by Max Hudson
Martin came across a truck—broken windows, rusted paint job—on the side of the road, several blocks from the school. It rested near some old building, perhaps abandoned.
“Here,” Martin said, running up to the truck and opening its unlocked door. “Let’s make this work.” He reached beneath the wheel—twisted his body accordingly—and worked on hotwiring it. “Keep watch for me. This shouldn’t take long.”
Minutes of work, of the breeze whistling by, of Martin’s heart hitting his chest, and the truck hissed and sputtered to life. He smiled. “I got it. Get in.” He hopped up into the driver’s seat, his leg bouncing as he waited for Emmerich to get in the passenger’s seat. Once seated, Martin forced himself to drive at a calm pace—no rushing, no fleeing. “We’ll get your parents.”
“And Dr. Werner,” Emmerich said quietly.
“Em—”
“I found his address. If we can help him—if we can help the world, as you’ve said so many times—then we should.” He leveled Martin with a hard look.
Martin sucked in a breath. “Your parents first. And Auta.”
Emmerich nodded.
“But she might be all right, if she plays her part well enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“She could be seen as a victim in all of this—used for her connection to her father. If she gains the people’s pity…” Martin swallowed. It would be a long shot, considering how thorough the enemy was in extinguishing all potential enemies. But he held onto that hope, at least for now.
“Thank you.”
Martin frowned and glanced at him. “What for? I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’re risking your life for us, despite what your government may want. Thank you.”
Martin grabbed his shoulder. “You did the exact same thing. You deserve so much more than what you’ve received, and I’ll—I’ll find a way to make this right by you.”
“You already have,” Emmerich said, voice raw yet gentle.
Chapter Fourteen
Martin stopped in front of the Hubar’s large home, surrounded by hills and no military whatsoever. Emmerich tossed the page with Dr. Werner’s address on it before getting out of the truck and sprinting into the house.
Martin used the time to memorize the address, his gaze snapping up every time he thought he saw something—a tank, a soldier, anything. It always turned out to be nothing.
Several minutes later, Emmerich walked—walked—out of the house, his facial muscles slack and his eyes glassy.
Martin fidgeted in his seat, nails digging into the wheel. “Emmerich! Hurry!”
Emmerich increased his pace after that.
No one came out of the house after him.
Dread seeped into Martin. But once Emmerich was in the truck, he didn’t hesitate to accelerate the damn thing out of there. There just wasn’t time to be sentimental.
“They wouldn’t come with me,” Emmerich rasped, bowing forward. “I told them everything and I begged, but they refused to come with me.” He shut his eyes tight, but a few tears managed to escape anyway.
Martin’s chest constricted, his lungs twisting. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.” He gritted his teeth past the hurt and kept his arms rigid in place, lest he reach out and hold Emmerich like he wanted to. “We have to stay focused though. Dr. Werner—it’ll take hours to reach him. And by now, I’m sure word will have gotten out about us. Auta’s probably surrounded by SS, whether she’s with her parents or—” in jail. Martin swallowed the words away. “We have to make a decision. Her, Dr. Werner, or us.”
Emmerich buried his face in his hands, his body quivering from a silent sob.
Martin frowned, eyes watering. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He focused on the word again and blinked hard. “You were right earlier—about helping Dr. Werner if possible. I say we at least try to save him, and if it can’t be done, then we get out of the country. If Auta is playing the victim right now, it’ll only hurt the act if we go fetch her.” He could only hope he was making the right decision, because if he wasn’t…
He took a deep breath. It was the best course of action, and it was certainly better than taking no course of action.
***
The drive was relatively quiet, all things considered. They kept their heads low and their voices mute. Emmerich’s eyes dried a little more and more as the time passed, his lips forming a thin, determined line.
It was nightfall when they reached the Werner home, one car in the driveway and a large lawn that was perfectly trimmed. No SS Officers.
Martin parked by the curb and glanced around the neighborhood. Decent-sized homes, manicured lawns, no SS. Perfect. “Stay here,” he said as he got out of the car.
Emmerich got out of the car, too.
Martin glared. “I told you to stay put.”
Emmerich strode around the car, his earlier sorrow not affecting the swagger in his step. “All you have is a bloody letter opener as a weapon. I should come with you.”
He didn’t actually have it anymore—he had dropped it back at the Achter house and forgot about it in his panic. Sighing, Martin bit his tongue and walked up to the front door, Emmerich walking right beside him.
He rang the doorbell, but it wasn’t surprising when no one answered. Only crickets were awake amongst these homes, the distant sound of traffic the only sign that humans somewhere out there were conscious.
He rang the doorbell again.
Emmerich knocked, hard and loud. “Dr. Werner, it’s important. We believe your life is in danger.” He kept on knocking—kept on calling out Dr. Werner.
Martin crossed his arms and glanced over his shoulder at their car. His eyes—making out blurred details of the Werner’s car that seemed off—snapped over to the small bike, leaning against the Werner’s hood.
A child. At least one Werner child.
The front door creaked open, though the darkness behind it hid whomever stood there. “Who are you?” a woman whispered frantically. “What do you want?”
