by Fox J Wilde
“I didn’t…it’s not that…”
“Patrick, tell me what you did wrong.”
“It’s…”
“Patrick. Tell me what you did wrong, and we can move on.”
“You just don’t...”
“Patrick. We either move on, or we have to take this in a different direction. Tell me what you did wrong, so that we can just move on.”
This was it: the moment he hadn’t known was coming. He hadn’t prepared for this. He had never allowed for the possibility that he would be found out. He had simply chosen to accept the horrible consequences of failure and decided to not fail. But now here he was, staring down the barrel of that poor decision, about to be shot full of lead consequences. He was very quickly realizing he really wasn’t prepared to accept those consequences. Now he wanted nothing but to escape.
“Grandson?” Grandfather said sternly.
“Yes?”
“This is the time for you to come clean.”
“I went to Matt York because I felt he would be able to get me out of here quicker, and give me a new life. I believed that the Americans could make it all happen quickly.”
“And why didn’t that work?” Grandfather asked, knowingly.
“Because the Americans are just as backstabbing and double-talking as we are.”
“Maybe not quite, but certainly almost.” Grandfather said. “So, you thought that letting me, a man you trust, spin you around blindfolded with an assured positive ending was somehow less attractive than letting the god-damned Americans spin you around blindfolded, with absolutely nothing certain at the end of it but dust and sand?”
“That’s not...”
“You know damn well they wouldn’t take a defecting HVA agent at your level and give him work! You have skills, but you don’t have the access! They knew that the very moment you started giving them copies of out-of-date Stasi manuals that I had given to them years ago! They already have skilled agents with your exact same skills, and assets inside the GDR with more access than you have! Why would they need you when you also bring a complete lack of loyalty?!”
Patrick really had nothing to say to this. He simply hadn’t thought of himself and his possible value to the Americans in this light. Grandfather stood across the room, looking at him angrily. His face was covered in a mix of emotions. Patrick knew he had done the right thing by coming clean, and now he felt horrible about everything. It was something about the sadness in the old man’s eyes, though. However, his gaze was filled with far more annoyance than anything else as he finally measured out his words and spoke.
“Patrick? Hit yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“When I was your age, the case officer who trained me always told me, ‘never abuse your agents. Never insult them, and never put a hand on them.’ So, I’m honoring him, and making you hit yourself.”
“Are you…serious?”
“Yes, Patrick. I’m serious.”
“B-but…you threw books at me.”
“The books hit you, not me. And I think both of us can agree that books and fists don’t mean the same thing.”
“Well, but...”
“Patrick, hit yourself. And it had better be good, because if it isn’t, I’ll make you do it again.”
Surprisingly, Patrick’s first thought was about how in the world his Grandfather wielded such power to make people do such stupid things. As he began swinging at his own face, Patrick thought, “Why am I doing this, exactly?” to be immediately followed by, “God-damnit that fucking hurt!” Indeed, by the time he had fully recovered from the initial shock of the blow his vision still had yet to recombobulate.
“Are we good?” Grandfather asked.
“We’re good, Grandfather.”
“Good. Now tell me: what did you two discuss?”
“I already told you. It was about Hans, and I gave them some outdated documents.”
“That’s it?” Grandfather said with an eyebrow raised.
“That’s it.” Patrick said, although it was a lie, and he swallowed before he could think not to. Grandfather picked up on that.
“Patrick, let me tell you why I like you.” Grandfather sighed, before rubbing his face with fatigue and irritation, “I love you like a grandson, but I also like you as a person. The reason I like you is because you think the way I do. You never go into any situation without a backup plan, and you never offer your opponent anything that isn’t barbed, booby-trapped, or otherwise. You never give up a pawn unless you are prepared to take a bishop.
“The problem is, you aren’t as good as I am—not yet anyway. Now normally, I would sit back and let you make your own mistakes, but the stakes are simply too high this time. You can’t possibly imagine how you might have harmed us…or inadvertently benefited us. But either way, you have moved pieces around and I need to know where they are. You would never have gone to the enemy with an offer unless that offer had assurances that you yourself could control. And you would never have dangled a freebie in front of Matt unless that dangle was somehow poisoned with insurance. I know this because I know you, and I know that you know that the Americans don’t care in the slightest about you or your plans. Only Matt seems to care, and there’s absolutely no reason that I can think of as to why he should.
“It might be a girl perhaps; maybe some sort of blackmail you managed to harvest from his past; it might have even been money. Now, you might think that these are mere trifling things that only matter between you and him. You might think that it’s something that might appear unrelated to the game that I am playing. But I’m telling you right now, man to man, it’s all related and it all matters. Your telling me gives both of us the advantage; not telling me gives it to them. So, come clean, and tell me everything.”
Patrick considered these words, he really did, and as he considered them, he recounted another bit of sage wisdom that Grandfather had imparted years ago. “Don’t keep playing a game you know you are losing, just because you haven’t technically lost yet. Just save yourself the time, money and manpower and quit playing so that you can find a game you can win at.” Patrick resolved to ignore this completely.
