Albedo Castle

Fisher took his jacket off and was pressing down on the wound, trying to stop the gushing blood, a crowd of onlookers gathered around them, filming the incident. Richard didn’t see the managers’ horror or the arrival of the ambulance – he blacked out.

He didn’t remember the Singapore hospital – National University Hospital – well, he came to after the surgery when the anesthesia had worn off. The sensations were comparable to a severe hangover and a simultaneous food poisoning – a throbbing head and a fervorous churning stomach. Richard’s worst hangovers occurred in Berlin, during the Station mission, the worst poisoning of his life was in Indonesia, when he had a task as a paramedic on a medical boat.

Richard saw Fisher sitting in the chair at his bedside, he closed his eyes hoping that it was just a vision, but it didn’t help. Richard regretted not seeing any visions or dreams when he was blacked out … Thoughts, multiplying exponentially, were already beginning to tear his skull apart from the inside.

He needed to know who had wounded him, and what he should do now.

Richard opened his mouth, but only an indistinct rasp came out.

“It’s Wednesday, 4 AM, you’re in Singapore, and you look like crap,” Dario said.

Richard glanced at the wide floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Kent Ridge Park, at the panorama of the pre-dawn city, he looked around the spacious, comfortable hospital room … Rote Stier tried to take good care of him – and he could only wonder how the incident would affect future events, including those of the racing world.

The stranger was wearing brand clothing, it appeared to be an attack on the team, even though Richard knew that the Bulls had nothing to do with it.

It was a warning – not an attempt to kill him. Had the stranger wanted to kill him, he would have aimed for another, more definitively lethal spot … He called him Richard North, only those who took part in the Poets mission knew Richard North – those who knew him as the British theater actor … and those who knew Alexandra.

At that notion, Richard turned cold. He opened his mouth again, he wanted to ask for the phone, he wanted to call right away, to warn her, hear her voice …

“Everyone’s gone to Nagoya, I barely convinced them to let me stay – and I promised to be in Suzuka by Thursday. They’ll fire me if I let them down.”

Richard wanted to say that it’s the punishment of the Circus he should fear – if he lets MI6 down, but his tongue wouldn’t budge.

“The phone,” he managed, finally.

Dario opted not to ask, he instantly got up and handed him the phone that was on the bedside table next to the wallet and documents.

The hand that rose from the bed next to his wooden body felt like it was not his own. Richard stared at the dark screen, thinking.

“And my clothes.”

“Planning an escape?” Fisher chuckled.

He stood next to the hospital bed, smiling – but not long. A few moments later, he was already rummaging through Richard’s bag to retrieve fresh clothes – without Rote Stier logos. Richard, meanwhile, remained still and stared off into space, still clutching the phone in his unsteady hand.

“I need to make a call. Wait for me outside,” Richard said.

Dario didn’t ask, he left, making a face, Richard sank into thought again, hardly noticing Dario leave the room.

If he calls Alexandra and warns her that she’s being watched – or that someone means to hurt her – he’ll make her act on her own. He was sure that she was okay now – but wasn’t sure about the future. His intuition was still handicapped by the anesthesia, Richard couldn’t stay focused for a long time, he couldn’t feel his body and couldn’t tell if he was afraid or nauseous …

If she flees Moscow, she’ll be found instantly – unless she uses a private plane … Richard didn’t want her to turn to her friend McKellen5, the British historian who had, in the past, put up a brilliant play with Circus agents in lead roles – who had both a private plane and a bag of tricks for disappearances.

They would handle this on their own – and the time has come to use his position to, for once, do something for himself.

Richard sat up on the bed, after a few attempts, he managed to put his bare feet on the floor, he dialed the number – on the dedicated line of an encrypted channel – of Falcon, the head of MI6. He was only allowed to make a call like this in an emergency.

He reported the situation and explained what had happened – stating that, to save both missions – of the Bulls and the Poets – he needs to take Alexandra Stern from Moscow to Tokyo, where the Rote Stier team will arrive a week after the Grand Prix at the Suzuka Circuit – that he, obviously, wouldn’t make it to. He needs to do it himself as to not involve other agents or cause suspicion – and he will figure out how to explain the situation to Stern. He was instructed to take Fisher along – and work it out himself how he would arrange the absence of the radio engineer at the paddock as the team prepares for the weekend.

