Jörg. H. Trauboth - Three Brothers

“We can do that, even at two o’clock in the morning. The images will be green, but still recognizable,” confirms Wolf. He has already tested that out for himself a number of times. There is no reason why it shouldn’t work transmitting the video to Berlin. His people simply need a secure data connection.

“…and we will make sure that the images are received on this side, Madam Chancellor,” Bloedorn adds purposely.

“Very good, gentlemen. If nothing else comes up in the meantime, we will meet again on December 24th at 11.30 p.m. I am aware of what I am asking of you. But I also don’t think we should leave our elite soldiers alone on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. For anyone who cannot be here on that evening, I completely understand. Furthermore, our official stance is: The Federal Republic of Germany is not open to political extortion . Thank you for the excellent briefing. Good luck with the preparations!”

The meeting ends at exactly 7 p.m. Rudi quickly returns to his office. He has a difficult assignment of consolation ahead of him. He has to speak to the wives of the hostages without revealing too much information, but still reassuring them. The impossible task of trying to square the circle.

Before the Chancellor gets into her car, she waves the defense minister over to her.

“Can you manage all that, Paul?”

“We sure can, Henriette. There are no guarantees with such missions, you know that, but we are positive we will get those hostages out of there!”

“I sure hope so, too. Otherwise, God help us! See you later. I will shoot for 8 o’clock.”

“Till then.”

As the black, armored Audi A8 makes it way toward the little, hipped-roofed cottage with bulls-eye windows in Berlin-Dahlem with the chancellor in the back seat, it is already dark outside. A cold front from Scandinavia has hit Berlin. The first snow of the season collects on the tree branches like fine cotton, transforming the city and countryside into a fairy tale landscape of sparkling Christmas lights.

The bodyguards in the car ahead radio the OK to her driver. The route is “clear,” the location is peaceful, nothing out of the ordinary. The bodyguards are still uninformed about the security level now at critical. Henriette had kept the rest of the day’s appointments as short as possible, so as to be done with this hellish work day as soon as possible and finally alone – or more precisely, with him.

This man is the best thing to happen to her after a three-yearlong marriage and an uncomplicated divorce. It all started during this one discussion in her office, where he refused to answer a certain question. He simply looked at her with his steel-blue eyes. His right eyebrow rose slightly upward, and his youthful smirk branded itself into her brain. The guy’s simply not going to answer, she thought, who does he think he is? Ten seconds later, she had already forgotten her question. Such a thing had never happened before to the astute and poised Henriette. And she didn’t quite know what had happened. But the result was like an inner trembling combined with intense curiosity. On that same evening, they went out for dinner together and then to his place.

Since then, neither of them was willing to stop seeing each other, though well aware that theirs is a game with an uncertain outcome. How does this man continue to fascinate me? she wonders. Spending time with Paul in his little cottage means to be able to talk freely and let herself go in complete confidence that he will not use any information to his advantage as minister, limitless trust. Something that seems to have gone missing within Berlin’s political realm, perhaps it was never there to begin with.

She pulls her Blackberry from her bag and looks at a photo of him. She laughs about his thinning blonde hair, his slight paunch, and the clandestine male vanity that develops as they get older. You don’t need to hide anything, she thinks, not you. For a man, you have incredible empathy, you can differentiate between what works and what doesn’t. In everything that you do, you stay true to who you are, even in cabinet meetings. Perhaps that’s why we fit so well together.

She quickly takes a look at a current photo of her cabinet. A reflection of society. Primarily men, tall and short, fat and slim. Seven women, five normal-looking and two more attractive ones. She studies their faces, which cleverly conceal their personal agendas, including those of her own party. The ministers are cautious around her, very cautious. They know that the chancellor demands the utmost discipline from her cabinet. Anyone who dares to show public disloyalty is at risk. Henriette allows only one second chance and discipline from the cabinet. The old leftovers… I got rid of them the first day, so many yes-men, it was unbearable. Paul is the best defense minister I could ever wish for. He also seems to be the first one able to seize control of this uncontrollable political apparatus. The unsuccessful and expensive armament plans of his predecessors, the increasing number of obligations abroad, the desolate duty of operational readiness. Numerable generals and secretaries of state who are all just waiting to see him make a mistake. How can Paul still get such positive press coverage, she asks herself as the car slowly approached his house. I will have to ask him how he manages to be so virtuous amidst this political juggernaut with an ejector seat, and still maintain his unbelievable serenity.

They turn into his street.

The ministry was no ordinary career step for him, she senses, it was a way to himself. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much. And probably also because he, like herself, loves to read the stoic philosophy of Marcus Aurelius. They are both responsible preservationists, always mindful of the greater good, and above all, they are not risk-takers.

She turns off her phone.

“The nation will have to bear without me for a few hours. I need to refill my tank after that crisis meeting…with a dose of Paul.” She whispers to herself.

She laughs softly as she envisions how everything would soon play out. They would, of course, talk about the KSK mission.

But tonight, I don’t want to be restricted and proper, I want to feel like a woman again, she thinks.

She was fiendishly excited at the idea of playing out her feminine side, aware that if their relationship became a topic in the Berlin political world, it would have to end immediately. Their exciting and nowhere near fully-expended relationship has been kept secret all this time. And it is essential that it stays that way. She glances at her bodyguards, they’d be the first in line of those in the know. They are not allowed to even suspect what really connects her and the defense minister outside the office.

The front gate opens. Paul is standing there watching her car pull up. He has traded his suit jacket for a black cashmere sweater with a red polo shirt underneath.

“Welcome Ms. Behrens, Henriette Behrens.”

“What kind of a welcome is that?”

“Take a look at your license plate, James!”

Henriette turns toward the car and shakes her head.

“Oh God, they put that 007 plate on again!

I went all around Brussels with that thing on there, much to the amusement of the other heads of state.”

The heavy, white security door glides closed behind them. He helps her out of her coat. Immediately, all the stress of the day and the crisis conference simply fall away.

They ascend the slightly creaky, elegantly curved, wooden staircase to his living room. I love this house, she thinks. No bunker-like atmosphere, no Bauhaus elements, no sterile showcase furniture, just these warm colors and the smell of wood burning in the fireplace.