TS 2 Part VI Chapter 9

Chapter 9

December 5^th, 2010

Zurich

“Chaton, you have been playing with your food the whole night. Don't you like it? I can take some moderate critics,” Jean Jacques asked to a sourly Alexei, lost in his thought.

“No, this tastes great but I'm worried,” he answered and began to shove the food in his mouth.

“It was a great soufflé some forty minutes ago. Now it's a hard rock,” Jean Jacques answered with a smile. “I can make you something else.”

“Do you have a spare ravioli can?”

“Do you want to go to bed tonight with all your appendices attached to your body?” Jean Jacques answered with a radiant but dangerous smile. “I've done my best to civilize you, Chaton.”

“You were very good to me, Jean.” Alexei said very seriously and the cook stopped his teasing.

“Is there something you want to say?” he asked partly alarmed.

“You have made me very happy and these years were the best of my life. You made me forget many things that are in my past but it's time for me to face them.”

“Did you meet somebody else?”

“No! I love you!” Alexei protested loudly. “It's something very different and I don't know if I can tell it to you.”

“Just try it,” a pained Jean Jacques said.

“You must keep all this to yourself. Not even Goran Pavicevic knows this. Only the Duke and he never said a word to anyone. It's about Guntram.”

“Do you know where he is?” shouted Jean Jacques and rose from his chair.

“I don't have the slightest idea of where he is, but we know who took him away,” Alexei answered keeping his voice down.

“What are you waiting to get the police?” the cook yelled back

“We suffice ourselves. We have more resources than simple policemen. Calling them will solve nothing. Look what they did to the Duke! He was almost accused of killing Guntram! Sit down and listen to me. This is very serious.”

“All right,” the man whispered, clearing the table before taking his seat. “I listen to you.”

“I came to Zurich in 1996 but this you already know. I told you I had enough of my country's corruption but that was not all the truth. I was forced to leave my land and I'm grateful to the Duke because he took me in.”

“Took you in?”

“I had troubles with very powerful people back there. I was in the KGB, but this you know,” Alexei told him very slowly. “I was a war hero, several times decorated and I had to run away like a stray dog to save my life.”

“What happened?”

“After the war in Afghanistan, I joined the KGB and began to work in Central Asia. In 1990, when the Soviet Union was falling into pieces and the generals were selling everything at the highest bidder, I met a man, an arms dealer from St. Petersburg. We got along and you have no idea how hard is to be homosexual in Russia. Even now, try to make a gay parade in Moscow and the fascists will literally kill you. It was illegal till 1993 and homosexuals were sent for five years to the Gulags. They were the lowest caste; opusitsieny and subjected to all kind of degradations. My superiors turned a blind eye to my preferences as long as I was using them to serve my country.”

“Could you be sent to prison for this?” Jean Jacques asked in disbelief.

“Yes, under article 121 and most people thought at that time that we were sick people and should be killed,” Alexei answered with a pained smile. “I had many adventures before but never a real “boyfriend” before Constantin. He was rich, educated, had been to Europe several times, good looking and I was 25 years old. We became lovers and I moved back to St. Petersburg to a less risky position. My superiors believed that it was a good idea that I was tagging this man and I was supposed to spy on him and report about his deals. He was a rising star in the oil industry and privatizations.”

“I did my job but I was not entirely truthful to my superiors. Constantin Repin was not a simple arms dealer but one of the men behind the real power in Russia. Officially he was the owner of a fast growing oil company in Siberia and a conglomerate for transport, but that was a cover. He was one of the most powerful Mafia warlords we had around. I saw many sickening things, but I kept most of them to myself. Constantin was ruthless and bloody like no one I had ever met before. He had to be like that to be respected by his men. He never hid he was homosexual and he kept many young boys living with him. I had no problems with that because what we had was a friendship with the benefit of sharing the bed whenever we felt like it.”

“Did you love him?”

“I don't know. Maybe, but it was nothing like what we have, Jean. We liked each other and had a great time in bed but nothing else. Nothing serious. I was not what he was looking in a man to make a lifetime commitment and vice versa.”

