Johann let his eyes wander over the plain façade of San Bartolomeo all'Isola, while Grigori was already looking impatiently at the clock again. "I knew James wouldn't be on time. We should have met in the library right away," the tall, bearded Ukrainian growled.  Johann was jolted out of his thoughts by this interruption, "You know British clocks tick slower. He will probably still understand Easter Tuesday as a holiday and therefore be up later. Were you aware that this church was commissioned by Emperor Otto II?"

Without hesitation, Grigori jumped on Johann's red herring: "Of course I knew that. But now don't claim that this church contains references, that Otto wanted to build a bridge to the East through the special veneration of the Apostle of the Armenians." Johann just had to think for a moment: "You haven't forgotten that this Otto married the niece of the Byzantine emperor? That could have put an end to the quarrel between East and West."

Grigori laughed: "You Austrians are a romantic lot. You can't solve every conflict through marriage. And especially not now that in the age of democracies the heads of state change so quickly that it no longer pays to marry at all. Besides, Theophanu was only very indirectly Emperor John's niece."

Although Johann was about to launch into another justification of Empress Theophanu's special position, he paused when James turned the corner - as always with his hair a little too long. "Ah, you are still here; regarding your diligence, I had suspected you had already disappeared into the library." Grigori shook his head a little unwillingly, "How can your queen keep such a large empire together if you're always so chaotic? Let me guess: You were quite intensely engrossed in your studies and overlooked the time?"

James shook his head vigorously, "No, and once you will have learned why I was late, you will understand: I had to finish a book that my sister sent me for Easter. And to you, Grigori, I can only say that you sound more like a Thuringian than a Ukrainian. We Brits are not the representatives of an unwise obsession with punctuality. What is more important is to do the right thing at the right time. That's the reason for my little tardiness: a new novel by Ian Fleming!"

Johann shook his head sceptically, "I don't think there's anything interesting in it for our church history studies. We really should go to the library now! Besides, he's an Anglican!" The group started moving without interrupting the conversation.

"Who, Fleming?" asked Grigori, who now took the book after all and opened it, immediately following up, "Love greetings from Moscow? Who thinks up something like that? At most, nuclear missiles come from there." "Or," Johann said, smiling mischievously, "the good vodka you serve from time to time." Grigori raised his shoulders: "But not during fastening times, and we clearly have more of that than you. So we have to compensate with stronger drinks afterwards. Besides, there's better vodka in Ukraine than in Russia or Finland."

James now reached for the book again: "The secret agent, who of course has the same name as me," he smiled all over his face, "will seduce a beautiful Soviet secret agent in this book, who is also a Romanov." Now Grigori began to laugh, "So has Anastasia returned to Moscow after all to work for the Reds now?"

James, not feeling quite taken seriously by this, adopted a lecturing stance and clarified, "Of course not, you philistine, the novel's heroine is called Tatyana! And the book is well researched. Fleming is Anglican, but my namesake's parents are from Scotland and Switzerland respectively. That strongly suggests that he is Catholic." "Or Reformed, which would be even worse than Anglican," Grigori remarked mockingly.

A chime snapped the three disparate students out of their discussion. Johann was the first to take the floor again: "I have an exam at San Anselmo next week. I should study thoroughly for it." Grigori turned to him, "I don't understand why you took courses in Gregorian chant. You don't need it for your studies." James now interfered, "After all, our clever Austrian already has a state history degree on the great history of his empire, so the church history we learn here will probably be too small for him."

Johann was annoyed when the others pointed out the special circumstances of the Church in Austria. Of course, it was different coming from a country where Catholics were in the minority or even persecuted, but he did not imagine that Austrian Catholicism was superior to Roman customs and teaching methods - even if sometimes quiet thoughts of this kind could be heard in the undertone of his ravings from home. In his defence, he said: "Firstly, Otto III's foundation policy can hardly be called the history of the 'Austrian Empire'; and secondly, these Gregorian lectures are very revealing. I wasn't aware of the significance of the text in this kind of chant before."

James became impatient, "Are you going to read it?" Johann's reply, snapping him out of his thoughts, was matter of fact: "Er...yes, when I have time, I will read this excellent product of British poetry. And I will try to find out whether your favourite agent is now Catholic or Reformed."

Turning to Grigori, James said, "After all, he's only jealous because there's no Austrian secret service to write novels about. We're both better off there, even," he conceded after a frowning look from Grigori, "If, of course, the secret services of our home governments are to be discarded from a Catholic perspective. But," he added defiantly, "they always make exciting stories."

