"Eagle has arrived."A voice crackled through the radio beside Gustaf, heavy with a German accent. His eyes lit up, energy returning to him in an instant. He grabbed the device and shouted into it, his voice filled with exhilaration.
Paul and Heydrich remained at the docks when suddenly something moved beneath the water. Paul instinctively seized the gun James had lost and aimed into the dark surface.
Then a small smile appeared on his face. Heydrich placed a hand on Paul's shoulder, relief mirrored in his own expression.
The two men stood there alone. Behind them, the ash was still hot, the remains of the building faintly glowing. Sirens grew louder with every passing second, yet neither Paul nor Heydrich showed fear.
Reflected in their pupils, a dark silhouette emerged, growing larger and larger. That night, in the harbor of New York, the heart of the United States of America, a German submarine broke through the water's surface.
The hatch opened with a loud creak, and a familiar face appeared, climbing down.
Werner, Paul thought, as the fatigue suddenly became overwhelming.
The man jumped onto the metal deck, his boots echoing through the night. Other sailors followed, helping Paul and Heydrich aboard the submarine. A breathless Gustaf arrived moments later. Paul gave him a meaningful look before descending into the vessel himself, slowly but surely.
When the first police cars reached the scene, the officers were horrified not only by the extent of the destruction but by the countless corpses scattered across the ground. More and more units arrived, even black cars carrying the FBI, turning the docks into a hive of activity.
All the while, the very last tip of the periscope vanished beneath the cold waters of the Atlantic, as if it had never been there at all.
The submarine's propellers stirred the water around it softly, only a few waves reaching the dock wall.
Yet the sudden change in the water was noticed by someone.
A man clad in an expensive-looking suit, though now in shambles, remained standing. Countless wounds covered his body. One hand pressed against the gaping injury in his torso as he watched the commotion, his eyes heavy with emotion.
"Goodbye, fellow countrymen," he whispered in German, his gaze slowly drifting down toward the sea.
"No. Gimpel, that rat, managed to escape," Heydrich said, shaking his head in frustration as he spoke with Werner in their familiar cabin.
"But how did you even know we were in danger? Did you not carry out the mission Heinrich assigned to you?" Heydrich asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I fulfilled it," Werner replied. "But while doing so, one of my targets was working closely with the Capitol. I tried to contact Gimpel, believing he would help me. Instead, he went silent. Not long after, armed agents were standing outside my motel room. I barely escaped. The only person who knew my location was Gimpel, so I suspected his betrayal. After that, I managed to reach the U-boat and convinced Prien to steer straight into the harbor. In the end, I was right."
Werner stopped and sighed, exhaustion clearly visible.
Heydrich studied him for a moment, then slowly gave an approving nod. The two men remained there for a while, talking and exchanging experiences. Their personal relationship, once distant, seemed to improve noticeably.
Then a lone figure appeared in the doorway.
A tall, black-haired man, bandages covering much of his body, leaned against the frame for support.
"How have you been, Werner?" Paul asked, smiling weakly, worn down by everything that had happened in such a short time.
Werner smiled back. "I have been well. My mission is complete. All are dead except one. Just as you told me."
Heydrich turned toward Paul, clearly unaware of most details of the mission.
Paul met his gaze, understanding Heydrich's curiosity. He tilted his head and gestured for both men to follow him.
"Wait. Did you bring someone on board?" Heydrich asked, his eyes widening in surprise as Paul stopped in front of a cabin door.
Heydrich looked from Paul to Werner, who remained silent.
"You left a cabin empty just to bring an American?" Heydrich said in disbelief. "Who could possibly be that important?" He shook his head and pressed the door handle down.
"Well, he is…" Werner began, but he was too slow. Heydrich had already torn the door open.
Inside sat an older man with messy white hair and an unshaven mustache, dressed in a worn brown suit. He looked up at them with curious eyes.
Heydrich stared back, curiosity quickly turning into confusion. After a few seconds, he turned around.