“Why did you split?”

“He tortured me to the point of death while he was looking for traitors within his organization,” Alexei confessed slowly and closed the eyes when he heard the muffled cry. “It wasn't that bad. I spent a month with some Taliban folks in 1988. The Russians are far more civilized.”

“How could he? You were his lover!”

“Someone tipped the Russian authorities about a large heroin cargo coming from Kabul and the police acted upon it. Most of Repin's organization in Vladivostok was destroyed in less than a week and his losses were staggering. I assume his wife pointed her finger toward me.”

“His wife?”

“Olga Fedorovna and he had four children too. I think she felt threatened by me and wanted me dead. Repin always knew who I was and what I did but I never betrayed him or said a thing. I was even letting him read what I was writing about him.”

“How could she do this?”

“Why not? I was competition. My uncle bought her lies and he sold the police some information in exchange for a pardon for his dealings with discarded weapons from the Red Army.” Alexei said with a broken voice. “Repin had he and his wife killed in front of me and they were like my parents. It was my fault they were murdered.”

“You never told me a thing,” Jean Jacques said, leaving his chair to kneel next to Alexei and hold his head against his chest. With infinite sadness he kissed the large man's forehead, knowing how futile was his attempt to soothed his pain. “You should have, Chaton.”

“I just couldn't. For some reason I still don't understand, Repin spared my life and his henchman found me a position here. The Duke saved my life, Jean because otherwise, I would have been a sitting duck for all Russian mobsters and intelligence officers. What arrived to Zurich in 96 were the pieces of a man.”

“I thought you were just sad and homesick.”

“I was an empty shell and that borsch soup you gave me that night reminded me of my own home. I knew that moment I couldn't continue to wallow in pain and that's when I started to leave the hell I was living in.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“Because this man, Constantin Repin is the one who was after Guntram all this time. The crazy Russian art collector? That's him.”

Jean Jacques only looked at him without understanding what Alexei was trying to tell him. “Repin faked his own death and kidnapped Guntram.”

“How do you know it?”

“I can't tell you this, but you must understand why I need to go and do my best to get him back home.”

“Why?” Jean Jacques cried.

“Because I owe it to him and to the Duke. I can go where no one else can go but I can't have Pavicevic and his people around. They will only slow me down. I don't need them to do this.”

“You are going to be killed! You can't do this alone!”

“I always worked alone. I was never part of any team. Lintorff knows it. You have to tell him that I'm gone to look for Guntram and he should leave me alone. I can speak with many people from the lowest spheres and I don't want the Duke to be stained by this. Repin is alive and keeps Guntram somewhere against his will. I don't know what I will find, but I have to try it. All what we have done so far is trash. It's driving me crazy that we can't even enter in Russia because of some people!”

“I don't understand.”

“The same people who helped Repin to escape are hindering our efforts to find the truth out. I can make them change their minds. It's the least I can do for the Duke after he saved my life and offered me a home here. It's the least I can do for a good friend like Guntram. We never leave anyone behind. That's the soldiers' code.”

* * *

December 5^th, 2010

Geneva

The dying lights in the afternoon enhanced the city's quietness engulfed in darkness and cold. Michel Lacroix couldn't work or even read the case he had in front of his eyes. With heavy moves he rose from his chair, feeling each one of his years stabbing him on the back with vengeance.

Speaking with Lintorff had been useless. His people had returned empty handed from wherever they had been or whatever they had investigated.

They had not been able to find out even Repin's new name or any of his new societies.

He had disappeared taking Guntram with him.

'What if he died? Lintorff is convinced of it. He only looks for him because he's too stubborn to give up, but he's not expecting to find anything. Guntram was very sick to have survived the kidnapping.'

'Nicholas and Chano used my boy and I never realised.'

His phone beeped very softly and he pressed the button to hear his secretary announce that there was a Mr. von Lintorff, requesting an audience with him but he had no previous appointment.

