Paul sat in the study of his newly purchased house on the outskirts of Berlin. Half of his face was illuminated by the pale afternoon sun shining through the tall windows. His tailored marine blue suit stood out in that moment.
He held a cigar in his hand, watching his gardener water a newly established flower bed.Although the house was nothing compared to the mansion he had seen when visiting the Rheinmetall chairman, it was far from anything an ordinary Oberstleutnant could afford on his salary.
Paul, of course, knew the reason. His bank account had exploded recently. Thanks to his secret deal with the chairman, he had earned 500,000 Reichsmark, an enormous sum for the time.
An ordinary house cost around 10,000 Reichsmark.Despite that, Paul had not bought a mansion. He wanted to keep his business dealings somewhat under the radar, even though he could easily afford one.
He had been reading a book on military history when his eyes suddenly fell on a piece of paper lying in the corner of his desk.
It was no junk note. It was a phone number. A paper he had received when he had still been an entirely different person.
Paul chuckled dryly as he thought back to the party, back to Elisabeth.
Elisabeth…, Paul thought, his gaze wandering to the calendar hanging on the wall. Empty.As a soldier in peaceful times he was not occupied with much.
Now that I think about it, Rundstedt has an exercise today, Paul thought, a slight smile forming on his face.
He stood up, put down his cigar and walked out of his study. He grabbed his car keys from a side table and stepped through the living room into the garden. There he was greeted by an older man wearing an apron.
"Good day, Herr Oberstleutnant," the man said, smiling brightly.
"Good day, Herr Laswinski. The garden looks fabulous," Paul replied as he stepped closer.
"Thank you very much," the man said, straightening with pride.
"I have a favor to ask…" Paul began.
When Paul left the garden through a side door, he was holding a bouquet of flowers in his left hand.
At the doorstep, he nearly bumped into an SS guard assigned to him.
"Excuse me, sir," the guard apologized respectfully, straightening his dark uniform.
"No worries, soldier," Paul answered neutrally, patting him on the shoulder. "I will be gone for a few hours. Make sure everything is like I left it." Paul stepped closer, lowering his voice. "No listening devices or anything like that."
The SS man stepped back, watching Paul for a moment before snapping out of his trance.
"Of course not, Herr Oberstleutnant."
Formally assigned for protection, the man guarded Paul's house around the clock, rotating shifts with another.
Protection, Paul thought silently with a laugh. He knew Hess had sent the man, more for surveillance than anything else. He turned his head toward his black Mercedes limousine, recently purchased.
He got inside, placing his hat and the bouquet on the passenger seat, then started the engine and rolled away.
At the same time, thousands of kilometers across the ocean, another limousine rolled to a stop and a blond, tall and handsome man stepped out. He wore a black suit and closed his jacket before entering a tall building in the heart of New York.
The interior followed the classic style of a luxury hotel. A grand chandelier greeted every guest and elegant ladies sat behind a marble reception desk.
The man walked toward one of them and stopped in front of the counter. He glanced briefly at his expensive-looking watch.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to the Hilton Hotel. How may I assist you?" the young lady asked.
"I want to speak with your manager, please," the man replied curtly.
Although surprised, the receptionist went to fetch him. When she returned, a half-bald middle-aged man was following her.
"Yes, sir?" the manager asked.
"I have an appointment with Mister R," the man said.
"Mister R?" the manager repeated, confused.
"Do not waste my time. Yes, Mister R, the Lancaster Suite," the man said sharply.
The manager narrowed his eyes for a moment before regaining his professional expression.
"Of course, Mister Carry. Please follow me," he said, gesturing down a hallway.
They stepped into an elevator that was already open. Neither spoke. When it reached its destination, a soft bell chimed and the doors slid open.
The manager gestured politely for James to step out.
James walked down the corridor of the forty-first floor toward the only door located there. When he reached the snow-white door with its golden details, he exhaled deeply before knocking.
For a moment there was silence. Then the door opened. A man in a suit looked James up and down, inspecting him. Only after confirming the corridor was empty did he open the door fully.
James was guided through the suite into a corner of the spacious living room. There sat a middle-aged man with gray hair, also dressed in a suit.