"Who is that scrawny old man?" he asked, almost angrily.
Werner covered his face with his hand, shaking his head as his lips twitched, struggling to contain his laughter.
Paul was equally amused, but quickly composed himself and placed a hand on Heydrich's shoulder.
"My friend," Paul said, a profound smile on his face, "this is Professor Albert Einstein."
Heydrich thought for a moment, then asked, "Who?"
He was met with another annoyed look from both Paul and Werner.
The man himself remained seated on his bunk, watching the exchange with sharp, thoughtful eyes.
"Wait, I remember," Heydrich said. "Isn't that the Jew who fled Germany? You brought a Jew on board?" He raised an eyebrow, visibly dissatisfied.
"Heydrich, you know we have talked about this." Paul tightened his grip on Heydrich's shoulder. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Heydrich gave a short nod.
"Fine. Fine. But I don't want anything to do with him," Heydrich said, turning away.
Paul and Werner sighed and stepped inside the cabin.
"I apologize, Herr Einstein," Werner said.
"No need," Einstein replied. "I am still amazed by your friendliness. Despite having kidnapped me, despite being German, despite being Nazis. It is utterly unbelievable." His tone shifted between dissatisfaction and curiosity.
"Although Friedrich has probably already told you much, I want to assure you once again that we will not harm you," Paul said as he closed the door, his voice growing quieter and colder.
"First of all, let me introduce myself. I have completely forgotten about that," Paul began, only to be interrupted.
"No need. I know you. Heinrich Jäger, Oberst in the Wehrmacht," Einstein said, smiling despite his situation.
"Well. Fine," Paul replied, collecting his thoughts. "As you have probably noticed, Friedrich and I are not in favor of Hitler and his ideas. You will have a safe place. Every need of yours will be met, and no one will persecute you. All I ask in return is that you remain."
Paul held Einstein's gaze, his eyes intense.
Einstein looked back at him for a moment, trying to decipher his intentions.
"Why would you possibly want that?" Einstein asked, confused. "You do not want me to do anything for you, so you kidnapped me because you do not want me to do anything for them?" He tilted his head slightly.
Paul inhaled.
Of course, he is far too smart. Seeing and hearing this man speak in person is simply unbelievable, Paul thought, nodding slowly.
"As I said," Paul answered calmly, "if you show us your cooperativeness, you will find out the true reason one day. Trust me."
Einstein nodded slowly.
Paul and Werner wished him a good stay. The words sounded strange, considering he had been kidnapped.
The days passed, first slowly, then quickly. While the German submarine was somewhere in the Atlantic, a man was sipping his morning coffee.
Smith watched his wife standing by the stove, cooking, his eyes filled with emotion. Only days earlier, he had thought he would lose her forever. Now she stood in their modest kitchen, right beside the spot where he had been interrogated.
Suddenly she turned and shouted, "Tom, come on, you will be late for school!"
Smith smiled and took another sip of his coffee.
"And you too. You will be late if you sip any more of that coffee," his wife said, placing a hand on her waist.
Smith nearly choked, then laughed it off, though his wife looked at him with fierce eyes. After a moment, she tilted her head in confusion and turned back to the stove.
Smith's gaze drifted to the newspaper lying on the table. He leaned back and picked it up.
"A bunch of nonsense they are writing about again," Smith muttered, shaking his head. Then he stopped.
Massive Fire at the Harbour. Last Connection to Gang War?
"Gang war?"he muttured, shaking his head.
Smith's eyes flew across the article at lightning speed.
The old fish factory had been...
His eyes widened as his gaze shifted back to his wife. Suddenly, he stood up and embraced her from behind.
"Huh?" she murmured in surprise, turning slightly.
"How about we..." He began, his tone playful. "Go out to eat today?"
His wife tilted her head, then smiled.
"I have no idea what has gotten into you today, but I will gladly say yes," she said, laughing as she embraced him.
Smith returned the hug, his expression caught between forced happiness and carefully hidden fear.