“Send him in, Annette,” Michel said tiredly. “No interruptions.”

The secretary opened the heavy wooden door and Konrad entered the room proudly walking as usual. His footsteps faltered just a bit when he saw two of Guntram's paintings decorating the room. He turned his head around to ignore them.

“It's a surprise to see you here, Duke,” Michel greeted him in a formal tone. “Please do sit down.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lacroix. My visit is business only.”

“Do you have any news about my son?”

“All out efforts have been fruitless so far.”

“If you would accept my own buffet cooperation, our combined efforts could achieve something. Your people may be loyal to you, but their legal abilities are well below ours.”

“I will not let your people come near mine. Is that understood, sir?” Konrad growled dangerously. “I've come today on a different business.”

“I listen to you, sir.” Michel said trying to hide his annoyance and hatred for the man who had stolen his child.

“I found one of Guntram's old diaries and I want to put some remedy to the situation he describes,” Konrad said very sharply as he took out of his overcoat some papers and handed them over Michel. “They are copies, of course. I keep the originals.”

“What is this?” Michel asked as his gaze wandered through the three handwritten with a rounded calligraphy pages.

“I assume that they are part of Guntram's diary. For some reason, he wrote them in a folder where he kept sketches and not in his laptop. When I met him, he used to have a folder for such things but later he was using his own computer. These pages were well hidden as he had glued them with others.”

“Have you ever heard about the right to privacy?” Michel asked very upset. “Do you have any kind of respect for my son?”

“I keep him in my highest regard and esteem. If we disclosed this, it was to check if there were some leads about Repin's plans. He was always talking to Guntram and your son was always writing everything down, like an obsessive chronicler but for some reason he was never willing to put together the dots to see the broader picture. He never wrote a thing about the businesses conducted at home. Only what was really affecting him on a personal level. As you may see, there are many more damaging things against me in these pages than in all the trash you presented to the courts, nevertheless he hid them.”

“Much to my dismay, my son was always loyal to you, even when you didn't deserve it.”

“A trait he must have inherited from the Guttenberg Sachsen's side.” Konrad spat venomously and Michel glared at him.

The lawyer preferred to ignore the banker and read the pages.

“Today I read in the Financial Times about Charles de Faubourg arrest in New York. First I didn't react at the name as the charges against him were very similar to those Maddoff faced; embezzlement, use of inside information and some other things that make a trader's day funny. The man volatilized about 4.7 billion dollars from his clients with risky and dangerous trading of subprime mortgages, options, CDF's and all you can imagine.”

“Somehow the name rang a bell to me but I couldn't remember the man in the photo's face from any party. It was the name what drew my attention, but not him. I thought it was funny, but being the Idiot I am, I searched for it in Google.”

“There I found him. He is Marianne von Liechenstein's second husband. Konrad's “stepfather” -if he would ever admitted it- and the father of his two “half-siblings”.

It was shocking to watch the man's photo as he was being dragged out of his office in chains (Why do Americans have to be so dramatic? He must be over sixty and not going to run away) at Wall Street. Just like Maddoff.

I felt very sick for this.

Not because of what he has done. If it were by me, most of the traders or bankers that visit this house would find glass shards in his food. What struck me, once I read about the news in other websites is that two of his “star traders”, the ones who made the rubbish have been here shortly after I broke up with the bastard.

I saw them here conspiring with him and if someone put those crazy ideas in their little minds (and a lot more in their pockets), that person is Konrad von Lintorff. Shit, I could tell which accounts he used to pay for their services and the guys must be enjoying a good life in Bahamas till he decides to eliminate that “leak” also.

Whatever happened with Charles, was a good operation in the Order's best tradition.

If he can put down a government or bring a powerful nation to its knees, what is a medium size stockbroker for him?

Nothing.

And everything because he has destroyed his mother's wealth in one single move: She has nothing left; no money, no honour, no name, no family.

It's a clear revenge for what happened between us.

