the General’s office.

  Emmerich’s lady sat on top of the desk, her legs wrapped around Emmerich’s waist as his palms slid over of the desk’s surface. His face was buried in her neck, and each time he bucked against her, she’d moan. She smiled wide, eyes closed and hair messy.

  Martin clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into the beef of his palm. He wanted to yell—the urge to do so hot acid in his torso—and his nostrils flared.

  This was part of the job though. They needed intel, and Emmerich—

  Emmerich leaned forward, patting the desk, and then opening the top drawer. When his lady started to turn toward his face, he bucked, and she canted her head back and moaned. He dug through the drawer all the while.

  Martin’s anger uncoiled. It was only part of the job.

  “That’s not the powder room,” a gruff voice said beside him.


  Martin choked on a cry as his eyes snapped to the shorter man, Colonel…Colonel Something. Damn it, Martin’s mind went blank of everything except Emmerich and that woman.

  Colonel Something glared, clearly mistrusting, and then Emmerich’s lady moaned. The colonel’s eyes widened, mouth falling open.

  Martin blurted out the beginning of an excuse as the short man barged past him and entered the office. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  The lady cried out and shoved Emmerich back, who stumbled while dropping a few pages to the floor.

  The colonel’s gaze snapped to the papers.

  The lady hopped off the desk and smoothed out her dress.

  Emmerich’s eyes darted between the colonel and Martin. Panting, Emmerich glanced at the pages which had managed to stay in his hand. “Um, I—erm, this looks worse than it is. You see—”

  The colonel unholstered a gun and aimed it at Emmerich’s heart.

  The woman shrieked and ran out.

  “Wait!” Martin dashed forward—hands held up—and stood in front of Emmerich. “There cannot be a shooting in my father-in-law’s house on my wedding day, please.” He spoke too quickly, voice cracking and heart hammering.

  The colonel gawked. “What are you talking about?! He’s an intruder!” He waved his gun to the side. “Get out of my way before I shoot you for treason.”

  “Please.” He could practically feel Emmerich’s body heat behind him, Emmerich’s stuttering breaths tickling the back of Martin’s neck. “I don’t want any disturbances today. Not today.”

  “We’re at war, boy. So get the hell out of the way right now.” He cocked the gun.

  He couldn’t. He felt as if his legs had turned to stone, his well-being somehow tethered to Emmerich’s. The mere thought of stepping aside and leaving Emmerich to his fate sent a disgusted chill over Martin’s flesh. Never. He could not—and would not—ever allow that to happen.

  “Move,” Emmerich said gently. “It’s all right.”

  Martin clenched his teeth, the only thing that kept him snarling outright.

  “I can explain myself,” Emmerich said, fingers sliding into Martin’s right pocket. No, no—not fingers. “But you have to lower your hands, move out of the way, and let me speak.”

  Martin lowered his hands, sinking them into his pockets. He grabbed whatever Emmerich had put into his right pocket—long, metal, sharp—a letter opener. Gruesome, bloody—

  Emmerich’s breath hitched, a shaky exhale escaping him.

  —necessary.

  Nodding, Martin stepped forward. “I apologize for interfering, Colonel. I never meant to offend—” He stepped to the side, grabbed the colonel’s wrist, and then stabbed the colonel’s jugular vein.

  The colonel reeled to the side, Martin’s iron-grip on his wrist making him drop the gun.

  Emmerich ran over and closed the door.

  Martin and the shorter man struggled—kicking, gasping, scratching, one more stab in the neck—until the blood loss finally overtook the colonel. Covered in dark red, he slumped on his knees and wheezed. He spat a few hateful words in regards to treachery before collapsing, eyes dulling.

  Martin panted and dusted himself off, blotches of blood staining his clothes. Adrenaline quivered through him and made him dizzy. “We have to leave,” he blurted. “We’re compromised. We have to leave. We have to leave now.”

  “Wait,” Emmerich said, walking over to the desk. “I wasn’t finished going through this.” He tugged on another drawer, this one clearly locked.

  “It’s too late,” Martin snapped. “That woman’s probably telling someone something right now, and they’ll come barging in here to kill us.”

  Emmerich, not even glancing at Martin, walked around the desk and picked up the gun on the floor. Then he returned to the locked desk drawer and aimed the gun at it.

  Martin paled and rushed at him. “Don’t you—”

  Emmerich shot the drawer. Repeatedly.

  People within the house screamed.

  Martin swore. He grabbed Emmerich—who grabbed a bunch of papers out of the locked drawer and cradled them to his chest—and yanked him over to the window.

  Footsteps rushed in their direction.

  Martin opened the window and all but shoved Emmerich through it, the man rolling over the ground and up onto his feet. Martin hurried after him, and the two ran for Emmerich’s car—closest to them, parked across the street and not blocked in by any other vehicles.

