A Young Man's Game

by Paul Blake

  ‘Ok, then Alec. I’ve put Roger’s dressing gown by the door, so I can wash your clothes.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s great. I’ll bring them out when I’m done. I shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘There’s a hot cup of tea waiting for you too.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Alec returned to the sink and washed his face and neck. He wet his hair and styled it as best as he could with his fingers. A little more presentable now. He looked down at his trousers, and the knees were caked in mud, his shoes were almost as bad. He kicked them off carefully, the soles were a lot cleaner thanks to the mat outside, and he wiped them down and placed them on the toilet. He then removed the trousers and washed off the main mess. He added the trousers to the pile. His knees were killing him, but there were no external signs of damage. Alec wrapped a large white towel around his waist, almost as high as his nipples, to hide the bruising down his side, opened the door and bent down to reach for the bathrobe. His back sung in protest, so he crouched down and scooped it up. He returned to the bathroom and put the robe on, it was a couple of sizes larger than he would normally wear. Roger being almost half a foot taller than Alec. The soft cotton felt luxurious on his skin. He cleaned around the sink, wiping any stray muddy marks and used some tissue to dry it. Alec replaced the gun, wallet and phone in the coat pockets and folded it over his arm. He then bundled up the clothes, shoes on top. He groped for the door handle and left the bathroom.

  ‘Where do you want this lot?’ He called.

  ‘In the utility room please dear,’ Claudia said from the kitchen.

  Alec padded to the utility room opposite the kitchen in his socks, carrying the bundle like a small baby. He smiled at Claudia as he looked into the kitchen. She had a quizzical look on her face. In the small room, he placed his shoes on top of the washing machine and dropped the bundle of clothes on the floor. He laid his coat next to the shoes and crouched to open the machine door. He threw in the clothes and looked at the controls. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

  ‘Claudia, how do you work this thing?’

  ‘I took you to be a sophisticated man of the world,’ Claudia said with a smile as she entered the room.

  ‘Well, I’m having a break from that for a while. It gets a little tiring at times.’

  Claudia laughed. She put some liquid in the machine and adjusted a few of the settings and paused before turning it on.

  ‘Your socks? I can smell them from here.’

  Alec trod on the toe of one and pulled his foot out and repeated the motion for the other. He picked them up between his toes and lifted his leg, so his hand could catch them. He waggled his eyebrows at Claudia, looking like he was waiting for gushing appreciation of his skills.

  ‘You haven’t changed one bit,’ She said, stepping to the side. ‘I’m not touching them though.’

  Alec bent and opened the machine and threw the socks in. Claudia started the machine.

  ‘Come on, your tea will be getting cold.’

  Alec stood in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around the plain, white mug, sipping the steaming tea. Claudia had thoughtfully added a few sugars without asking. The kitchen hadn’t changed since he was last there. It had the same white wooden cupboards, black granite worktop, small dining table along one wall. Claudia was sitting at the table staring at him with her large blue eyes, her expression one of amusement rather than anger. She was a few years younger than Alec, in her forties; however, time had been kind to her. When she had joined the embassy twenty-five years ago she had turned a lot of heads, Alec’s included. She had always looked like she had come from a magazine shoot, wearing the latest fashions, not a single long blonde hair out of place, her minimal makeup applied perfectly. There was a slight, faded, narrow scar above her right eyebrow: the only imperfection. Alec and Claudia had dated, punching well above his league and it was looking serious, but Alec couldn’t or wouldn’t commit to the life she wanted. She worried every time he went on a mission, knowing that he had a reckless streak that could be his downfall. She wanted him to leave the fieldwork to others, start climbing the organisational ladder, start being home at a regular hour, and start staying safe for her and the children she desperately wanted. Alec refused to change, so they broke up. The split was amicable, and a year later Claudia and Roger were married.

  ‘So, what brings you here at six o’clock in the morning? The clubs kicked you out finally? I must say when you came in I thought you’d had a heart attack or something,’ she asked.

  Alec thought for a moment. I know I can trust her, but how much can I involve her in this mess? Should I have come here at all?

  ‘It’s been a tough night,’ He took a deep breath, here I go. ‘Jaromir Polyakov was killed in a bar last night.’