Johann shook his head, "Anything you're supposed to do, you can do publicly. Secret services are always strange. And as history teaches, secret agreements have always led to greater mischief."

The neoclassical façade of the library rose before them, wordlessly commanding silence. The building exuded such authority that even James quickly ran his splayed fingers through his hair in an attempt to pull off a more respectable hairstyle, "We're here! Let's sink into an ocean of knowledge."

The flat consisted of two rooms and a small bathroom. In the bedroom, there was a narrow bed with the blanket folded accurately and two cushions laid out as if the bed was in a barracks. Two wardrobes were built into a niche in the wall.

The second, larger room had windows on two walls that offered a view of the pouring rain. Next to the entrance door was a small coat hook, on the right wall two bookshelves and a kitchenette, on the left wall a small desk with some books and notes on it. In the middle of the room was the cheap dining table with four chairs around it.

The only decorative elements were two pictures of railway bridges and a picture of Lenin hung above the desk.

One last glance at the clock told Aleksandra that Olga's visit was imminent at any moment. She loved her friend from early childhood, even if her unrestrained lightness caused her as much worry as distraction. A last adjustment of the plate with the biscuits in the middle of the dining table was already interrupted by the heavy pounding at the door.

"Are you asleep?" the light voice was heard as Aleksandra opened the door. "Why haven't you changed yet? We could do something tonight, couldn't we? How about dinner at Grigori's? Or a film? Or does the rain bother you? Oh, I almost forgot," Olga gushed, "here's your present! Happy birthday!"

With these words she hugged Aleksandra fiercely, twirled her around once and then pressed a narrow booklet wrapped in brown paper into her hand. Olga threw her wet mackintosh onto the coat hook next to Aleksandra's coat more than she hung it up. Without being asked, she took a seat on one of the chairs and began to nibble on a biscuit with relish. "Open it!"

Aleksandra closed the door first, not without routinely looking right and left in the corridor. "Thank you so much for your gift! Do you want some tea?" asked Aleksandra quietly. "Don't you want to open it at all? We can have tea when we are old. Today we're having sparkling wine!", with these words Olga indicated the opening of the package with frantic hand movements, and immediately afterwards took a bottle of Crimean Sekt from her cloth handbag. Quickly she jumped up from the chair to take two water glasses from the kitchen cupboard, opened the sparkling wine loudly and poured into both glasses.

Aleksandra was - as every time she met Olga - electrified by her temperament. The scene played out before her like a film shown too quickly. But dutifully she began to carefully unfold the paper with which her gift was wrapped. "I would have torn it open, but I'm sure you'd like to use the paper to wrap another present, or at least a snack, you exemplary comrade!" sneered Olga. Finally Aleksandra was able to put the paper aside and held a booklet in her hands. On the cover, which was of course made of red paper, was a group of Lenin pioneers marching happily singing. Aleksandra was puzzled: "I realise that I'm a year younger than you, but I'm out of Komsomol age. What am I supposed to do with a children's book?"

"You completely forget where I work. It's obvious that you're a naive architect! Why don't you open the book?" Aleksandra did as ordered and looked up, startled, "From Russia with love by Ian Fleming? You're giving me a book from the USA? Are you crazy?" Olga stepped a little closer to Aleksandra, gently stroked her hair and handed her a glass of sparkling wine, "You've got it wrong again: Fleming is British. And even if some of his novel is a bit anti-Soviet, we shouldn't forget that he worked well with us in the war to defeat the Germans." Aleksandra timidly raised her glass, which Olga immediately toasted stormily, took a sip, and continued without pause: "Besides, this good-looking agent likes to drink vodka, which almost makes him a comrade! And..." she continued encouragingly, "there are only a handful of people on our block here who understand English!"

Aleksandra sat down and began to leaf through the book, Olga also taking a seat next to her.

"The naked man who lay splayed out on his face beside the swimming pool might have been dead.", Aleksandra read aloud, "Really. That's typical western decadence again: naked men, swimming pools..." "I don't want to tell you too much, but the extremely muscular and cold-blooded man is not dead, but a genius Russian agent!", Olga interrupted Aleksandra's scepticism. "Hopefully a Soviet agent!"

Olga looked playfully guilty, then they both laughed brightly.