Richard understood that Dario Fisher was assigned to him so he would learn everything faster … The decision to brief Fisher on the Poets mission was left to Richard’s discretion – as he was answerable for the consequences with his own head.

He asserted to the Circus that the injury was minor, that he’s moving around the hospital room freely and there’s no danger; he thanked the team director Christian and assured him that he would not make any comments to the press or anyone else; to the head mechanic, Phil, he texted that he’ll skip the weekend and won’t risk jeopardizing the team with a hole in his flank, even if he escapes the hospital room to see Singapore – not just through the panoramic window; to the other colleagues who asked about his health he replied that he was alive and would be working fit in no time. The explanation as to why Dario Fisher is staying at the hospital came quickly: the team leaves no one behind.

With effort, Richard managed to pull his jeans on, he had even more troubles putting on his shoes … He stood in front of the window and looked at the light-flecked city, at the futuristic jungle, but was seeing something else.

He won’t be able to call her … He spent such a long time hiding from himself the fact that he can’t – build anew, this albedo castle of white marble, for himself, for the two of them. At the beginning of the year he was full of enthusiasm, of hope, he was sure he’ll make it – that nothing can stop them from being together, no intelligence services, no pseudo-alchemists and pseudo-poets, no force – of order, chaos, evil, good.

Now doubts crept in – that he was no Poet, that everything’s coming back on the trodden tracks of him running in circles, like a well-groomed beast, fulfilling orders, jumping through fiery hoops … He’ll be killed – before he has time to do anything; he’ll be killed – and he’ll never even learn what it’s like to be the architect of one’s universe.

He feared that with each day of delay, with each day of separation, they were drifting apart from each other, and he was drifting away from himself. At times, it felt like the opposite – that they were connected like never before and that he could feel her through the distance, even without their calls – sparse, spontaneous, when he had the chance, when she did …

He often imagined that she was next to him and perfectly aware of everything, that he wasn’t alone.

Wasn’t alone. So odd – he only started thinking about loneliness when he suddenly realized how good it is to have a kindred soul. Alexandra wasn’t the only person whom Richard – to his own surprise – missed.

The phone came to life in his hand, the message and its sender could not have come at a better time.

‘You can take whatever you need for the construction of the castle with you. Whatever you don’t need, leave here.’ There it is, the sign from above – even if the sender was a man formally considered dead by MI6, and the coincidence in which Richard only had to think of him to get an instant message seemed incredible.

“Dario!” he called.

Fisher came instantly, as if he had been standing behind the door and waiting until he would be called for.

“We’re flying to Moscow in two hours, distract the staff so I can leave the hospital. I’ll meet you down at the entrance.”

Dario nodded and left the hospital room without a word.

He somewhat reminded Richard of himself – ready to do anything if it was ordered by one of the chiefs. He had to admit – in certain scenarios, it was impossible not to take advantage of that.

4. Good Doctor

[Singapore, Singapore, Changi]

Adam Bradshaw’s two-week vacation was ending, he was about to check in for his flight to Dubai – the stop-over on his way to Washington – with the total duration of the flight being around a day.

He didn’t feel energetic or refreshed, his skin was still aching and peeling from the Singapore sun, he was drinking a lot and laying next to the hotel pool. He wanted a change of scenery, and he got it, but now he needed to go back to Baltimore.

Adam had no idea what he was going to do next. The scandal after which he was forced out of his position as the chief physician of the rehabilitation department at Johns Hopkins Hospital divided his life into ‘before’ and ‘after,’ and ‘after’ was utter uncertainty. The fact that a few months ago his wife had left him seemed a smaller catastrophe – though only recently he thought that there could be nothing worse.

His medical license was revoked – and that means he won’t be accepted to any other hospital, he can’t even continue his private practice. The world is full of injustice, and yet Adam Bradshaw for some reason never thought about revenge or giving evil back to evil.

He was often told that there are very few altruists like him – because they are the first to die. No wonder they called him ‘good Dr. Bradshaw’ or simply the Good Doctor6.