  Claudia gasped, and stood up, ‘Oh my god! Are you okay? I know he was your friend, how did it happen?

  ‘We were in a bar in East Berlin, when he was shot in front of me. Assassinated. I obviously got away and ended up here.’

  ‘Do you know who did it?’

  ‘Some Eastern European goon dressed as a waiter. They chased me for half the night,’ He noticed Claudia’s involuntary look towards the door. ‘It’s okay I lost them hours ago. There’s no way they can know I’m here,’ he said, reassuringly.

  ‘How did they find you?’

  ‘I’m a little rusty, they tracked my phone signal. I dumped it on a couple of drunken girls heading west when I realised.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like you. You’ve always been more switched on than that.’

  ‘I know. I’m out of practice I guess. I also used an ATM this morning, company card and twenty minutes later a posse of Russians turned up looking for me,’ Claudia’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘It’s okay. I hid from them, they never saw me.’

  Claudia recovered quickly, ‘That certainly sounds like an eventful night. Why didn’t you go to the Embassy?

  ‘I was headed that way, missed my stop on the U-bahn, found I was being followed by Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and decided that someone in the embassy must be behind it all, not many people would have the knowledge that I was meeting Jaromir or the resources to track my phone and put a couple of thugs on my trail.’

  ‘That makes sense. Have you slept at all?’ Alec shook his head. ‘Ok, drink up and go and sleep in Chris’s room. I’m supposed to be working today, but I’ll call in sick.’

  ‘I’m not sure that is best. Arthur will know if you don’t come in and put two and two together. I can’t risk it. The wrong person might find out.’

  ‘You don’t think Arthur is involved in this? That’s absurd.’

  ‘No, I think Arthur’s clean. He has to be. It’ll be someone else at the embassy. Jaromir told me, before he was shot, that someone was planning to assassinate a minister before the end of the week. I think the target is the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Oh god! You have to tell someone.’ She exclaimed.

  ‘I will… I’ll tell Arthur, but only when I’ve figured out who is planning it. Arthur will just call off the visit, or flood the area so our conspirator will just fade away, or worse, be part of the security and strike knowing where the weaknesses are.’

  Claudia thought for a moment. ‘You’re sure about this?’ Alec nodded. ‘You’re right then, I have to go into work. It’ll be too suspicious otherwise.’ She continued.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ Alec asked. ‘You’ll have to pretend to know nothing about any of this.’

  Her voice turned professional, ‘Alec. You stay here and get some sleep. Don’t worry I’ll be fine. They won’t find anything out from me, and I may be able to help you while I’m there.’

  ‘Ok, I believe you. I’ve seen you keep a secret before. Even the Stasi wouldn’t be able to extract anything from you.’ Alec said, referring to her keeping Roger’s cancer a secret.

  ‘Good that’s settled,’ she looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I better get ready. It takes me longer nowadays.’

  Alec shook hi
s head in disagreement, and said matter-of-factly, ‘I’ve always said that you’re always the most beautiful woman in any room. Makeup or not.’

  ‘Shut up you idiot and go sleep.’ She smiled at his compliment though. ‘You look like you’re going to collapse.’

  Alec walked out of the kitchen, kissed the top of her head as he passed, ‘Thank you for this. Claudia.’

  ‘Sleep!’ She ordered.

  Alec went into Chris’s room. Chris was twenty-two. Claudia and Roger’s eldest. He had left the family home three years ago, abruptly leaving Berlin’s Technical University mid-way through his first year to start up a tech company in Munich. Claudia and Roger’s other child, Erika, had joined Chris there last year, going to Munich to study at the Bavarian Academy of Fine Arts. The room was sparse of Chris’ belongings; he must have taken them to Munich with him, the last time Alec had seen the room, going on six years ago, Chris was showing Uncle Alec a program he had designed to catalogue the MP3 files on his computer. He had looked amazed when Alec asked him what an MP3 file was. Chris’ shelves had been stacked with textbooks and computer magazines. His desk covered in computing hardware. I’m not surprised he quit university so soon; he was far more advanced than they could teach him. The posters of video games had been taken off the wall, leaving the occasional tell-tale putty adhesive grease-stain the only indicator they had been there.

