Partrons – partners and patrons – were co-players on the path of the Great Work, collaborative creations altered reality. Richard was no longer surprised that all alchemists are interconnected – and that through his partron Christopher he was connected to Christopher’s former partron, through knowing other Poets he can talk to Dante, Milton, Richard III, Goethe …
Was it a coincidence, then, that Baer quoted the words of a Poet – or could Baer have been an alchemist? Richard felt uneasy at the thought. Memories of Moritz Baer were unpleasant – because Baer became something of a personal enemy for him.
It seemed he wouldn’t forget this goddamn Station anytime soon.
“There you go,” said Alexandra with mock displeasure. “Now I won’t calm down until I remember the name of that postgraduate … I’m even curious. Because he’s involved in this, too – he was one of Rublev and Hermann’s talented students.”
Richard placed the bowl on the bedside drawer, thinking. In his mind, he went back to Berlin, to the Asia and the Pacific department of the German Federal Foreign Office.
Being an undercover agent in a foreign country is a role that one must play twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for an indefinite period until other instructions from superiors are received. Espionage – political, industrial – is work punishable by torture and death: if not from enemy’s retaliatory forces then from the hands of own colleagues – if extracting a spy from the country proves impossible.
Richard and Rose lived in Berlin under false names, pretending to be a married couple – Richard and Rose Weiss. They gathered and, with specified periodicity, transmitted information about the Office’s activities to MI6. Their positions didn’t attract attention, many sections in the internal system were closed to them, but they were at the ground zero of the events, in the political hive, at crossroads of communication paths.
The Weisses agents were the link between foreign ambassadors and political actors, key figures of world significance – even if the ambassadors, actors and figures didn’t know about it. Matters regarding other countries – examined in the context of Germany’s external affairs – were of more interest to MI6 than the affairs of a single country. Rumors and secrets, overheard and spilled at nightly get-togethers of diplomats and their high-as-a-kite buddies were even more useful.
Temptations were plenty. Richard used to think that he was sent to the Station because he fits the description of a young German diplomat, happily married to a German colleague, that he has the required knowledge and skills, that he’s responsible, incorruptible, and reliable … It turned out he was merely easy on the eye and had to be the one to dive to the bottom, into the depraved world of Berlin’s entertainment establishments, while Rose Weiss acted on the surface.
They made a good team, Richard was glad that it was Weiss specifically he was on a mission with. She was cold and demanding, she never made mistakes and, just like Richard, respected subordination and work ethic.
For a year and a half they lived in separate rooms and only kissed when the circumstances demanded it. Richard could recall only one time when he saw Weiss in her underwear, and even that was a ruse – when they had just settled into the Federal Foreign Office, and he had to visit Weiss in her office – in the Public International Law division – to once and for all settle his reputation as a lustful macho.
They were discovered by design – and Weiss’s bra was white, boned, but with no lace. The panties, as far as he could tell, were also without lace – because he couldn’t feel them under the dress pants.
Richard didn’t even think about making intentional romantic overtures towards agent Weiss – because he always had places to stick his cock, even when he didn’t want to.
During the Station he often, though only in his mind, cursed his plight of a sex machine, a doll in the front window that shakes its ass and always attracts attention. He had the appearance of a broad-shouldered bad-boy actor, blue and black shirts suited him, people found him even more attractive when he was unshaven and with unwashed hair than when he was an office dandy.
And, as Alexandra noted in his dream, people oft wanted to stick something up his ass.
Weiss introduced him to Baer at that party, Baer had a wide social circle, Richard considered Baer’s connections valuable – and made it known to Baer that he, too, could be useful … Sticking close to the German benefactor, they, like hunting dogs, brought fresh truffles to the Circus.
Then they found out that Baer is not merely a philanthropist and a thought leader, a co-founder of a pharmaceutical corporation, but a Russian spy.
They thought it was a genius idea to leak false intel directly to Russian intelligence through Baer. For six months they had their fun, delighting the Circus with a feeling of impunity and omnipotence – until Baer figured out what was happening.
He was a true professional, he would have left them no chance – if not for a pure stroke of luck that allowed them to flee. They paid a high toll – and failed to save their people, two more undercover agents …
Richard had to kill them – because if Baer got to them, the mission would have failed. They couldn’t have gotten everyone out at the same time – not while covering their tracks.
Moritz Baer was just like them, even stronger – he simply had a different master. Only a year ago did Richard understand the reason of Baer’s fury – he’d lost everything in an instant because of two British spies who got in his way, who wrecked the mechanisms that’d been working, running smoothly for years.
Baer built his empire wisely – but with the resources of Russian intelligence, who would take both his status and his life as punishment for a mistake. Richard didn’t know what became of him afterward – and didn’t want to know …
“There, I found it!” Alexandra exclaimed, showing Richard the phone screen, and he was yanked out of the whirlpool of memories. “‘The Word as an Instrument of Hermann Hesse’s Musical Self-Expression,’” she read aloud. “An article from God knows what shaggy year, PhD in Philology Vadim Rublev, with Boris Medvedev as the co-author, Moscow State University, the department of Theoretical and Applied Linguistics.”
He didn’t even notice her sit down next to him on the bed, he didn’t know how long she was researching the postgraduate … The TV was already broadcasting the countdown, everyone except team representatives and mechanics left the starting grid, one pair of red lights had gone out.
“Medvedev9 … and Kuma is also a bear in Japanese,” Alexandra smirked. “The Russian king of beasts.”
Richard stared at her as if he’d seen a spook.
Baer10, too, was a bear.
9. Dreamer
Dario was trying to sleep, his forehead leaned against the window of the bus on the Suzuka track parking lot, waiting for the Rote Stier team to assemble – to depart for Tokyo in the early morning. They had spent the night in the motorhome, the sun was only just rising on the horizon, painting the sky in coral stripes and shades of orange – like their dark blue uniform with bright logo patches.
Another weekend had come to an end, a two-week break lay ahead. Max and Sergio were once again in the lead of the race,