Marianne von Liechenstein is a witch. I'm the first person to tell it. She ruined my life like no one else did. I almost had a heart attack that horrible day and she was almost cheering for Madame La Morte. Milan and that doctor saved my life by taking me to the hospital. Because of her, I live in hell.

I know this is not Christian or manly, but I would punch her in the face if I ever see her again.

Because of her, I lost everything I loved in this world. Was it based on a lie? Yes, I know, but it wasn't less good for me. I had the family I always dreamed of and with a person whom I loved unconditionally. I accepted all the rubbish that surrounded Konrad and closed my eyes because I loved him.

I know I'm a real idiot, jerk, lunatic and many other things but this move concerns me very much.

I fear this will fire back at Konrad's face at one point. Your mother is your mother even if she's a cunning witch.

I know she put him through hell as child or teenager. Friederich told me the story and I believe him. Heck, I saw her at work!

But she's his mother. Not now, but maybe in a few years all this could make him feel remorse and the wound he has in his heart will get bigger. I don't want to see him hurting so much. She never leaves his thoughts nowadays and that only renders him more bitter and depressed. Honestly, I would like that he could be able to rebuild his life with someone else.

He has to let go her offences and start again, but he doesn't want. Many times in the past I told him to forget about her and he almost did till the shit hit us like a tornado.

Anyhow, he should have never done this. He should close this chapter in his life. I don't expect she will love him or show any care for him, but at least he should get one source of pain out of his life.

If I could have one single wish in this life it would be that God could set time back and Konrad would have never meet my uncle Roger. Nothing else.

I must be very crazy but I worry about him. All this hatred is consuming him... and me. I can't hate him. (how do you hate the person you loved so much?) but I can't forgive him. I hate myself for not being brave enough as to make a clear cut and for not hating him as I should.

In a way, I feel horrible for him. All his life Konrad looked for someone to love him, and everyone turned his back to him. First his mother, then his father who never cared much about him as son and finally my uncle Roger who exploited every weakness he had in his favour.

No. Finally came Guntram who swore to be beside him until his death and kicked him much worse than anyone else had.

We are a broken family and I fear the boys will suffer in the end.

It is as Alexei tells me, I should be a man and go away so he can rebuild his life, but I'm a coward who can't live without him. It was very hard for me to reject him once more when Löwenstein died.

Yes, even if I want to smash his head against a wall, I need to see him and I hurt when he hurts.

If he continues to be so rooted in the past he will never be happy again. That's not the kind of life I want for him.

Michel folded the pages again and looked at Konrad dispassionately. “What am I supposed to understand from all this? That my son was so fooled by your antics that he loved you? Should I give you my blessing now?”

“No, nothing so altruist from you,” Konrad replied with barely hidden contempt in his voice. “I want that you fix the mistake your so called friends forced me to commit. Contrary to Guntram's beliefs, I had no pending issues with my mother till you decided to fuel her war against me once more. I don't care if it was your idea or Roger's. The only thing I want is that you repair what I did to Faubourg.”

“I'm afraid he's serving time in prison.”

“Get an appeal and pay the bail. In this account you will find enough funds as to cover your expenses and the bail,” Konrad said and extracted a small pendrive from his jacket's pocket. “Call the bank if you need more funds.”

“Do I have to clean after you?”

“No, you're cleaning after yourself, sir. If Guntram believed that a good relationship with my mother was beneficial for me, then I will bury the axe once more. She should stop covering his good name with her rants. It's the least I can do for his memory.”

“For his memory?”

“We both know he's not coming back, sir,” Konrad said. “You ruined his life twice. Use some of the intelligence God gave you to fix part of the pain you caused us. My mother thinks that all is his fault; that he's nothing but a punk who lived me off and pitied me against her poor husband. Your son's memory deserves to be clean of any libels.”

“Very well, you will hear from our office.” Michel said after a long pause.

“No, I don't want to hearing from you ever again. I will call you when I have any results. To me, you are as dead as Roger. Enjoy your new life,” Konrad said before he left the room.