He entered medical care not because he wanted to be a hero and save people – but because everyone in his family was a doctor, he never even considered an alternative: not a surgeon, not a paramedic, not a dentist – specifically a general practitioner, a multi-discipline specialist who cared for his patients over a long period.

When recovered patients and their happy relatives thanked him, he always replied that he was simply doing his job. When he detected a problem in time and referred a patient to the more specialized doctor, all the glory went to star surgeons, cardiologists, psychiatrists …

He never tried to take his father’s place – the former chief rehabilitation physician whose decades of leadership had maintained phenomenal order in the department with a team of physiotherapists, neurologists, psychologists – but naturally became his replacement. Adam’s father was three years dead, his mother was quick to follow. Adam hardly visited them in that time, his family life was falling apart at the seams, he and Eve kept fighting all the time, kept breaking up and coming back together, he went into debt to renovate the apartment, tried his best – but, for her, nothing was ever enough …

Even on the day of his mother’s funeral, she nagged him, complaining that she had married a general practitioner instead of some plastic surgeon from Mount Royal Terrace.

When it came to selling his family’s apartment, he refused.

The picture-perfect family life was a cardboard backdrop that Eve – there was a good chance that the reason was the compatibility of their names – wanted. She allowed herself tantrums that he chose to endure – to keep their crumbling, hole-ridden boat afloat, she always excused herself with good intentions and always put the blame on him.

Only when she left did he suddenly realize she was nothing but a manipulator that twisted the truth inside out, and her truth was never the truth … It was as if he had gone through abstinence syndrome, purified his body of her venom, so when she suddenly called him, bawling into the phone, obviously drunk and claimed to miss him, he, contrary to her expectations, didn’t fall for her trick.

He suddenly understood that if he takes her words in good faith now, all of it will happen again – the chidings, his self-loathing, her tantrums, and the revulsion of her infidelity.

She left him for his colleague, a cardiac surgeon, who ended up setting Adam up so that he was fired with a scandal. It was, of course, Adam’s own fault for giving a reason to accuse him of negligence …

Dr. Bradshaw was yawning, half-lying on a chair in the Singapore Changi Airport, his legs stretched into the aisle. The flight scheduled for 8 AM was delayed, he hadn’t slept all night, tossing and turning, stinking thinking crawled into his head – even though he tried not to wind himself up.

He would come up with what he’s going to do, he’ll start coming up with it as soon as he gets to Baltimore – for now there are twenty-four more hours during which he can stop imitating the tiresome refrain of his self-chastising’s voice.

“A doctor! I need a doctor!”

It was a conditioned reflex – like the dog of the Russian physiologist Pavlov – to a sound command. It was more than a habit … Adam stirred, literally thrown up in his chair, he jumped up right away, turning to the young man who had rushed into the waiting area.

“I’m a doctor,” Adam acceded.

Their dialogue had already drawn the attention of the passengers, both walking and sitting. Some understood the brief exchange in English, some were reacting to one man’s look of distress and the other’s determined compliance.

“Please, come with me,” the young man said.

Adam followed him, leaving his suitcase by the row of chairs, it was only later that he realized he would never see his belongings again … They walked from one hall to another, he barely kept pace and even started panting, the young man explained on the go that they needed to get to the business aviation sector, walking past the bright futuristic decorations of the airport of the future.

It was only later that he realized that the local medical services could have reached the plane waiting for them on the platform faster. At that moment, he wasn’t thinking of anything.

A steward closed the door behind them, inside the business jet was a man with a bloody stain on his clothes in his abdominal area, there was an open first aid kit on the table.

“I thought you ran away,” the man in the seat muttered instead of a greeting.

“Keep wishing. This is Adam, he’s a doctor.”

The young man introduced himself as Dario; the stranger’s name, at the moment, didn’t matter. Adam didn’t waste time and asked where he could wash his hands.

He realized that they were taking off only when he left the restroom.

“Hold on. My flight is in an hour, I don’t—”

Dario pulled a gun from behind his back and pointed it at the doctor. The stranger in the seat sighed hopelessly and put his hand over his face.

