“You stink,” Siegfried said, with all the wit of a twelve-year-old. “Really, you stink.”
“Thank you,” Kurt said, sarcastically. Clobbering his youngest brother in front of their parents was probably not a good idea. “It comes of not being able to shower for years.”
He turned back to his father before he could give in to the urge to tell his brother off, rather sharply, or smack him on the head. Siegfried had always been a prat. It came of being the youngest, Kurt supposed, but he found it hard to care. Siegfried had always been spoiled, in his view. Even Gudrun, the sole daughter, hadn’t been allowed as much latitude as her younger brother.
“Father,” he said. “Why am I here?”
“We couldn’t tell the messenger,” his father said. He smiled, a curious mixture of emotions crossing his face. “Gudrun is getting married.”
Kurt blinked in surprise, then put the pieces together. “Horst?”
“Horst,” his father confirmed. “And if you have any good reason to object, say so now.”
“Gudrun would kill me,” Kurt said. He’d occasionally thought that it was lucky for the Reich that Gudrun had been born female, rather than male. A man with her drive and daring would have probably wound up running the state, instead of tearing it down. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“He’s a prat,” Siegfried said. “Getting married… ugh.”
Kurt reached out and tousled Siegfried’s hair. He knew his younger brother hated being treated like a child, even though he was a child.
“Just you wait until you’re older,” he said. “It will all make sense then.”
He glanced at his mother. “When’s the wedding?”
“Tomorrow,” his mother said. “But we will hold a more formal ceremony after the war.”
Kurt kept his expression carefully blank. Getting married so quickly would have been unthinkable, once upon a time, unless Gudrun was pregnant. But quite a few soldiers he knew had gotten married over the last few weeks, determined to share their lives with someone before they went out on the battlefield. Maybe Horst and Gudrun felt the same way themselves. Marriage might be for life, but their lives might last less than a month, if the SS broke into the city. Kurt could only hope that Gudrun had the sense to kill herself before she fell into their hands.
And besides, he told himself, she will kill me if I dare object.
“That’s good,” he managed finally. “And I look forward to welcoming him into the family.”
“So,” Schwarzkopf said. “I hear you are to wed.”
Horst tensed, despite himself. Only a handful of people knew that Gudrun and he were getting married, but that included the entire council. Gudrun’s family wouldn’t have told the SS anything – they certainly didn’t work for the SS – yet someone on the council might have leaked the information. It was confirmation, of a sort, that there was indeed a traitor on the Reich Council.
Unless someone was careless at some point and blabbed, Horst thought. And one of the staff overheard it.
His mind raced. If Schwarzkopf doubted his loyalty, he would have waited to see if Horst brought the matter up himself. Not telling his handler that he was planning to marry Gudrun – that he was going to marry Gudrun – would have been more than enough proof that his loyalties no longer lay with his former masters. Indeed, it was why he had carefully prepared an outline of what had happened that would uphold his claim to be merely manipulating Gudrun. But it didn’t seem necessary.
He pushed the thought aside with an effort. “It is a way to solidify my grip on her,” he said, lightly. “A wife finds it hard to disagree with her husband, even when the man is clearly in the wrong.”
Schwarzkopf snorted, rudely. “You’ve never been married, have you?”
Horst frowned. “No,” he said. “Have you?”
His handler ignored the question. “How many guests are you inviting to the wedding?”
“Just her family,” Horst said. He’d had very few true friends in Berlin, even before the uprising. Friendship could be very dangerous if one was trying to maintain a cover story. “I won’t have anyone to stand beside me when I sign the papers.”
“She’ll hate that,” Schwarzkopf said. He sounded perversely amused. “Just a simple registry wedding. No ceremony, no speakers, no famous guests. And to think you could probably get most of the council in one room.”
“They vetoed that idea,” Horst said, flatly. It was true enough. Any security officer worth his salt would go ballistic at the thought of gathering hundreds of important people in a single location. “It will have to wait until after the war.”
“And won’t happen at all,” Schwarzkopf said. “I trust you do recall your duty?”
“I have never forgotten my duty,” Horst said, stiffly. “What do you wish of me?”
“We require more precise scheduling details,” Schwarzkopf said. “Particularly of your lovely wife.”
“She isn’t my wife yet,” Horst said, feeling ice trickling down the back of his neck. The limited pieces of information he’d sent them had probably been useful, but he knew they would be keeping him in reserve until they finally needed him. He was just too well-placed to risk. And yet, the sound of gunfire and explosions echoing over the city made it clear that time was running out. “What sort of information do you want?”
“Just her routine schedule,” Schwarzkopf said. “We’ll give you more information nearer the time.”
Horst thought fast. Assassinating Gudrun was a very real possibility, but – as far as Schwarzkopf was concerned – he had an agent who literally slept next to her. Snapping Gudrun’s delicate neck while she slept would be easy. There was no point in trying to sneak a kill-team into the Reichstag when Horst could do the deed and then make his escape, hours before anyone realised that something was wrong. And if they doubted his loyalty, it would be an excellent test.
They want to kidnap her, he thought, numbly. Taking her out of the Reichstag would be impossible, but grabbing her off the streets would be far easier.
“Her schedule changes frequently,” he said. He carefully did not mention that altering her plans at a moment’s notice had been his idea. “I can give you the schedule I know, but I cannot guarantee that it won’t change.”
Schwarzkopf leaned forward. “You cannot ensure your wife is in the right position at the right time?”
Horst knew he should probably make a crude joke, something to make it clear that he thought nothing of Gudrun, but he couldn’t muster the determination. Instead, he met his superior’s eyes.
“She generally has a handful of places to choose from,” he said, carefully. “And while I can try to propose a particular destination, I don’t think I can guarantee that she will go there.”
Schwarzkopf lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed?”
“She is flighty,” Horst lied. “Four days ago, she went to a hospital and chatted to the wounded men; three days ago, she decided she would be going to the hospital again, then changed her mind and insisted on visiting a school instead. I think she enjoyed terrifying her old schoolmasters.”
“I’m sure she did,” Schwarzkopf said.