* * *

December 10^th, 2010

Khanty Mansiysk

The sketches laid in disarray over Constantin's desk as he had spend almost a full hour in silent contemplation of the hellish images.

“Do you affirm that he made them yesterday?” he asked Massaiev.

“Yes, sir. This is the first time I see them.”

“They are impressive and really excellent. Put to shame all the students I sponsored over the years. I could mount an exhibition only with them. Almost like Francis Bacon's but with Goya's strength and mastery. A true Walpurgis night.”

“I am concerned that this indicates something more serious and delicate,” Massaiev said with an edge in his voice. “Fedia does not remember when he made them and was clearly distraught when he saw them.”

“I've heard that some artists work almost in trance. Any of the real icon masters do it like this,” Constantin shrugged.

“Perhaps, but they don't try to kill themselves,” Massaiev answered back. “He has these lapses more and more frequently. Before, he was losing a few minutes or perhaps half an hour but this one must have taken over five hours. The images are very violent. What if they start to be part of his reality? What if he reacts while in one of those “trances”? This is a very clear psychotic episode.”

“I have no idea the French Army members were also versed in psychiatry.”

“I'm not, but I've seen this many times before, especially with people in combat situation.”

“If he draws it, he's getting it out of his system. He has no reason to be nervous. He has a child and has accepted to be here.”

“I think this boy has been sick for a very long time, perhaps since his father “died” and only a iron will and education kept him going. Now, with all the stress of becoming a real father, it has simply exploded. He shows all the traits of a borderline personality. You have seen that he's able to fight back when he wants or feels cornered. I do believe now the story that he almost shot Lintorff in the head. I fear he could hurt himself or the child.”

“Guntram would never touch his son!” Constantin shouted out of himself. “Conor is my baby, too.”

“I'm not saying he would do it on purpose!” Massaiev yelled back. “He's not himself sometimes! What if he mistakes the child for one of his nightmarish creatures? Have you never heard about people who killed their child because she was “possessed”? They are lunatics, but the child is well buried in the grave!”

“What should I do then? Get a shrink for him and then shoot him?”

“We can't do that but we can't ignore what's going on!” Massaiev rose his voice once more.

“Then, do your work!” Constantin shouted again and did his best to control his emotions. “Stay with him all the time and take any dangerous utensil away from his studio. He's into pastels, temperas and pencils. Buy him a damn sharpener for children if you have to. Don't let him alone with the baby under any circumstance. Will that be enough to ease your fears?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Massaiev threw a venomous glance at his superior and rose from his chair. 'My fears? You think the same but don't want to admit it. Otherwise, you wouldn't have taken it so well.' Without saying another word, he left the room.

Once Constantin was alone, he buried his face in his hands, messing his black hair. He took a deep breath and sighed loudly. 'Massaiev exaggerates, but it wouldn't be the first time my angel hurts himself. He was always very nervous, neurotic and bound to depression. This damn French is right; an iron education is what keeps him functioning. He never loses it when most people would have been yelling or fighting like crazy. When I met him for the first time, I saw a very polite and gentlemanlike boy. Under the pretence of being socially adapted, he alienated himself from society. Maybe he saw me and even realised what I wanted from him, but he pushed me out of his world as he didn't want to have cracks of any kind inside it. How did Lintorff tell me the first time we argued over him? 'He's not for you and you could never build the net he needs around him.' I thought he referred to the prison he had built around him to keep me away, but in reality the prison was to keep him safe from the rest of the world.'

'My angel fell from grace when he met the real world. Massaiev is right, but the option is to put him under medications and all his talent would be destroyed. I don't want a chemically lobotomised doll. We will have to be more careful than before and monitor him more. Maybe this is just a crisis because of the parenthood.'

Constantin looked through the window at the snow covered garden and saw Guntram carrying his child, warmly dressed for a walk with the nanny, smiling at his baby and the Russian's heart cringed. 'I will have to build another net for him. I can do it.'

