The year is 1942 and Europe is at the height of World War Two. Mila Goldstein, a Dutch Jew living in occupied Holland, has signed on as an informant for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). However, days before her assignment, a wounded Ge...
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Mila drew in a sharp breath, the icy, winter air filling her lungs. It was her first day on the job. She would be working as the personal secretary of Arthur Eichmann, head over the German War Office in Holland. Her real assignment of course would be to spy on the German official and his counterparts, reporting everything she heard and saw to the Lingards, who in turn, would report back to the British SIS.
Mila walked up the stone steps of the large brick building that had once been home to Den Haag's City Hall, though it wasn't now. The German's has claimed it as their own after the invasion, using it as an epicenter for their war effort. She raised a shaky hand, pulling the front door open. A gust of warm air burned her cheeks as she stepped inside.
She looked around, drinking in the site before her. Women sat at desks, tapping away at their typewriters fiercely, while men in green uniforms bustled across the room, stopping at a desk occasionally to pick up a pile of papers, or to chat with the receptionist who had typed them.
"Name?" A voice called. Glancing to her left, Mila's eyes fell on a short, slender man with dark hair combed over to one side. "Well?" The man said, looking up from his papers at her expectantly.
"Oh, uh," Mila stammered, realizing the man had been speaking to her. "Mila. Mila Vanderwall." The man glanced down, scanning the paper he held in his hands before placing a check mark by what, Mila assumed, was her name.
"Follow me," The man said, not giving Mila a second glance as he walked away. She hurried after him, her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she followed him. "This is your work station," The man said, stopping in front of a small brown desk with a black typewriter on top of it. "The typewriter is portable of course, considering you'll need it to scribe during meetings. Its carrying case is in the bottom drawer." The man nodded vaguely in its direction. "Now, Mr. Eichmann's morning meeting starts at 9 am sharp, you are to be there at 8:30." The man continued, placing another check mark on his paper. "You are to accompany Mr. Eichmann to any other meetings he wishes you to attend. You are not to speak during these meetings. And you are not to bother Mr. Eichmann. Any question you have can be directed to me."
"And you are?" Mila asked. The man looked up from his paper, his eyes narrowed. "Sir." Mila added innocently.
"Fred," The man replied, "but you can call me Mr. Muller." With that, he turned to walk away. "Oh by the way," Mr. Muller called over his shoulder, "that 9 am meeting starts in five minutes Ms. Vanderwall."
Mila dropped her bag and bent down, throwing open the bottom drawer of her desk. Placing the carrying case onto her desk, she heaved the typewriter inside and started down the hall towards the conference room. If she were lucky, maybe Mr. Eichmann didn't make a habit of starting his meetings early.
She heaved open the heavy oak door, stopping short when she realized the room was occupied by several dozen uniformed men, all who's eyes were now trained directly on her. She glanced around nervously, her stomach turning a summersault as her eyes met with a set of familiar blue ones.
Josef.
"Ah, you must be the new typist," A voice called from across the room, causing Mila to tear her eyes away. The voice had come from the man sitting at the head of the table. "Come take a seat, we've only just began."
Mila swallowed hard, willing her eyes not to look at Josef, though she could feel his burrowing holes into her as she walked across the room to take her seat near Mr. Eichmann.
"Alright gentlemen," Mr. Eichmann began, "I'd like to start off by welcoming Josef Fischer to our office."
Mila bit her cheek, watching from the corner of her eye, as Josef smirked and waved lazily to the room. "You see, the boys back in Berlin feel the office could use a little extra security following the attack we had last month," Mr. Eichmann continued. "Though it seems as though our little Dutch friends tried to beat us to the punch once again. Luckily, Mr. Fischer, though delayed, made it to us in one piece, give or take a few bullet holes." The room gave a collective chuckle. "It's an honor to have you with us." Mr. Eichmann nodded towards Josef, who nodded back.
The rest of the meeting drug on for what seemed like an eternity, Mila keeping her eyes peeled to the keys of her typewriter the entire time. The moment the meeting had ended, Mila had stood up and darted out of the room. She had been in the restroom for nearly ten minutes now, contemplating what to do next.
She had assumed, when Josef had left three days earlier, that he had traveled North, or even West to the front line. She would've never guessed that his destination had been Den Haag all along. Resolving that her only option was to go back out and face whatever was to come, she picked up her typewriter case and walked out of the bathroom. Throwing her bag down on her desk, she sat down, getting to work unpacking her things.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as Josef's gaze fell on her. Politely excusing himself from the group of men he had been speaking with, he made his way towards her. Mila clenched her jaw, fighting back the sick feeling that had formed in her stomach.
"Hello..." Josef spoke when he had reached her desk, "Ms. Vanderwall." Mila looked up, pretending not to have noticed him. "I was surprised to see you this morning."
"I could say the same," Mila replied coolly, smiling pleasantly at him.
"You didn't think to mention that you work in the German War Office," Josef asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well today is my first day," Mila replied.
"Fair enough," Josef smirked.
"Mr. Fischer, do you two know each other?" Mr. Muller had approached, his eyes shifting between the two of them.
"Actually," Josef began.
"We don't," Mila cut him off.
Mr. Muller's eyes narrowed as they fell back on Josef. "Mr. Fischer, may I remind you that fraternizing at one's workplace is typically frowned upon," he began. "Even if you are a captain..." he added with a scowl.
"Noted..." Josef replied, a smirk flickering across his lips, "Fred." Mr. Muller scowled, but gave no retort. Josef propped himself up against her desk, turning his attentions back to her. "So we don't know each other?" He asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. Mila glanced around the room, making sure no one was within earshot of them.
"Look," she began, "I'd rather no one knew the circumstances of how we first met." She looked up at Josef, who wore a confused expression. "I'd rather do without the attention it would bring," she added, trying to make him understand.
"You'd be a hero, saving a German officer's life ... Why wouldn't you want that attention?"
"Because I'm no hero," Mila retorted. "I just did what any decent person would've done."
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