Why am I talking about this now? Well, because Steve himself would not have behaved like that with policemen who effectively caught Herr Hagen at the crime scene. Back in America both of them would’ve been taken to a police station – and that’s it. But the local policemen here are liberal guys, and for some reason they were trying to prove to Steve that his mate is guilty.
As I was standing there watching, another two police cars arrived. Now Herr Hagen and the blonde were sitting in one of the cars and a policewoman, a pretty plump woman with brown hair, sat in the Opel. Steve was free to go and at once, suspiciously quickly, stopped a taxi and left. Then the policemen left too. I was left on the street by myself again.
I didn’t manage to leave Zurich the next day, nor the day after. The program was playing up, time was running out and I even had to work at night to get results.
I saw Herr Hagen again when I arrived at the consulate to get in touch with the agency. A door into one of the offices was opened and I noticed the banker sitting in there in an armchair by the table. I couldn’t see who was sitting opposite him and the voice was unfamiliar.
Herr Hagen looked depressed and confused. I lingered by the door listening to the conversation.
‘You’re not in a very good position, Herr Hagen,’ the invisible interlocutor was telling the German. ‘Drink-driving is a serious offence.’
‘My friend wanted to help me, ‘Herr Hagen mumbled. ‘Steve, he tried… tried to take my place and drive the car. Oh, my damn stubbornness! I already paid the fine and a fee for the medical examination and a fee for the tests… it came out at almost five thousand francs! And now I’ve received a subpoena and this is threatening my career – according to internal policies of the bank, someone up for prosecution doesn’t have a right to occupy certain positions… High positions, do you understand? Steve said back then, when the policemen have arrived, he said that there’s an opportunity…’
‘There is indeed an opportunity,’ the voice of the man sitting at the table sounded very convincing. He was now talking slowly, pausing between the words. ‘The court will hear your case tomorrow. But unfortunately, Steve has left and won’t be able to help you personally…’
‘Oh!’ Herr Hagen exclaimed sorrowfully.
‘But he’s asked me to make all possible efforts to get you out of this unpleasant situation. The only thing, Herr Hagen – we’ll need a favour from you.’
‘A favour? Anything you want!’ the German exclaimed.
‘Great!’ the voice sounded satisfied. ‘So, sign this paper. Here and here.’
‘What is it?’ Some papers rustled.
‘It’s a commitment, Herr Hagen, just a commitment. A document confirming our agreement.’
‘It says here that I… that I’ll have to pass…’
‘…information that, let’s put it this way, has importance for our service,’ the voice finished for him. ‘But note from now on every month you will receive the sum shown below on a secret account. And any prosecution in regards to your drink-driving will be stopped.’
‘This is… This is recruitment!’ Herr Hagen suddenly shouted.
‘Why so harsh,’ the voice scolded him gently. ‘It’s just an offer of cooperation, which, I’d like to note, comes to you not from enemies, but friends! Aren’t our countries the closest allies and partners? Are you not fighting side by side against international terrorism and crime?’
‘Yes, but you’re trying to force me to commit crimes! No, I refuse. I don’t give a damn about the driving license or reputation. Goodbye!’
‘Sit down!’ the voice immediately filled with steel and clanked like a shutter. ‘Your management may be upset to lose someone like you but in the end they’ll get used to it. But your wife – she has a heart condition if I’m not mistaken? – and may not survive a view of one quite interesting video. Would you like to have a look?’
‘I… I…’ Herr Hagen suddenly bleated.
A hissing came from the office, characteristic of a recording where the microphone cuts out unwanted noises. Then a familiar woman’s voice said loudly:
‘But, teddy-bear, I don’t want it like this… You go on your back! And I will be an Amazon, darling! Let’s ride!’
After that the sound of the bed and the long moans of a woman, receiving pleasure, could be heard. Then the record stopped.
‘Give me the disc!’ Herr Hagen shouted with a breaking voice.
In response, an unexpectedly sincere – although at the same time mocking – laughter sounded. The man, talking to the banker, laughed heartily, but not for long. I heard the sound of a falling chair, quick steps, then some noise – and the sharp voice of the paladin:
‘Sit down! You forget, I am a diplomat, and to attack me…’
Herr Hagen, breathing heavily, croaked:
‘You bastard…’
‘These are just emotions.’
‘God will punish you…’
Laughter sounded again in the agent’s voice.
‘Until now he was mostly punishing others!’
‘That’s because the devil helps you!’
‘Herr Hagen, let’s put demagogy aside. Here’s the paper. You need to sign all three pages. You can refuse. You can walk out of this building; You can even kill yourself. It will all be the same as you refusing to cooperate with us, because when all of this…’ a pause followed, during which the paladin probably pointed at the screen, ‘will come into, so to speak, the public domain, your life will loose its meaning. Your wife, if she survives your infidelity, will divorce you, your children will forget about their father and I won’t even mention your career – no one will take you to the banking system even as a member of security team.’
Silence descended – and I suddenly heard cries.
I knew very well what a ‘honey trap’ was. One of the oldest methods of recruiting agents. A charming girl – people say you need to establish a man’s preferences to ensure a hundred per cent hit! – or a young man would be sent to the man, whatever he prefers. Then after the fun in bed, a banal rough blackmail comes along: you either work for us, or everyone, beginning with your wife and ending with your boss, will find out about your adultery.
‘Honey traps’ were frequently used in the past by the special forces. I read the files about the history of intelligence service where this method of recruitment was maybe the most popular. The girls doing the dirtiest part of the job were called quite romantically ‘swallows’. The first ‘swallow’ was the biblical Delilah, a treacherous Philistine who seduced and dragged into bed the Jewish strongman Samson. And in the breaks between fun, she discovered Samson’s incredible power lay in his long curly hair. Everyone knows what happened afterwards. One thing excuses Delilah – that she went into coitus with Samson not for money but for patriotic reasons, like those French whores, who were going to infect the whole German army with syphilis when the Kaiser’s troops came to Paris.
Maybe Homer’s Helen of Troy wasn’t a victim of Paris either but a swallow like Delilah. After all, it was she who convinced the Trojans to draw the infamous horse into the city.
Later ‘swallows’ were generally ordinary representatives of the oldest profession. I saw photos of the legendary Mata Hari on the net. She was a fat brunette with short legs, a rotund figure and a bloated face. But she was working for a fee for three intelligence services at the same time – and in the end paid for it, as she was shot.