* * *

December 24^th, 2010

“I thought Russians didn't celebrate Christmas,” Guntram said with a smile, completely surprised that Constantin had installed a Christmas tree in the middle of his modern-ascetic looking living room. Still holding his child in the arms, he walked around the tall tree, decorated in red and silver.

“Our celebration is a bit later, in January, but this day gives me the perfect excuse to give Conor a present,” Constantin answered with a smile. “The nativity set is too much for my taste, but we can have one.”

“That's what children love most,” Guntram spoke with a grin.

“Next year then,” Constantin groaned. “But nothing from Naples.”

“With Conor around we should settle for the Lego or the Playmobil option,” Guntram said barely containing his laughter as his tree months old boy was looking with big eyes the brilliant balls and doing his best to touch one.

Constantin watched how the young man showed the tree to his son and smiled relieved. 'Since we are with him all the time, he's much better. He never had one of his lapses again. Maybe he only needs to be remembered that there are people around him and that prevents him from falling into these spells. The child makes him very happy.' He put his arms around the boy's waist and kissed him tenderly. “Do you like it, angel?”

“That's very thoughtful of you, Alexander,” Guntram answered with a genuine smile. “Con likes it, too.”

* * *

Irina left the heavy silver tray on the kitchen's table and sighed very tiredly. “Do you have the dessert ready, Olga?” she asked the rubicund cook, busy with adding some nuts to the ice creams.

“Almost. How's everything going up there?”

“Fine, the master and Fedia are having a good night. The boy was very happy with the tree. It's a very beautiful thing.”

“I hope you think the same when you have to sweep all the needles,” Olga smirked, finishing the cups. “Ready,” she announced, proud of her creation laying on the tray and the maid took it with achieved expertise.

“Boss is someone else since the boy is here.”

“First, he's not a boy and second, if my ice melts because of your chit chat, you'll be in serious problems with me,” the cook huffed and the young maid left the kitchen in a hurry.

'The witch is right; the boy has been a blessing for the master. He kisses the floor he threads on and he's very kind to all of us. He's much better since his baby arrived from Moscow and Mr. Kuragin adores the baby. Not many would have accepted so well the baby of a former mistress and provide for him as if he were his. Fedia should consider himself lucky that a man like Mr. Kuragin loves and protects him the way he does.'

* * *

Contemplating his son sleep was the most joyful moment in Guntram's day. Konrad looked always peaceful and happy in his dreams. 'He changes so much from day to day that I don't have enough time to do the sketches I want.' He approached on tip toes to the crib and rearranged the covers, afraid of the cold weather merciless battering the house. 'I will never be used to this. Yesterday, the first floor windows were covered in snow up to the middle. What if one of them breaks under the weight?'

“Hey, are you still here?” Constantin whispered in his ear making him jump in surprise. “You said that you were coming to see if he was fine and that was forty minutes ago.”

“I was looking if he was well covered.”

“Conor takes good care of his bedcovers, angel. Come back to the living room, it's very early to go to bed.”

Guntram cracked a smile and followed Constantin back to the living room where the chimney was on and he came closer to the fire. “Is it always so cold in here?”

“This is Siberia, we have a reputation for that. But tonight is only -15ºC.”

“That's a lot in my opinion.”

“Can be much more, but the house will hold, believe me. I find this weather very stimulating.”

“I never saw so much snow in my life,” Guntram complained miserably.

“The blizzards can be a bit problematic if you are outside, but inside the house is perfectly fine. Don't be so nervous about it. This is solid concrete with a layer of wood too. The windows have four crystals. If there is a huge storm, we can move you and the baby to the two underground stores, if that makes you feel better. Underground is always five or six degrees warmer than on ground level,” Constantin said with a smile. “It's just a little of snow and people can live in the wooden houses you have seen so far without problems.” Constantin sat on the sofa and motioned Guntram to join him.

“The good thing about bad weather is that you can cuddle to keep the warm, angel,” he added, putting his arms around his lover and pulling him closer, enjoying how Guntram leaned his head against his shoulder and sought for his symbolic protection.