Emmerich opened his mouth, only to freeze. “Uh…we…”
Lying was pointless now. Martin smiled and said, “I’m with the American government. I’ve been undercover for some time, and I have reason to believe that Dr. Bernhardt Werner’s life is in danger. I wish to take him and his family to a safe location until this war is over.”
The door opened a little more, moonlight slashing over the wide blue eyes. “To America?” she whispered, and whether her tone cracked out of fear or hope, Martin couldn’t tell.
“Most likely. Though there are other places in the world which are safer than Europe.”
She stared at him for another few seconds. “What’s your name?”
“Martin Murray. I’m an agent of the Office of Strategic Services.” When she pointedly glanced at Emmerich, Martin introduced him as the OSS’s inside man.
“You’re a traitor, too?” she whispered. But before Emmerich could even answer, she opened the door fully. She stood tall, a big robe wrapped around her form. “My husband hasn’t returned home tonight. He always works late, but never this late.” Her breath hitched. “Please, let me get my children and take us out of here. I don’t know what has happened to him, but he…” She closed her eyes.
“Get your children,” Martin said gently. “Mr. Hubar will take you all to the airport. I’ll search for your husband.”
Emmerich grabbed his arm and glared. “What? What are you talking about?”
Martin kept his eyes on Mrs. Werner. “Go. Hurry.”
She spun around and ran to the other side of the house. The names of her children erupted from her mouth, her footsteps unsteady.
Emmerich squeezed his arm and tugged. “Martin, I’m staying with you.”
“You all need to escape from this country,” he said, voice calm despite the anxiety that made each heartbeat hurt. He looked at Emmerich, the man’s exasperated rage filling Martin with affection. “Plus, you really shouldn’t
be so stubborn toward logical decisions all the time. It’s bad for your health.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Then how will the Werner family get to safety?”
Mrs. Werner, still in her robe, carried two young boys in her arms as she approached the door.
Emmerich turned to her. “Do you know how to get to the airport? Can you buy plane tickets?”
“What?” Her expression pinched. “Yes.”
“Then get packed and do so. I’m helping him find Dr. Werner.”
Affection wilted within Martin as he glared. “Emmerich—”
“Go,” Emmerich told the woman. “Be quick.”
She glanced between them for a few seconds before she dashed away with her sleepy children.
Martin’s glare deepened, anxiety doubling—making his blood rush too fast. “They’ll kill her if they think she’s fleeing.”
“They’ll kill her if they realize she’s with a traitor.” Emmerich patted his own chest.
Martin nearly flinched at the truth of that. “The longer we stay here…” His throat constricted. “Emmerich, they won’t give you another chance. If they catch us, it’s the end.”
“Then we won’t let them catch us.”
Martin groaned. “God, Emmerich, for once could you just take something serio—”
“I love you.”
Martin choked on whatever he had been about to say.
Emmerich’s expression softened, a smile small but wrought with sincerity. “I love you. I stand with you, no matter what the outcome will be. You’re not going to convince me to run without you, so I think it’d be in both of our best interests if you stop trying.” His hand slid up Martin’s arm, to his neck, his palm clasping over Martin’s pulse. “All right?”
There were so many things he should’ve said. He should’ve pushed Emmerich away—should’ve called him mad—should’ve done something other than gape at him while a relieving kind of warmth encased his torso.
He was loved. He was known and he was loved.
Emmerich removed his hands when Mrs. Werner, dressed in a large coat instead of a robe, returned with a couple of bags in her arms. Her children trailed behind her, their tiny fists rubbing their eyes.
“Ready?” Emmerich asked her.
She nodded.
He motioned toward her car. “Good luck.”
She whispered at her children to follow her as she hurried over to the car. Then she stopped and looked back at Martin. “My husband works at the University of Kirole. Where the government takes him, I don’t know, but his lab is at the university.”
Martin blinked at her.
Emmerich thanked her on both of their behalves.
She got her children and the bags into the backseat of the car.
Emmerich guided Martin into the house, Martin’s steps clumsy and his chest aching—so full of fiery warmth and soothing relief.
“Can you call for backup, at least?” Emmerich asked, scanning the dark house. “The university will probably be well guarded, and if Werner is there…”
Right, right, the job, their lives—Martin walked through the house, his shoe bumping into a toy every so often, until he found a phone sitting on top of a small table. Secure lines didn’t matter in the wake of desperation, so he dialed the OSS without hesitation. Charlie didn’t answer the first time, nor the second, but thankfully, he answered the third time Martin called.
Martin sputtered out his explanations. “Is there any hope for an extraction?”
Charlie huffed in frustration. “Papers can be—”
“I know! Just answer the damn question: yes or no.”
“No,” Charlie growled. “And as far as I can tell, your mission is over. You failed. If you want to get out of there alive, then you leave Dr. Werner and Hubar. You could even frame Hubar for killing that col—”
Martin hung up and swore.
Emmerich, standing beside him, sighed. “So, no help then?”
“We’ve wasted enough time here.” He hurried out of the house and into the truck, Emmerich right behind him.
The streets were still empty, no sirens or shouts of any kind nearby.
