University and had taken degrees in both Modern Languages and Finance. She’deven spent a semester in the United States, studying French and teaching German. Her job as interpreter for a prominent brokerage house gave Hans and her a more comfortable life than most police families. They were not rich, but their life was good.
If Hans qualified for GSG-9, however, they would have to move to one of the four towns that housed the active GSG-9 units: Kassel, Munich, Hannover, or Kiel. Not exactly financial meccas. Ilse knew she could adapt to a new city if she had to, but not to the heightened danger. Assignment to a GSG-9 unit virtually guaranteed that Hans would be put into life-threatening situations. GSG-9 teams were Germany’s forward weapon in the battle against hijackers, assassins, and God only knew what other madmen. Ilse didn’t want that kind of life for the father of her child, and she didn’t understand how Hans could either. She despised amateur psychology, but she suspected that Hans’s reckless impulse was driven by one of two things: a desire to prove something to his father, or his failure to become a father himself.
No more conversations about stun grenades and storming airplanes
, she told herself. Because she was finally pregnant, and because today was just that kind of day. Returning to work from the doctor’s office, she’d found that her boss had realized a small fortune for his clients that morning by following a suggestion she had made before leaving. Of course by market close the cretin had convinced himself that the clever bit of arbitrage was entirely his own idea.
And who really cares?
she thought.
When I open my brokerage house, he’ll be carrying coffee to my assistants!
Ilse stepped into the bedroom to change out of her business clothes. The first thing she saw was the half-eaten plate of
Weisswurst
on the unmade bed. Melted ice and dirt from Hans’s uniform had left the sheets a muddy mess. Then she saw the uniform itself, draped over the boots in the corner.
That’s odd
, she thought. Hans was as human as the next man, but he usually managed to keep his dirty clothes out of sight. In fact, it was odd not to find him sleeping off the fatigue of night duty.
Ilse felt a strange sense of worry. And then suddenly she knew. At work there had been a buzz about a breaking news story—something about Russians arresting two West Berliners at Spandau Prison. Later, in her car, she’d half-heard a radio announcer say something about Russians at one of thedowntown police stations. She prayed that Hans hadn’t got caught up in that mess. A bureaucratic tangle like that could take all night. She frowned. Telling Hans about the baby while he was in a bad mood wasn’t what she had had in mind at all. She would have to think of a way to put him in a good mood first.
One method always worked, and she smiled thinking of it. For the first time in weeks the thought of sex made her feel genuinely excited. It seemed so long since she and Hans had made love with any other goal than pregnancy. But now that she had conceived, they could forget all about charts and graphs and temperatures and rediscover the intensity of those nights when they hardly slept at all.
She had already planned a celebratory dinner—not a health-conscious American style snack like those her yuppie colleagues from the Yorckstrasse called dinner, but a real Berlin feast:
Eisben
, sauerkraut, and Pease pudding. She’d made a special trip to the food floor of the KaDeWe and bought everything ready-made. It was said that anything edible in the world could be purchased at the KaDeWe, and Ilse believed it. She smiled again. She and Hans would share a first-class supper, and for dessert he could have
her
—as healthy a dish as any man could want.
Then
she would tell him about the baby.
Ilse tied her hair back, then she took the pork from the refrigerator and put it in the oven. While it heated, she went into the bedroom to strip the
If Hans qualified for GSG-9, however, they would have to move to one of the four towns that housed the active GSG-9 units: Kassel, Munich, Hannover, or Kiel. Not exactly financial meccas. Ilse knew she could adapt to a new city if she had to, but not to the heightened danger. Assignment to a GSG-9 unit virtually guaranteed that Hans would be put into life-threatening situations. GSG-9 teams were Germany’s forward weapon in the battle against hijackers, assassins, and God only knew what other madmen. Ilse didn’t want that kind of life for the father of her child, and she didn’t understand how Hans could either. She despised amateur psychology, but she suspected that Hans’s reckless impulse was driven by one of two things: a desire to prove something to his father, or his failure to become a father himself.
No more conversations about stun grenades and storming airplanes
, she told herself. Because she was finally pregnant, and because today was just that kind of day. Returning to work from the doctor’s office, she’d found that her boss had realized a small fortune for his clients that morning by following a suggestion she had made before leaving. Of course by market close the cretin had convinced himself that the clever bit of arbitrage was entirely his own idea.
And who really cares?
she thought.
When I open my brokerage house, he’ll be carrying coffee to my assistants!
Ilse stepped into the bedroom to change out of her business clothes. The first thing she saw was the half-eaten plate of
Weisswurst
on the unmade bed. Melted ice and dirt from Hans’s uniform had left the sheets a muddy mess. Then she saw the uniform itself, draped over the boots in the corner.
That’s odd
, she thought. Hans was as human as the next man, but he usually managed to keep his dirty clothes out of sight. In fact, it was odd not to find him sleeping off the fatigue of night duty.
Ilse felt a strange sense of worry. And then suddenly she knew. At work there had been a buzz about a breaking news story—something about Russians arresting two West Berliners at Spandau Prison. Later, in her car, she’d half-heard a radio announcer say something about Russians at one of thedowntown police stations. She prayed that Hans hadn’t got caught up in that mess. A bureaucratic tangle like that could take all night. She frowned. Telling Hans about the baby while he was in a bad mood wasn’t what she had had in mind at all. She would have to think of a way to put him in a good mood first.
One method always worked, and she smiled thinking of it. For the first time in weeks the thought of sex made her feel genuinely excited. It seemed so long since she and Hans had made love with any other goal than pregnancy. But now that she had conceived, they could forget all about charts and graphs and temperatures and rediscover the intensity of those nights when they hardly slept at all.
She had already planned a celebratory dinner—not a health-conscious American style snack like those her yuppie colleagues from the Yorckstrasse called dinner, but a real Berlin feast:
Eisben
, sauerkraut, and Pease pudding. She’d made a special trip to the food floor of the KaDeWe and bought everything ready-made. It was said that anything edible in the world could be purchased at the KaDeWe, and Ilse believed it. She smiled again. She and Hans would share a first-class supper, and for dessert he could have
her
—as healthy a dish as any man could want.
Then
she would tell him about the baby.
Ilse tied her hair back, then she took the pork from the refrigerator and put it in the oven. While it heated, she went into the bedroom to strip the
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