But now, years later, those words sounded different. “Don’t believe everything they tell you.” What had he meant?
Had he known then what was coming? Had he known he would not return—not because he would die in combat, but because he would disappear into something from which there was no easy return? Anna turned on her side and faced the cold wall.
It hurt even to consider that Dmitry might have betrayed her. Betraying his country would have been terrible enough, though war had broken stronger men than he. But the idea that he had betrayed her personally was almost impossible to bear.
She had waited for him, mourned him, carried his memory faithfully for two years. And still, common sense raised another question: if he were simply a turncoat, how had he become a general so quickly? Ordinary defectors did not become full generals in the enemy army.
At best they became informants, propagandists, or low-level collaborators. But the man she had seen held real rank and real authority. That did not fit any ordinary pattern of betrayal.
By morning, exhausted, Anna made a professional decision. She would watch, listen, and look for proof. Until she knew the facts, she would do nothing that might expose her true identity or endanger the operation.
Still, deep down, one small hope remained alive: the third possibility. That he had been alive all this time and had remained one of theirs. She wanted to believe that for the last two years he had been doing what she herself had been doing—fighting the enemy from the inside.
She got up early, washed in icy water from a pitcher, dressed carefully, and left the room quietly so as not to wake Helga. Outside, the air was cold but the sun was bright, and the first signs of spring were beginning to show.
Dirty snow was melting, and water ran down the broken streets. Anna walked to headquarters as usual, trying to slow her heartbeat.
At five minutes to nine she was standing at attention outside the office assigned to General von Riedel. His aide, a young lieutenant with slicked-down hair, gave her a curt nod and opened the heavy door. “Frau Müller, the translator has arrived,” he announced.
The general sat behind a large desk, studying papers. He looked up for a second, glanced at her without expression, and went back to reading. “Sit,” he said in German.
“The mayor won’t arrive for another half hour. Until then, I want to review several captured documents in the local language.” Anna sat carefully in the chair opposite him.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to hide the shaking. The aide left and shut the heavy oak door behind him. For the first time, they were alone.
The general kept reading, as if she were not there. The silence stretched. Anna stared at his bent head, the dark hair touched with gray, the familiar profile, and waited.
She didn’t know exactly what she was waiting for. Then he spoke in her native language. His voice was very quiet, almost a whisper, and he did not lift his head from the papers.
To anyone outside, it would have looked as if he were simply reading aloud. “Anya, don’t react. Don’t change your expression. Just listen.”
Her heart stopped, then slammed back into motion so hard her vision blurred. He went on in the same low, even tone, still not looking at her.
“I know exactly who you are. I know what kind of work you’re doing in this building. I’ll explain everything, but not now.”
“For now, listen and remember. Trust no one in this headquarters, especially counterintelligence. They’re looking for the leak, and they’re getting close. Be very careful.”
Anna sat perfectly still. She had learned to keep her face under pressure, but this was harder than anything she had ever done. She said nothing. She did not yet know whether she could trust this man who had come back from the dead.
At last he set the papers down, raised his head, and looked directly at her. In his eyes she saw something she had never seen before: old pain, deep fatigue, and something close to despair.
“You don’t believe me,” he said quietly. “I understand that. In your place, I wouldn’t believe me either. But I don’t have time to explain everything now.”
“Tonight, after six, come to the ruined church on the edge of town, the one across from the old cemetery. I’ll be there. I’ll tell you everything.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door. General von Riedel switched instantly back into character. His face hardened, went formal, distant.
“Come in,” he said sharply. The aide opened the door. “Sir, the mayor has arrived.”
“Send him in,” von Riedel said. For the next hour Anna translated mechanically as the general questioned the local mayor, a thin, frightened man with darting eyes, about food deliveries and public sentiment.
She did her job by reflex, barely hearing the words. One sentence kept sounding in her head: “Anya, don’t react. Just listen.”
He had called her Anya—the way only her husband had called her. Not Anna. Not some formal version. Just Anya. Two simple syllables that held their whole life before the war…
