He showered and treated the wound himself; when he left the bathroom, Alexandra was standing next to the panoramic window, in the same pose as in the morning, the night lights of Tokyo were flickering and shimmering in the distance.
Richard approached her from behind, touching the back of her head with his chin.
“Tomorrow’s free practice,” he said. “I did want to watch at least one Grand Prix as a spectator – but not at this cost.”
He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice.
“Formula One is completely different behind the scenes,” Alexandra affirmed.
“It’s an entire world. They’re a real team. And they’re as mad as we are.”
She once jokingly called the Rote Stier racing team alchemists … Richard saw it for himself.
In just a few years, British rookies under an Austrian license, associated exclusively with an energy drink, had become world champions7– assembled an incredible team of enthusiasts and professionals. Rote Stier performed aerobatics – a good example of investments in technologies that provided circuses for the masses, bread – to all the participants of the enormous alchemical pot.
The drivers are always in the spotlight – their entire lives are made into a show. Their task was to demonstrate how dreams become reality, and that nothing is impossible – but they, as Richard understood, don’t mind. Max has reflexes of a cat that catches flies at the speed of light, Sergio has everything under control, as if he can see the future, and Daniel is always brimming with positivity, he has an endless supply of energy …
Richard also didn’t realize right away that Formula One is a showbiz with stars of its own. Engineering and design achievements broke their own records with every race, setting the trends and benchmarks for the rest of the automotive industry – and the entire world was watching, with bated breath, the inconceivable implementation of human design, endurance, and bravery.
The majority of the viewers don’t understand even a small part of the action – but they’re swept up in the wave of the drive, Formula One is a cult that people wanted to be a part of and stay in.
The drivers are rock stars, but there’s a whole team behind them – each member playing a vital role, irreplaceable during the season. They all work together, setting up pit boxes around the clock, delivering sets of tyres, spare engines, gearboxes, composites and fuel, assembling cargo containers around the clock, for them to then be shipped overseas for race weekends, they fine-tune the race car configuration nightly if they can avoid curfew … On the pit wall and in front of board monitors is a real spaceflight mission control center, every second counts, and every detail, every inch, and every movement matter during the pit stop.
Three people are involved in changing a single wheel: the one placing it, equipped with protective gloves – because the tyre is preheated out of the cover; the gunner, in bright yellow gloves, to give a visual signal about the end of the procedure by raising his hand; the one taking the wheel off – and tossing it aside, preferably not at a colleague – because it’s also scorching hot. The world record for the shortest pit stop was set by the team of a race car driven by Max four years ago.
The names of the mechanics and engineers aren’t released to the public, but the star drivers and the names of the Bulls on the pit wall are on everyone’s lips.
Each of the sixteen race weekends, Richard had been the tyre carrier on the left rear wheel. This Sunday, he’ll be substituted.
Phil, the chief mechanic, conducts the orchestra in the box, he’s always near the car and always on standby, aware of the action. Adrian and Rob, genius designers, are often in the box, but sometimes run away to the pit wall to catch their breath or avoid the congestion of mechanics, race engineers, and drivers. During the races, only those working directly with the race car are by its side – and everyone is wearing headphones, communicating via radio, typically within their own crew.
Dario Fisher is in charge of the headphone stand, radios and microphones, the transmitters in the drivers’ helmets, ensures uninterrupted communication. Right now, he’s on the Suzuka track paddock, likely having signed every headset on the stand and reminded everyone to put the equipment back at the end of the day – to avoid confusion tomorrow.
Chicken soup – the real European one – had already gone cold, but Richard ate heartily. Almost immediately afterward he grew drowsy, he resisted as much as he could, but in vain – and soon he fell asleep, his nose buried in the pillow, hoping that the next day he would no longer be a vegetable and would finally handle everything.
He never got around to unpacking his things, his dead phone lay on the bedside drawer next to the documents, time seemed to stop – because the chess game had already begun, and the opponent awaited his move.
For some reason, Richard was confident that the opponent – the very lion – acts by the rules of the genre and plays chess. It was important to understand what the next move should be.
7. Remote Control
“Tomorrow, go to the tailor and readjust the suit,” Rose said quietly.
She was curving her lips into a radiant smile as she touched Richard’s stomach with an outstretched finger and approached closely – so he would lean toward her face.
The top button was, indeed, out of place, the jacket hung loosely, he only today realized how much weight he lost lately – at least a stone. It was difficult to find a broad-shouldered athlete standing at over six feet clothes that wouldn’t be too wide in the waist or too short in the sleeves, and there was no time to order a new custom suit.
The same problem was with jeans and dress pants.
“Alright,” Richard replied, imitating her intonation, pretending to flirt, trying to catch her gaze. “As you say, dear.”
Rose and Richard Weiss, married diplomats, had been invited to a party hosted by Germany’s largest car manufacturer group in the building of the Corporate Representative Office for Federal Affairs on Potsdamer Platz. During the official part the guests maintained their dignity, smiled dazzlingly, handed out compliments and thanks, playing the usual social game. However, within a few hours, some of them, dressed in formal attire, will be high as a kite, ordering another private dance at one of the nightclubs, ties and wedding rings will dissolve into thin air as if by a magic trick.
A similar adventure lay ahead of Richard – as it did before his colleagues of the German Federal Foreign Office, whose habit was to party extensively and into oblivion. Rose will go home after the party – as a faithful and righteous wife, waiting until morning for her carousing husband.
No, he really did make a mistake with the suit. He hoped that this blasted button wouldn’t make a hash of the whole job …
“Rose, what a welcome surprise!”
The figure of the stranger, seemingly coming out of nowhere – though in reality, Richard and Rose had merely been pretending to be engrossed in cooing at each other – approached and had no intention of leaving.
“Moritz!” Rose exclaimed in joyful astonishment. “Glad to see you!”
She usually only displayed emotions for the public, she was a good actress – and Moritz Baer’s presence was not unexpected. It was for him that they came here … But he didn’t have to know that.
“Richard,