Chapter Text
May 11, 2019 - Frankfurt Germany
“Charles, hurry the fuck up.”
“Yes, thank you.” The 22 year old adjusted his Chicago Cubs baseball cap and grimaced internally at the rest of his token tourist outfit as he stepped into the train station.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this in Frankfurt?”
“Talking to yourself in public is suspect. Put your glasses on and look like an idiot American, would you please?”
Charles adjusted his gait minutely and pretended to gawk at the arched glass ceilings instead of the casual observation which would have been his genuine reaction to the building. It didn’t take long to spot the reporter amid the crowds, but in an effort to be thorough, Charles did a full lap of the main arrivals hall, morphing his expression from gobsmacked to perplexed to outwardly frustrated. He finally huffed out a breath, stomping over to the man sitting at the cafe table, half-drunk warm beer in hand.
“Excuse me”. This was always the risky part. He wasn’t the most famous Formula 1 driver, but neither was he a barely recognizable F2 or F3 driver anymore. He had to hope that his adjusted expressions, slight makeup modifications, and full personality shift was still enough to disguise his actual identity. The reporter glanced up, his ruffled appearance indicating that he worked long, hard hours. His resigned expression indicated that he didn’t have full confidence those hours would pan out for him.
“Can I help you?” Charles heaved a sigh, holding out his phone in feigned distress.
“Do you know where the 2:45 train to Berlin is leaving from? I’m having an impossible time deciphering this damn time table.”
The reporter put his own phone down, glancing halfheartedly at the departures chart Charles had pulled up. If he hadn’t been playing an idiot on and off for years, Charles would be offended by how easily people tended to believe him.
Shannen spoke quietly into the secure line piped into his airpod.
“Great, you’re close enough to his phone, the video is transferring. The notification won’t ping for an hour or so, but it’ll fully transfer within the next 10 seconds.”
The video itself was nothing particularly sinister, but neither was it unimportant. A carefully planned sting set in motion years ago demonstrated rampant corruption in the highest levels of the Austrian government. In the right hands, the recorded proof of the sting had the potential to deliver death blows to the current ruling coalition. It wasn’t Charles’ job to determine the right hands, but it was his job to connect the two. He and Shannen had reached out to this particular journalist via ridiculously complicated electronic means months ago, carefully drawing him into their trust until he’d agreed to meet here, today, to discuss something entirely unrelated to what they would actually provide him. It was a bit of a hack job, but the powers that be had decided that the video needed to come out before upcoming elections.
“It’s platform 13.” The man pointed, visibly deflating when Charles thanked him profusely (he had 7 seconds to kill after all) and walked away.
“You know I’m supposed to be in Spain right now. I could be on the beach, at the gym, in the warm arms of a willing partner...” Charles intentionally abandoned the American accent to needle his handler as he took slightly more confident steps back to platform 13.
“Get over yourself. And stop dropping the accent. The jet is ready for wheels up in 25 so you’d better haul ass back to the airport.”
“I actually haul ass professionally. I’m not sure if you knew.” He considered the burner phone in his pocket only briefly before dropping it unceremoniously onto the tracks beneath him.
“Shut the fuck up Charles and get to your car.”
It goes without saying, one assumes, that Charles made it back to the regional airport on time.
[15:01] Papaya Git: Leclerc
[15:03] Papaya Git: Leclerc!
[15:05] Papaya Git: LECLERCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
[15:15] Papaya Git: What the fuck??? We need a 4th for Halo. We thought you could be counted on but looks like you’re being a BITCHHHHH
[16:50] Me: dammit, i’ve been napping. have you finished?
(Read)
Charles stared down at his phone and pondered, not for the first time, what it must be like to be able to give your all to racing rather than the 60% you had left on race weekends and a solid 50% the rest of the time. He wondered if he could have been the best. But as with most things in his life so far, it was best not to dwell on the negatives.
So, he took a few deep breaths and turned on footage from FP3. He did have to make some inroads against any mistakes he’d made. Ferrari might love the PR of their “Predestined” but they also required results, and Charles spent about half as much time studying tapes and graphs and calculations as he was supposed to. It helped being able to play his intelligence down, but it was a delicate balance. In moments when he was flying across a track at over 200 kmh his reaction time and responses couldn’t be slowed significantly. Realistically, all it would take was a race engineer with half a brain in their head diagnosing the disconnect between ‘normal Charles’ and ‘racing Charles’ to destroy nearly a decade of training and an incredibly mobile operative with a nearly bulletproof cover.
[17:00] The Incident: Are you okay? I'm being forced to play Halo and also listen to Lando bitch about his first choice.
[17:01] Me: why weren't you his first choice?
[17:01] The Incident: I'm better than you. He wanted to win something this weekend.
[17:01] The Incident: You didn't answer my question though.
[17:04] Me: oui, i'm fine. just fell asleep reviewing tapes, lots to do still before tomorrow.
[17:15] The Incident: Ah. Good luck.
[17:15] Me: you too :)
(Read)
Race day dawned with all the pomp and circumstance of a random Tuesday in February. Charles read through a quick geopolitical briefing (slipped helpfully through the adjoining door by Shannen) before running through his morning stretches, showering, and donning the most garish red shirt he could find. It was only then he let himself check his phone.
[02:15] The Incident: Vettel tends to run wide into Turn 1.
Some days racing felt like slogging through jello. It depended on if his other job had kept him up into the wee hours, of course. But sometimes it was just that he felt he was slightly out of tune with the car, the crowds, the team. He felt that today could go either way until the moment Vettel patted him on the back before they split up and he slid into his car. Today was one of the other days. The days where it seemed that there was nothing in the entire universe but him and this crimson car. He might not win, but for a couple of blessed hours he could shut off his damn brain. Charles pulled onto the track, warmed up, and turned his gaze, transfixed, to the five little lights as they flicked out.
‘Austrian government collapses after far-right minister fired’
The Guardian Headline
May 20, 2019