"James Carry," the man said, rising from his chair to shake his hand.
"Mister President," James replied.
"Please, take a seat. And it is Mister Roosevelt for you," Roosevelt said, pointing to the chair beside him.
They sat.
"How is your father doing, James?" Roosevelt asked.
"Thank you, he is doing fine, although his health worries us," James said, his tone troubled.
"Awful to hear that. He was always so energetic. I remember when we first met at a donation gala. Yes, those were times," Roosevelt murmured, a touch of melancholy in his voice.
"So what brings you to me, James? I hope it is not your father's condition," Roosevelt continued.
James exhaled. "It is about a dangerous person. Someone I have observed for a long time. He is very dangerous."
Roosevelt raised an eyebrow. "Do not tell me it is one of those Germans again. Hitler, Göring, all of them. I do not know how often I must say it. We are neutral, James."
"It is not about them directly, Mister Roosevelt. It is about a German major," James began.
"A major?" Roosevelt asked, irritated. "Why would I care about a bloody major?"
"A major who was only a lieutenant half a year ago," James added.
Roosevelt blinked. "Such a thing happened?"
"My contacts tell me that the man, Heinrich Jaeger, is appearing unusually often. Unusually influential. Some even claim he was the real reason behind the Condor Legion's recent successes in Spain. You have heard of those reports, I assume?" James said, taking a set of documents from his briefcase.
Roosevelt adjusted his glasses and looked down at the papers while James continued.
"And he is becoming increasingly close to people shaping Germany's foreign policy. He seems to be part of a circle of young Wehrmacht officers rising far too rapidly. He is already forming ties to Hess and even to Hitler. This man is a danger, Mister Roosevelt. A real one."
"Well..." Roosevelt said slowly. "That is certainly interesting, and concerning. If this major is rising that quickly, we cannot ignore it."
He leaned back, tapping the documents with one finger.
"We will have to dig deeper into this Jaeger. If he truly is a threat, I want to know it before the Germans make their next move."
Roosevelt's eyes shifted back to James.
"And you will receive more funding. Your organization has potential, James. America will need a modern intelligence service if Europe continues on this path."
James bowed his head slightly, hiding a triumphant smile. He had just convinced the President of the United States to strengthen the intelligence apparatus. Without saying it directly, he had pushed the birth of the CIA even further.
James leaned back with confidence, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip of tea while Roosevelt continued speaking.
At the same moment, Paul set down his cup, revealing the beautiful face of Elisabeth across from him.
She smiled at him, radiant.
"What would your father say to this?" Paul asked with a grin.
Elisabeth laughed warmly. "Why should he say anything at all? He will not know until…" She hesitated.
"Until?" Paul asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Until you are… serious." She lowered her gaze shyly, playing with the edge of her sleeve.
Paul watched her for a moment, feeling something stir inside him. A decision formed.
"I am," he said quietly. Then he rose. "Come."
He stretched out his hand.
Elisabeth looked at him, puzzled but trusting, and stood up. Before she could speak, Paul lifted her into his arms.
"Paul… what are you doing?" Elisabeth whispered, her cheeks turning red.
"Showing you that I am serious," he answered, calm yet determined.
They left the café and climbed into Paul's Mercedes. He drove through the city, the streets becoming emptier, the houses fewer. Berlin slowly faded into open land.
At some point Elisabeth's restraint broke. She leaned over, resting against him, her breath warm on his cheek. Paul held the steering wheel with one hand and her with the other as their lips met, gently at first, then deeper.
As they kissed, Elisabeth's hand brushed against his chest. Paul caught her wrist softly.
"No, Elisabeth…" he whispered, his voice almost pleading.
But she looked at him, confused, then followed her hand's earlier path with her eyes.
When she finally saw what Paul had tried to hide, she froze.
Her breath halted. She leaned back slowly, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes fixed on his torso.
"Paul… what is that?" she asked, her voice filled with concern and shock.
----------------------------------------
How do you like the story so far? I'm open for your feedback.
Thank you all for the support! I appreciate every Power Stone, comment, and review.