  Alec removed the dressing gown and laid it on the desk chair. He pulled back the covers and laid down on the soft mattress. He was asleep before he closed his eyes.

  11

  Alec was restless and fidgety in his sleep; he had kicked the covers off himself, his eyes moving rapidly under his closed eyelids. He groaned and shifted his position.

  I walk down the steps at the Schlesisches Tor U-bahn station down to the street, there is a thick mist billowing around my feet. I cross the boiling River Spree via the bridge with the strange battlements and turrets which support the U-bahn train line. I have been this way many times, across many nights. I’m not worried I know what is coming. After the bridge, I turn left on Mühlenstraße, and I reach the East Side Gallery. I am the only one there this night, and every night come to think about it. I stop at the first mural and stand at the edge of the pavement to take the full image in. The mural is over three metres high. The subject of the mural is Jaromir, sat slumped in the booth, hole in his forehead. Dark red blood leaking out of the hole, dripping down his face to his bushy moustache, and further onto the pavement. His eyes look at me, I hear his voice. ‘You failed me Alec.’ Tears start to drop from his eyes. I close my eyes, try to breathe, there’s tightness in my chest. I steel myself and reopen my eyes. The mural had changed.

  This one I had seen before. Roger lying in his hospital bed, connected to machines and tubes. His, once strong once powerful body reduced to skeletal frailty. Claudia sits beside the bed holding his hand, gently. The machines breathe for him, the regular hiss of the ventilator expelling carbon dioxide. Roger’s head slumps to one side, his jolly face with its ready smile now slack and grey, his eyes closed. The EKG machine beeps in time with the weak pulse in Roger’s neck. The beeps slow and then stop. The mural doesn’t change, but I can see Claudia standing up suddenly, leaning over Roger, and crying for assistance from a nurse. An alarm starts its panicked wail. Roger’s eyes open and look at me. A sibilant hiss of a whisper assaults my ears. ‘You failed her Alec.’ I try to scream my denial. ‘She always loved you more.’ I shake my head. This is new. Roger has never spoken to me before. I normally just look and cry at the futility. I hear myself murmuring over and over ‘No. Not me. Not me.’ I cover my ears to block it out. My eyes can't take seeing him anymore. I screw them up tight. I want to hold my fists against the sockets to stop me seeing what I know is coming next. Tendrils of mist creep up, and I remove my hands from my ears. The sudden shock of the icy non-fingers on my flesh forces me to open my eyes.

  It was the scene I knew so well. Mark and Sophie in their car, their faces were happy, smiling. Mark had probably just improvised an imitation of a waiter or a barman from wherever they had come. He was a natural mimic. They weren’t looking at the car coming towards them from the side. That had shot the red light. I can see Sara there standing outside of the car and pointing at the threat heading her parent’s way. She is much younger in the mural. I draw my gaze back to Mark. He has changed. He is younger too. My little brother. Too small to see over the steering wheel. His smiling mouth displaying the braces he used to wear. His small hand on the gear stick, Sophie’s hand covering his. I always see him this age when I picture him, wearing short trousers and our green prep school blazer. Pens sticking out of his shirt pocket. He looks at me. Looks into me. His pubescent voice wavers. ‘Don’t fail her Alec.’ It increases in pitch, ‘Don’t fail her, don’t fail her, don’t fail her.’ Repeating over and over, higher and higher. ‘Stop!’ I yell. I always do. It never works. I fall to my knees and hit the hard pavement, my hand lost in the mist. I beg ‘Stop, please stop.’ The mist forces my head up.

  The painting has changed again. A red-walled room. Brigette lying on a bed, a silhouetted man over her, on top of her. I hear the sound of a slap, and then a punch. Blood and mucus pour from her nose. Her bruised eyes are wide with terror. The sound of another slap strikes my ears. Her scream shatters inside my head. The shadow turns and speaks with a menacing growl, ‘You failed her, Alec.’ I can't take any more. I push my face into the mist, fight against its pull, refusing to submit. I feel the vapour crawl into my mouth, my nose. Creep down past my throat into my lungs. I cough hard to force a breath and then harder still. I try to rid my body of the foreign spirit. I lift my head. The suffocating fog gradually retreating as my breathing becomes easier. The mural changes before my eyes. The old canvas brushed away, and a new one began.