  “I have a mind to murder you,” Martin snarled as they ran, enraged shouts and cries bursting behind them.

  Emmerich glared. “What? Why?!” He glanced at the papers against his chest. “We got a lot of information here.”

  “Our cover is blown, you idiot!”

  “It was already!”

  “Where are your keys?”

  “What?”

  Gunfire smacked against the pavement—the cars—everything around them. More people behind them yelled. If they crawled through the window, they’d be on their tails within seconds. If they ran to a door—

  Martin and Emmerich stopped at the car. As Emmerich squirmed in an attempt to keep the papers safe, hand snaking down toward his right pocket, Martin shoved his hand inside said pocket and took out the keys. “Get in the damn passenger’s side!”

  More gunshots whizzed by, piercing the car doors.

  Emmerich ran to the other side of the car.

  Martin unlocked the car, got in, unlocked the other door—the windows shattered, SS Officers visible in the rearview mirror running toward them.

  Martin started the car and floored it just as Emmerich threw himself in.

  “Keep your head low!” Martin barked.

  The back window cracked, then shattered. Several SS Officers chased after them, many others getting into their own cars.

  Martin swore and swerved down the left road, where more large houses and nicely kept lawns stood.

  Emmerich, not listening to Martin, sat up straight and tried to organize the scattered pages in his laps. “We’ll find something useful here, at least.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore. We have to find Auta and get you out of here.”

  “But what about the physicist? He matters to this mission, doesn’t he?”

  “This mission is done! How many ways do I have to explain it to you?!” He swerved down another street, nearly hitting a woman who was crossing the road.

  She screamed and leapt out of the way.

  Cars sped into sight behind him, no doubt having spotted the car making the sharp turn when it did.

  Martin growled at the rearview mirror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He swerved down another street, and then down another one, blood afire yet his muscles numbing out.

  Still not listening to him, Emmerich sifted through the papers and glanced over them. “We can still do something,” he said. “Before we leave, we can…do something.”

  Cars squealed somewhere within the neighborhood behind them.

  Had to be quiet—quick but quiet. “We have to ditch the car,” Martin said. “Get it into the city and then find a different one.” They would only have big houses for cover for so long. Martin bit his tongue when he heard car engines roar and sputter somewhere.

  Emmerich just kept skimming through those damn pages.

  He circled around within the neighborhood for as long as he could—always getting a bare glimpse of their enemies in adjacent streets—before finally speeding into the city. By the grace of God, the Nazis continued to hunt for them inside the neighborhood.

  Martin drove off the road the second a bridge came into sight.

  Emmerich swore, hands smacking down on the papers. “What the hell—?!”

  Martin came to a jarring halt right beneath the bridge, its inky shadow providing decent enough cover despite the shallow water’s sparkling and reflective nature. “Out,” he said, getting out of the car.

  Emmerich obeyed, gathering the papers. “I’ve come across Werner�
�s name a few times, but no addresses yet. He kept proposing a bunch of different theories, only to have them fail again and again.” Emmerich sounded proud—giddy, even. “They think he was sabotaging his own experiments to keep the Nazis from—what are you doing?”

  Martin moved quickly onward, turning in circles every few moments as he searched. “I told you, we need to find another car. A parking lot with few people. Or many people. Either way, we need to be discreet this time. It’s our best chance for escape.”

  “But what about Dr. Werner?”

  “What about you?!” Martin nearly spun around—nearly yelled some more—but there wasn’t time for that. Urgency thrummed all around him. It was as if fate itself was screaming threats at Emmerich while Emmerich acted oblivious to the danger.

  Emmerich didn’t respond right away, just kept following.

  “Or your parents,” Martin breathed. His eyes locked on to a school. There would be SS Officers there, just as were SS Officers near every building, but it was close, and it must have cars nearby. “Our lives come first.”

  Emmerich swore. “I…I didn’t think about them.” He ran up so that he walked right beside Martin. “The Americans will protect them, yes?”

  “If not them, then I will somehow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  SS Officers marched in the distance, down a busy street of office buildings.

  Martin forced himself to slow somewhat. Look casual, look innocent—and he grabbed Emmerich’s arm to slow him down a little.

  “Martin,” Emmerich said a little louder. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t the Americans protect them? We’re assets, aren’t we?”

  “The OSS protects what it can use, and what can’t hurt them,” Martin said, the words heavy on his tongue. “They’ll never know for certain if you and your family will reaffiliate yourselves with the Nazis, so they won’t risk using their own resources to keep you safe.” It was treacherous, and guilt flickered in his gut. But it was nothing compared to the painful heat that singed within him every time he thought of burning and tearing. Expendable. Emmerich.

  Emmerich stared blankly at the ground as he kept up. His lips twitched downward, his shoulders low and his shoes practically skidding over the ground.