Martin started the truck again, Emmerich closed the door and settled in his seat. “Do you know where Kirole is?” Martin asked.
“Vaguely,” Emmerich said. “It’s in the city, west of here.”
It was a start.
***
Some lights on the university grounds were on, soldiers standing rigid in front of various buildings. A few soldiers marched from one road to the next, their faces rigid and aimed forward.
Martin parked the truck a few blocks away and stared at the grounds—eyes flicking between the lighted rooms in a few of the buildings to the marching soldiers. He tugged at the collar of his shirt.
Emmerich pressed his knuckles to his lips, eyes wide and alert. He made a strangled noise of thought—of distress.
“You can take this truck and drive away right now,” Martin rasped, a sardonic smile shaping his lips.
“Fuck off.”
Martin laughed, breathy and broken but genuine. He turned to Emmerich, the moonlight reflecting off the German’s dark hair and dark eyes. A captivating sight which made breathing easier, despite everything.
He leaned in and kissed Emmerich’s cheek. “Stay close,” he whispered.
Emmerich turned to kiss his lips. “Always,” he breathed back.
Martin’s eyes fluttered closed, and for a few seconds, he reveled in Emmerich’s presence. Then he faced forward and crept onward, one hand hovering back toward Emmerich.
They kept to the shadows and the trees as often as possible, going still every time a few soldiers moved by them. Martin’s gaze was glued to the nearest building, the one with the lights on in a second story room. He had just reached its back door—the noises of footsteps and German whispers all around them—when his eyes landed on a sign several yards to the right.
SCIENCE BUILDING
Beside the words was an arrow that pointed down a path that, with their luck, probably led to the other side of the university.
Martin suppressed the urge to swear, the frantic anger bubbling beneath his clavicle. He glanced back at Emmerich—who nodded in support—before he pressed his fingers to the wall and sneaked over toward that wretched sign.
With a great deal of caution, he peered around the building and into the courtyard.
There were still soldiers there—standing still in front of their respective buildings. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell if the men even blinked.
Martin faced the sign. Beyond it was some more foliage, lush bushes and one skinny tree. He licked his lips, the cold air brushing over them and making him shiver.
He stepped forward.
Emmerich grabbed his shoulder and pulled back. “Wait,” he whispered. He pointed behind them.
Soldiers marched down the path, toward the sign—toward Martin and Emmerich.
Martin turned and gently pushed Emmerich back, guiding him back in the direction they had come from. Once they were by some bushes, Martin grabbed him and lowered him. Together, they were motionless, eyes trained on the soldiers who marched by.
Not one soldier glanced in their direction. The darkness, the bushes—they did their job in concealing the two men.
Martin released a shaky breath, his hand resting on the small of Emmerich’s back. “Let’s go around the property,” he whispered, “instead of through. To the Science Building.”
Emmerich nodded.
***
Going around hadn’t been that much easier, but with the trees and the foliage, Martin and Emmerich managed to stay unseen by the SS Officers who patrolled the area. Martin’s steps had been precise though, his feet slow to act as they prodded the ground in front of him. Stepping on a branch, on a dry leaf—and it could all be over.
At last, they reached the massive back doors of the Science Building. Martin, even while knowing better, jiggled
the doorknobs just in case. They didn’t open. “Keep a look out,” he whispered to Emmerich—more out of habit than necessity—and took out a few cards and hairpins he always kept in his pants pockets. Then he crouched before the door’s slit and got to work near the doorknob.
Bigger doors didn’t mean stronger locks. Not always.
He bit his lip and shimmied one card into the slit while angling the hairpin in at a different angle.
Emmerich, still keeping watch, pressed his leg against him somewhat.
In a matter of minutes, the door clicked and unlocked beneath Martin’s touch. He nearly sagged with relief but restrained himself, pocketing the cards and hairpins before opening the door a smidge. “Come on.” He slipped inside the building—keeping low, below the windows.
Emmerich slipped in after him.
Their footsteps squeaked a little as they moved, Martin craning his neck to peer into each room—each classroom—each office.
They reached the staircase, something rectangular glinting on the third step.
Martin furrowed his brow and picked up the rectangle. He frowned at the photo, the name “B. WERNER” typed below it. He showed it to Emmerich.
Emmerich sucked in a breath. “We better hur—”
Multiple gunshots burst in the floor above of them.
“DEATH TO TRAITORS!” someone shouted. “HEIL HILTER!”
Martin squeezed the identification card and cursed, a flash of sorrow hitting him in the gut. God, if he hadn’t wasted so much time at the Werner house—if hadn’t destroyed their covers back at the Achter home—
“He could still be alive.” Emmerich whispered. “We have to see.”
More gunfire roared above them.
Emmerich, the damn fool, crept in the direction of the staircase anyway before Martin grabbed him and yanked him back. Emmerich grunted and struggled against the hold. “Martin—”
“We can’t risk it.”
“If he’s alive—”
“He isn’t.”
“And if he is?” Emmerich glared back at him. “Could you live with the guilt of abandoning him here?” His eyes—weighted and tired and brimming with desperate determination—pierced Martin.