“Grandfather…I did tell you everything.” Patrick said, swallowing again.
“Patrick, tell me!” Grandfather bellowed, losing all composure, “I can make anything work. When have you ever known me to not be able to make use of any situation you and your fellow morons throw at me?! Trust me, Patrick. For the first time since whenever you decided that you couldn’t, trust me to make this work out! Trust me to forgive you, and trust me to get you back on the right path!”
“I don’t want to!” Patrick finally exploded. It was the first time he had ever yelled at Grandfather. Hell, it was the first time anyone had probably ever done it—likely because anyone that had tried received the same response: a completely unimpressed stare.
“That’s…that’s right!” Patrick tried again, “I don’t want this to work out for the unit! I don’t want to help them, the HVA, you, the fucking GDR, or any of your plans! I don’t trust you, and I don’t want to! You took too long, old man! You let things go too long, and I had to make my own plans. I don’t want to do this anymore, don’t you understand?! I don’t want to do any of this! I just want out. I want to get as far away from it all as I can, and the Americans made me a deal!”
“But they didn’t make you a deal!” Grandfather seethed, “You went to them, Patrick! They didn’t come to you. So, you made Matt a deal! What was that deal?!”
“Stop it!” Patrick stood up and shouted at the man, “I don’t want to play this anymore! I’m done!”
“No you aren’t, Patrick! You are messing with forces you cannot possibly fathom!”
“I can fathom you, old man!” Patrick said, without thinking. “I can fathom what the end-game is, and I can fathom my part in it! I can fatho
m how long it’s going to take for that eventuality…and most of all, I can fathom how little you truly care about me!”
“Oh, you…now…now you just hold on one singular second.” Grandfather said slowly, barely containing his rage. “You think I’m talking about me…that I’m the force you can’t fathom. I’m most certainly not the force you need to understand. Patrick, you are caught in the middle of a hurricane right now. Things are happening around the entire world that millions of innocent and oblivious people are being affected by. Millions of lives, caught in the balance. And the only people keeping them alive are the select few like you who are privy to a small part of it, being led by men like me.
“I’m a man of near infinite patience, Patrick, but it’s not infinite. And the one thing—the one singular thing—that wears away at my patience is taking three steps forward, only to take two steps back because my own agents want to whine. I’ll take that whining from a common asset because they don’t know any better, but I refuse to take it from my own agents who stand to gain so much!”
“Fuck your plans, old man!” Patrick screamed, with flecks of saliva flying wildly out of his mouth, “Why should I care about your plans?! And why should I care about everyone else?!”
“Because it’s your job, you little ingrate!” Grandfather shouted. “It’s your job to safeguard those millions! That’s what you are handsomely payed to do, and that’s where you draw your immense privilege and autonomy from! You do not manifest destiny, Patrick, and you are not here to think of yourself! But if you are so shortsighted, and simply that selfish, at least have the courtesy to get out of my way, rather than risking the lives of millions. And don’t you dare presume to think that your suffering outweighs theirs. Because it just plain doesn’t.”
“What do you know of my suffering?” Patrick said, with tears beginning to well in his eyes, “You know nothing! You have no idea…the horror I’ve had…that I’ve had to suffer…right under your nose!”
“How have you suffered?” Grandfather pleaded, “Tell me these things! I don’t intend to not know such things, Patrick! When have I ever actively ignored you?! I’m not all-knowing! That’s why we have agents like you…to uncover the things I can’t! You know something I don’t, so tell me!”
“You don’t understand!” Patrick cried.
“Try me, Grandson! Try me!”
“She...” Patrick shivered, “...the Dragon Lady…she...”
Patrick wept onto the floor, as he recounted in graphic detail the many abuses he had suffered at her hand. He recounted the rapes, the beatings, the horrors, and all the glee she took in it. He wept about his unit, and about how they had simply stood by, taking pleasure in his ‘weakness’. He had never felt like he was part of a team. He felt like a whipping boy to be pushed and shoved around, only to find himself in bed with that thing.
He wept about the hospital visits…the ones where he could never explain why he had such injuries, and about how the doctors would scoff behind his back.
Then, he talked about approaching Matt so desperately needing to get out, but Matt had been quick to sniff out his weakness. Matt knew the only way he could control Patrick was to dominate and belittle him. And it had worked. It had worked so well, that Patrick was now practically working for free out of fear. So, he needed insurance and when he found out that his little Stasi spitzel, Vivika, had a few secrets about Matt herself…well, Patrick jumped at the chance to hold that little golden ticket above Matt’s stupid head.
He would see to it that Vivika was safe, just so long as Matt kept his word about bringing Patrick over once Hans was rescued, and the American network was annihilated. But then Matt had come by those awful pictures. That had made things even more complicated. Of course, he could never tell his Grandfather about how he had treated Vivika. That wasn’t a detail he didn’t need to know.