  A ball of fear hits my stomach. The dread of what I know is coming next. I try to turn away; my feet stuck in the concreted mist. Its creeping arms wrapping around my body. It hands holding my head facing the wall. Its fingers force my eyes open. I am unable to stop looking at the tableau forming in front of me. My Stefanie on the ground, café chairs flung around her, like mourners at a funeral. I look at her white skin with the fading blush on the cheeks, the line of blood steadily trickling down from the side of her mouth to her jaw. Her sharp silver eyes look at me. I look back, seeing the pupils enlarge and then contract. The tears from the sides of her eyes pulled by gravity down her cheeks to merge with the trail of blood to her jaw. I try to step forward. To touch her beautiful face one more time. I can't move. She coughs a mouthful of blood. I scream pre-emptively, ‘I’m sorry! I failed you!’ The mist won't let me turn away. She closes her eyes. I try to blink away the tears from mine. The mist holds them open. Through the watery blur, I see her face change to Claudia’s, then to Brigette’s, then to Sara’s, then back to Stefanie’s. Each one’s eyes tear at my heart. They continue changing into each other. Each change occurring faster and faster while an ever-increasing tempo of voices shriek ‘You failed us Alec.’ The changes blur as my eyes can't keep up. The voices merge into a single word. ‘Alec.’ Repeated over and over. ‘Alec.’, ‘Alec.’, ‘Alec.’

  ‘Alec,’ Claudia said. ‘Come on wake up.’

  ‘Alec!’ She called out.

  Alec grasped for her voice, reached out from the depths of sleep. He surfaced, gasping for air, his back soaked.

  ‘Claudia?’ He said weakly.

  She held him in her arms. ‘Yes, dear. I’m here.’

  Alec shivered in her embrace, his breathing slowed, his pounding heart faded. Alec could smell the faint trace of this morning’s perfume on her neck. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Shit, that was a bad one. They’re not normally so intense.

  ‘Was it a nightmare?’ She asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You still get them?’

  Alec was momentarily confused, and then he remembered that Claudia had seen him experiencing them many years before.

  ‘Every
night, some are worse than others. That was a bad one.’

  ‘I’d say so,’ Claudia said, as she broke the embrace.

  Alec became very aware that he was only in his underpants and attempted to pull the cover onto him a bit. In doing so, he exposed the bruises down his side.

  ‘Oh my god!’ Claudia said, pointing, ‘You didn’t tell me about this.’

  Alec followed her finger, the mottled bruising from the night before had turned into a bruise that took up almost half of his torso. ‘It wasn’t this bad last night. I swear. It was from when I jumped over a hedge.’

  Claudia raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘A hedge?’

  I better not mention the clump to the back I took off the driver. I bet that looks much scarier. It feels like it does anyway.

  ‘It’s okay, it looks worse than it is. Getting old, less cushioning I guess.’

  ‘You should have tried to land on your stomach or bum then.’ Claudia teased.

  Alec reached behind him for a pillow to throw and his back spasmed, he gasped in pain and fell back on to the bed.

  ‘I’ll get you some painkillers; I’ve got some co-codamol from the UK. That should help,’ Claudia said. She left the room to get them.

  .

  Alec gritted his teeth and raised himself up. He reached out his arms and grabbed his feet. Tears welled in his eyes. He pulled and stretched his back. He felt something give, and the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache. Claudia came back into the room with a glass of water and a couple of tablets. She saw Alec’s back and dropped the glass in shock.

  ‘That didn’t happen falling over a hedge.’

  ‘That’s where I was punched by Tweedledum. What does it look like? I can’t see.’

  ‘I can see the knuckle marks from his fist. They are black, the rest of the area is a dark purple. It looks horrific.’ She walked over to him, and gently stroked his back. He flinched at the coolness of her touch.

  ‘Sorry that was the hand I was holding the glass with. The marks are raised. Was he wearing brass knuckles?’