“You idiot,” he muttered through his teeth.

“Are you a doctor or what?”

“This is a kidnapping!”

“That’s right. We’ll bring you back when you’re done.”

He briefly motioned at the wounded man with his chin, urging action, Adam decided he had no other choice anyway.

He crouched on the floor and started to lift the stranger’s clothing, under the sweat-soaked T-shirt he found a post-surgical dressing, soaked in blood. Dario put the weapon behind his back.

“What happened?” asked the doctor.

“A stab wound, had surgery yesterday,” the man replied.

“He escaped from the hospital,” Dario added, sitting down behind Adam in the row of seats opposite the wounded man.

“The stitches have come apart,” Adam frowned. “I hope there’s thread and a needle in the kit. You’ll have to lie still afterward.”

“No can do.”

“How long is the flight?”

“Twelve hours.”

Adam looked the stranger in the eye.

“Do you want to live?”

“More than anything in the world.”

“Then you’ll do as I say.”

“I’m with the doctor,” Dario said.

The man didn’t answer, he swallowed and closed his eyes tiredly. Adam wanted to live too – but he didn’t tell them that until a bit later.

5. Don’t Move

[Japan, Tokyo, Chuo City]

The bed in the Mandarin Oriental hotel room on the thirty-sixth floor of the Mitsui Tower in central Tokyo had a firm, springly mattress. Richard preferred these kinds of mattresses to airy featherbeds – that one could on occasion drown in – but this time, lying down hurt. His rear end did the entire time of the flight, his lower back ached as if he were not thirty-six, but all of eighty years old … With a sigh he lowered onto the bed, laying back on the pillows, sprawled diagonally as he tried to remove his shoes by propping one foot against the other.

Alexandra shushed at him and grabbed the leg he raised over the bed, Richard overcame the urge to resist – and let her pull the shoes off. The next to go were socks, jeans, the T-shirt – which was already clean of the bloodstain on the left side of the stomach.

He didn’t want to move, he wanted nothing.

It was noon local time, his eyelids were raw, he was rubbing his eyes tiredly, trying to get rid of the drowsiness. He’ll go to the shower now – it’ll boost him … He just needs to crawl to the shower.

He lay there and stared at the ceiling, gathering his strength, Alexandra stood by the panoramic window with a view of the Tokyo Skytree, the tallest broadcasting tower in the world, hugging herself by the shoulders.

She turned.

“Should I shower with you?”

Richard pulled his lips into a smile, he had to tilt his head up to see her face.

“Yes.”

He missed her – and the long-awaited reunion was awkward and rushed. If not for that damn wound, he would have had sex with her right there on the plane – since they couldn’t do it at home because they had to hurry.

Alexandra came closer, didn’t sit down on the bed right away. Richard, in turn, kept laying and looking up at her.

He reached out.

“Anything you want, but don’t be stupid,” she said, taking his hand, interlocking their fingers.

Richard hemmed.

“Buzzkill.”

“I’m serious. No sudden moves and no acrobatics – and after, I promise you, you’re going to run and hide from me.”

“I won’t.”

His abdomen with a white square of the dressing rose and fell with his breaths, his body – a sculptor and an artist’s dream – was attractive – but he’s not going anywhere … Even if they’ll have to part again for a time, if wished, she’ll always find him.

She could find him anywhere – if she wanted to. They agreed to not see each other for these months, and only the philosophical God knew how much she missed Richard all this time.

Alexandra sighed and squeezed his hand tighter. The sun fell through the wide window onto the gray carpeting, lining it with flecks of light, reflecting off the polished surface of the table. Richard’s blue eyes, if looking at an angle, appeared to be lit up from the inside, the ends of his lashes were lighter in color.

She leaned in, her free hand trailed over his stubbled cheek. Richard pulled her to him by the back of her head, putting his fingers into her chestnut hair, he didn’t even have to sit up – she was already kissing him on the lips, hovering over him, he just held her tight as if she could leave.

At some point, he tried to roll over and onto her, but she stopped him. Her cool hands were pressed against his chest, the gaze of her dark eyes was determined and direct.

His stubble already left red marks around her mouth … Richard smiled.