Yet as he finished his story and looked up at his Grandfather’s eyes, he noticed the old man’s eyes were glistening as well.
“How dare you,” Grandfather said, acidly. “How dare you!”
“How dare I what?!”
“How dare you not tell me these things! How dare you allow yourself to be treated in such a fashion! How dare you not allow me to destroy that worthless bitch in your honor! How dare you not allow me to keep my promises to you!”
“I didn’t...”
“No! No, Patrick!” Grandfather cried. “How dare you! Stupid, stupid boy! You may not be my flesh and blood, but you are my Agent—one of my chosen few! And I would gladly kill for you without a second thought! Why didn’t you tell me?! Why?!”
“Because it’s disgusting!” Patrick yelled, “Because I’m disgusting! Because I disgust everyone else…the one fucking person I didn’t want to disgust was you!”
“You…” Grandfather stood, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’m a million-years-old, Patrick! You don’t think I’ve heard, seen, and been through similar things?!”
“Been through…?”
“It’s a dark world, boy!” Grandfather admonished. “It’s a dark, evil, rotten, horrible, and downright godless world! Things happen! Terrible things! But we are the few that are in a position to change that! We can fix problems so bad and so hidden, that most folks can’t even conceive of them! We are capable of knowing unspeakable things, and we exist to fight the unspeakable. But we have to stick together. Or else what are we?! What are we, Patrick?!”
“But we don’t do anything!” Patrick snapped. “All we do is play our little mind games—with the Americans, with the folks of the GDR, with the Soviets—pissing into the wind for what?! For what?!”
“Again, you don’t see what I see! Those mind games aren’t what we do! They aren’t the three steps forward; they are the two steps back! The enemy does counter-intelligence the same as we do—sowing the seeds of discord, same as we do. I’m sorry that the confusion breeds so much contempt, but that’s the Americans doing their job. So, we have to do our job even better and trust. If we don’t trust each other and work together, they win.”
Suddenly, the front door opened. There, standing in the doorway, was old Wart-face in all of his dour glory. Patrick hated the man. Perhaps less than the others, sure; but he hated him still. He was always so…standoffish. It was as if he was better than everyone else, and didn’t want to be caught up in the filth of the rest of the team. He never laughed at anyone’s jokes, or chimed in during anyone’s stories. He simply sat, all by his lonesome, plugging away at reports or working timelines. Oh sure, he was a hard worker, and a team player when he had to be; but he didn’t like being on a team. Or at least not Patrick’s team.
“Sir, a moment of your time?” old warty-face said, “Alone?”
“...we’re busy, Sergeant.” Grandfather responded. “How important is it?”
“It’s...” warty-face said, while throwing a disgusted sneer at Patrick, “...it’s important.”
“Patrick,” Grandfather began, “I need you to go prepare a car for me. Don’t you worry. I will consider your proposals and pass it up for consideration.”
Patrick scooped himself up, with a bit of trepidation, but also note of gratitude. In truth, he was glad to be rid of this room and he desperately needed some fresh air. Especially since just a half hour ago, he was sure he would never taste fresh air again. So, he opened the door to the outside realm and stepped out into the crisp sunshine. He couldn’t help but take note of old warty-face’s smirk, however. “What is that ugly bastard up to?”
“So, what now?” Lena asked honestly.
“I don’t know,” Vivika responded. “I was kinda hoping that you would know.”
The two had sat for nearly an hour talking, and they held absolutely nothing back. At first, Lena had been extremely pensive about talking so openly, knowing full-well that her room was bugged. That is, until Vivika produced a decently-sized camera recorder with several wires h
anging out of the back.
“I found it behind your wall socket. They put it back there so that it has a constant power source, and they can run wires outside of the building to retrieve the information easily.”
“Behind the wall socket?! Are you kidding me?!”
“Those are the easy ones. They also stick them in the doorknobs. But every now and then…they stick them in your shower-head, because people like to imagine things out loud while showering or pooping.”
Lena preferred to just ignore the connotations of that. The two talked openly about the black cells, including the bildungsbälle, the fire-hosings, the interrogation techniques…all of it. They discussed Mr. Collins and Grandfather…they left nothing out. Despite how nervous the two felt about naming them, it felt good to open up. They also realized simultaneously that Lena didn’t actually knew what Grandfather’s name was, and that conversations like these were likely precisely why. They discussed the various agents that they had worked with, Wart-face, Fancy-man and the others.
“You know that Wart-face works for the Americans, right?” Vivika said, knowingly.
“Wait, what?” Lena asked.
“Yeah. I don’t know precisely if he knows, honestly. He just has a way of feeding information to Mr. Collins. Like the camera that he put in your purse.”
“What camera?”
“The camera pen that you told me about earlier. The one that Mr. Collins took out of your purse while he was making your coffee.”
“He what?!?” Lena shouted.
“Yeah.” Vivika sighed, “You should really look inside your purse every now and again. You would be surprised how much information we’ve transferred back and forth using it. Did you even notice the pen was missing?”