agent [ reader x zussman ]

• ix •

The rusty mirror in your hand reflects the sunlight into your eyes as you attempt to pin up one final curl to the top of your head. The pin in your hand twists and falls to the dirt, causing a curse to slip out of your ruby red lips.

You weren't used to getting dolled up, though you come from a family where makeup and jewels meant the world. You never understood the hype of spending an hour preparing your external appearance for the day. It seemed useless to apply a healthy layer of rouge to the cheeks, a coat of mascara to make your eyes pop, or a touch of red to the lips. It all seemed pointless.

You crouch down, taking the pin between your now manicured hands, and dust it off on the hem of your skirt. At the barren feeling on your legs, you are suddenly reminded how much you hate dresses. What you wouldn't do to trade this frilly getup for a pair of combat boots and fatigues.

With your final curl in place, you hold the mirror further away from your face to admire the overall look. From the elegance of the pearls around your neck to the freshly polished buckles on your high heels, you radiated upper class and wealth: you looked just like the proper German wife of Brigadeführer Weiss.

You had spent the last day going over the details with Zussman. You didn't make things easy on him, you drilled him on the intel over and over, in English and German.

He was to be Brigadeführer Hans Weiss, born in Dresden. He married a young local woman named Rita Mayer when he was a young age of nineteen. You, Rita Mayer (now Rita Weiss), were a nobody until the humble and charming Hans Weiss came to you and asked for your hand in marriage.

You remained loyal by his side as he climbed the ranks - something the young man did very quickly. You had a young son back home, Peter Weiss, who was being watched by your mother. The two of you hope to one day settle down in your home in Berlin and raise a family together. You shall stay at home with your children while Hans works with the Nazis.

A month ago a formal letter arrived at your residence in Berlin. You were to attend a gala for high ranking Nazi officials where your husband knew many men. Since you'd have to pass right by the Nazi camp and, coincidentally, would be seeing the man the train plans needed to be delivered to at the gala, Hans decided to be kind and save a courier the dangerous trip. Rita was not happy with this arrangement.

In many ways, Rita was the opposite of you. Rita holds her tongue, stands as candy on her husband's strong arm. She wants many children, she wants to settle down. Rita wants to be a housewife, to not work. Her job is to have and raise healthy children for Germany, not anything else. The very idea of this picket fence life made you want to throw up.

You snap the mirror shut in your hand and slide it into the purse lodged on the table beside you. You smooth out the blue skirt of your dress and slide a thin grey jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the dew setting in on the cool morning. With one final check to make sure you have everything, you head out into the morning.

The sun glints of the small diamond on your right ring finger, the golden band digging slightly into your skin. The ring fits awfully as it had belonged to someone else and it would have cost much too much to have it resized. Even ill-fitting and uncomfortable, it branded you as a married woman.

As you walk through the camp, you feel exposed. These men had never seen you dressed up like this, nor had you ever intended to. Most of these men hadn't seen a woman that wasn't a charred or banged up corpse in months, much less one right on their doorsteps in full high class dress. Being a woman brought its gifts that you wouldn't trade, but it felt wrong to dress like this and walk through a camp.

You reached Zussman's tent later then you intended, though only by ten minutes. The smell of week old coffee beans floats through the morning air as you stand outside his tent, waiting for him to come out. Your car with your associate driving would be arriving shortly and no one leaves the Nazis waiting.