“It probably will, if you aren’t careful.” Vivika said plainly, “And I don’t want to spend this entire trip babysitting you. So, for once in your life, be responsible.”
“Aw, screw you!” he responded, while still pressing his face to the glass, “You can take your shit responsibilities and shove ‘em up your arse! I want it all!” Then, turning towards the front of the van, as if acknowledging the driver for the first time, Jakob shouted, “Hey, driver! Driver!”
“What?” Patrick responded, annoyed.
Oh, that had happened, by the way.
As much as the bands in the GDR absolutely fantasized about heading over the wall to sweet freedom, nothing was ever that easy. You never received carte blanche or a blank check where the State was concerned. Sure, you received a little tour van, and sure you received some money, smokes and goodies for the road. But you also received your own personal Stasi officer (or as he preferred, ‘road manager’).
The ‘road manager’ had a few important duties. Firstly, to get the bands to where they needed to go, and make some perfunctory affectations about “Your place on the set list,” or “The sound check you’re going to get.” But his main job was much more personaclass="underline" ensure you played the music you were supposed to play, and ensure you made it back onto the van and back into the GDR. Lena didn’t know how the Stasi would ensure you didn’t run off in a country where they had absolutely no power whatsoever, but then she figured that’s probably why Grandfather had sent Patrick. After all, he was likely the only person in the world besides Grandfather that had a chance at bringing her back.
Grandfather knew her well, as did Patrick. After the night at the Interhostel, she had planned on bolting into the sweet arms of freedom the first chance she had, band be damned. Both of them had figured as much, yet they were quite amiable about it. It was almost as if her revilement was expected. However, it had taken a combined effort on both of their parts, at separate times, to convince her to hang in for the greater good.
“You just have to trust me,” Grandfather had gently pleaded. “I know it seems bleak and confusing right now. Trust that I know that feeling. But when I was your age, I had an officer who saw me through for my personal good. Now I’m asking you to trust me in the same way. Ok?”
She swore that she would, and she did trust him of course. There were a great many things that Lena trusted in her life. She trusted that gravity would always pull her down, or that a chair would always hold her up. She also trusted the Stasi and HVA to always have her worst interests in mind, and she trusted that Grandfather worked for them. Neither gravity, nor chairs, nor Grandfather, did she trust with her life or her freedom. As far as she was concerned, the only purpose he really served was keeping Dragon Lady at bay. And the mere fact that they worked together was enough to make her hate him completely.
Ok, maybe she didn’t hate-hate him; but she certainly didn’t trust him in the way he wanted her too. Luckily for Grandfather, Patrick absolutely had what it took to earn her trust. By the time they had both piled into this little van, she had thoroughly bonded with him. They had been through some pretty rough times together, after all. And while the ‘Mad Bunny’ trusted her tour manager Patrick—errr, ‘Victor’, as he was now called—with her true story, he had seen fit to trust her with a deep secret as welclass="underline" he hated the Stasi and the HVA just as much (or even more than) she did.
Few liked what it took to make an informant out of the rich and powerful, least of all full-time agents who felt they had better things to do with their time than find desperate old politicians to seduce. But Patrick, well, that was an aspect of being an agent that he utterly loathed. Once he was able to get Lena away from prying eyes and ears, he had made that—and much more—perfectly clear.
Patrick had only briefly served with the Stasi. He was a product of parents who had fallen under intense State scrutiny. They had been locked up on trumped-up charges and a kangaroo-conviction, after which Patrick had been very nearly sent to Torgau—essentially an extermination camp for orphans. But, since his 18th birthday had been near enough, and he had shown an above-average intellect, he was offered the opportunity to “reclaim his parents’ lost virtue” in direct service to the State.
Halfway through his training, however, his Academy instructors had noticed two important things about Patrick: he was small for his age, and emotional. He also loathed the idea of dragging people in, or spying on his fellow countrymen—definitely not the most useful profile for a Secret Policeman. And yet, he not only showed a much-higher-than-average intellect, he was also charismatic, a quick learner, free-thinking, empathetic, slightly larcenous, and he retained a propensity for particularly elaborate pranks. He seemed to relish the opportunity to get away with things that he otherwise wouldn’t have, based purely off his preternatural ability to bullshit his way out of nearly anything. Patrick would have made a particularly good salesman. Hell, he would have made an incredible actor.
Most of these attributes were serious warning signs to the Secret Police. Luckily, all of the attributes were perfect for the intelligence services. Thus, less than a week after failing the Secret Police Academy, he found his way into the HVA-Academy. He eventually graduated with honors two years later. Everyone felt that he would go quite far. This was especially true for his instructors who highly recommended him to Lena’s Grandfather for seasoning. The two made a particularly apt pair, largely due to their love of pranks.
Unfortunately, the rest of Grandfather’s team found themselves at odds with Patrick more often than otherwise. While Fancy-man and Wart-face were reasonably decent folk when they had to be, preferring a gruff, utilitarian approach, Red-hat and Dragon Lady were just plain awful. And while the latter two were unapologetic sadists, nearly all the HVA-agents were usurious at best and thuggish at their core.
Like many new intelligence agents, Patrick envisioned a world where he would be rappelling into danger and sneaking about, collecting sensitive information, and toppling governments behind the scenes without leaving a trace. Instead, he found himself in the real world of hookers, drug-running, blackmail, extortion, and often worse. Sure, all of this might have sounded fantastic to the casual observer (especially those with no respect for the law to begin with); yet when experienced first-hand, it was just… filthy.
Patrick had made the mistake of second-guessing it all early on, outside of the protective blanket that Grandfather afforded. Red-hat and Dragon Lady (especially her) had been swift to sniff out his weakness. The next thing he knew, he was being carted around and abused like a common asset anytime they could get away with it. It wasn’t that they wanted to expunge him from their ranks—no, he was their entertainment. And while Fancy-man demanded some semblance of order, and Wart-face had a limit to how much ‘playtime’ they could exact, really, Dragon Lady and Red-hat just had a way of giving him the short end of the proverbial (and apparently not-so-proverbial) stick.
Soon enough, Patrick saw things the same way that Lena did: the HVA were a bunch of debauched villains that he should be rid of as soon as possible. Perhaps this was why Grandfather had seen fit to put the two of them together. Maybe Patrick could finally perform what he envisioned to be real intelligence work, and Lena could finally escape the GDR, if only for a few moments. It was Grandfather’s best shot at not only ensuring that they both safely returned, but that they were reasonably happy to do so. As much as could be expected, anyway.