“Don’t move,” she said.

He squinted playfully.

“So tie me up.”

“Good idea. I’ve never tied you up before.”

Her thigh lay across his thighs, he could flip her on her blades with a single movement, but didn’t. He placed his hands onto her back, under her T-shirt, pulling her close again.

There are fang extensions in her mouth. He seldom thought of them – he had gotten used to them almost since the beginning. He didn’t feel them at all when they kissed – even when she went down on him … Now it was as if he was kissing her for the first time, his head was spinning, he wanted to guttle her, he was already out of breath. Somewhere he found the strength to start wriggling around again, to pull her jeans off, push his hand down her panties as she was taking off her T-shirt, sitting on him in an uncomfortable pose, her knees pressed into the bed on both sides of his hips.

She almost never wore bras, and she had small breasts – but Richard liked her small breasts. He moved deeper into the bed, back to the pillows, impatient for her to take the rest of the clothes off, he pulled her towards himself with one hand, his other hand inside her. Her palms were already on his cock, he dug into her lips, holding her by the hair, exhaling moans into her mouth, throwing his head back when she started to trail kisses down his neck to his chest, to his chiseled abdomen, to his lower stomach.

Now it was he who grabbed her hair with both hands, trying not to move his hips, admiring her and immediately getting lost again, closing his eyes, dissolving.

Then he pulled her away from himself and kissed her on the lips again, she was already sitting on top of him, moving her hips rhythmically, his embrace left raspberry-red marks on her shoulders and back that will later become bruises – because her skin is prone to bruising – even under the black geometrical pattern of the tattoos … Suddenly, he gave a quiet cry of surprise through his brief moaning. He was already gasping, hoarsely, for air, she barely had time to pull away, still holding him by the shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say.

He reached to her inner thigh again, but she stopped him, pulling his hand away, kissing his sweat-soaked temple.

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

They only just started … He forgot everything, he lost control. With her, he lost control – but wasn’t afraid of this free fall anymore, everything was different. He trusted her – with both body and mind – and knew she did, too. It wasn’t even about the sex, though sex with a loved one – a privilege previously inaccessible – was one of the pleasant discoveries.

In many ways, it was as if he was born again … What it’s like to finish too soon, it turned out, was also something he had to learn. Disappointment, confusion, and something of abashment – since the clarity comes quickly.

Alexandra lay next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, Richard hugged her, touching her forehead, the wet strands of hair stuck to it, with his lips. He closed his eyes, the exhaustion came back, the pain in his side pulsed vividly.

The painkiller was somewhere in the pocket of his jacket, discarded on the entrance hall floor.

He realized that, half-laying on the pillows, he can’t even move, though now he definitely needed to take a shower. Richard huffed, opened his eyes – but only to make himself more comfortable, feeling the cool body next to him, breathing in the scent of the sweet perfume and shampoo, mixed with the smell of the car, the airport, plane, the taxi, the salty sweat.

She never told him that she loved him … It was an odd thought – uncharacteristic for him, too sentimental – though neutral, more of the realm of unresolved questions. Even he said it – genuinely, not as a loud declaration or the way it’s normally said as a goodbye or in carelessness – but as an argument, as a thesis in dialogue.

It seems the latest events, the wounds, and flights, really did exhaust him. What damn difference did it make if she said it or not – if he knows that she loves him anyway.

Richard fell asleep almost right away, Alexandra lay next to him for some time, looking at the flecks of light that shifted on the beige wall opposite the bed. The escape, the wound, riddles again, this Circus again …

Alexandra hated the Circus – for what they did to Richard and for what they kept doing – though now he was immune to their manipulations and brainwashing.

He was a tool – a plastic doll in a plastic dollhouse, with stage scenery and genius – in its cynicism – direction … Behind the altisonant words about duty and honor, evil and good, chaos and order were ordinary human motives – though at a lower level of influence from the divine.

The problem was not that Richard and his colleagues served the powers that were not at all good and order – but in that the absolute trust and unquestioning execution of order turned them from humans into meat. Meat of professional liars and seductors, expensive in maintenance but yet a commodity, high-class specialists – loyal hunting dogs regularly bringing truffles.