"Your gifts have always been a bit bizarre, but that's why I look forward to them especially every time." Olga put her arm around Aleksandra's shoulder, "Remember when I gave you those socks that time?" Aleksandra nodded, "For my 9th birthday you gave me socks that I could still wear today!" "But they had a beautiful red star knitted into them! And better too big socks than too small!" laughed Olga. "Yes, Comrade Krassnakova always struggled with your craftsmanship. But I was very pleased with these socks. It was a hard time back then and I didn't think we'd come out of it in one piece." Olga straightened up a little and took another sip of the sparkling wine. "The fact that we survived that is all thanks to you. When the Germans shot Krassnakova, you saved us. To blow up a bridge as a 9-year-old, giving the enemy enough to do that we 10 girls could escape through the forest, is a heroic deed!"

Aleksandra put her glass on the table and looked towards the window. "You know I don't talk about that. There were wounded on the train that raced into the reservoir. It was a hospital train!" Olga shook her head, "They were enemies: they had killed millions of ours, not least our teacher. And if they had caught us, they would have raped us, taken us away or killed us right there. You have to stop blaming yourself all the time. Your whole life seems like a single apology for what was probably the most exciting decision of your life: using the knowledge you had learned from your mother to blow up the Cacevicy railway bridge was brilliant. And it would certainly have made your mother immensely proud when she found out about your excellent study results and your degree in architecture. Since then you've been building one boring bridge after another..."

Aleksandra relaxed a little again and smiled at Olga: "Bridges are not boring, they connect people. Besides, I have worked on other construction projects. I've even been abroad!" Olga waved it off, "Abroad, don't make me laugh. What have you seen there but building sites: in Bulgaria and in that funny country in Africa, what was it called again?" "Guinea. We presented plans there to supply the population with clean drinking water and energy and established a good cooperation." Olga waved it off, "The country isn't even independent. Doesn't it belong to the French?"

"It is a colony of the Republic of France, but one day it will become independent. And then there will be progress and prosperity for everyone there! But let's not talk politics." Olga smiled, took another sip, "Admit that you are a little jealous of me because I got the more exciting job. All the information from the whole world comes together at my place."

Now Aleksandra had to laugh out loud. "You're quite a girl. When I hear you talk like that, one could assume that you, not Comrade Shepilov, are the foreign minister. Your department merely collects embassy reports." "Well, that does mean that I receive more information than Comrade Shepilov, to whom only what we consider important enough comes. But enough of that. Has Igor called yet? And Vladi? Where is he actually once again right now?" "He's out on an assignment. I don't expect him to call me today. Maybe I'll get a letter from him," Aleksandra replied with a touch of wistfulness.

"It's already difficult having a brother in the navy," Olga tried to console, but Aleksandra immediately drove the expression of melancholy from her face, "Say, how is Ilya?" Olga nodded in understanding, "You are so easy to see through, Aleksandra. Whenever you feel cornered, you ask me about my fiancé. Well, I want to play along out of pity: Ilya is doing very well. He may soon be promoted and then the wedding could still happen this year. You should definitely go out with the two of us again sometime. I'll ask him to bring one of his friends. There are some very attractive men...er...comrades in the International Relations Department, because I'm sure their political orientation is more important to you than their looks."

Aleksandra smiled as the phone suddenly rang. She frowned slightly and went to the desk. After picking up the receiver, she answered formally, "Comrade Piatnitzkaya." The voice on the other end could not be heard, but the tense posture showed Olga that it was not a birthday call from one of Aleksandra's brothers. The final words, "Of course, comrade!" abruptly ended the short telephonat. Aleksandra turned to Olga and looked first questioningly, then resolutely: "I'm sorry, I have to work tonight. Comrade Illatschin has just called me and wants me to submit a plan correction by tomorrow morning. Dear Olga, I will call you on Friday. Then we'll make an appointment to watch a film and then we'll go to Grigori's for dinner. But now I must ask you to let me work." Olga nodded her understanding, not without first finishing the sparkling wine from her glass. "The rest is up to you, maybe one day you'll design an amusement park or a funny sculpture and not always bridges or power plants. And don't forget," she added, while she was already putting on her coat, "that you also need a little time for yourself sometime. I'll call you on Thursday, then we can already do something on Friday evening! And have fun with the book!" After a hug, Olga left with a sly smile. Aleksandra locked the door and lowered the blinds on the windows. If there had been little light in the room before because of the rain, now it was even gloomier. Aleksandra switched on the ceiling lamp, whose red patterned lampshade cast a shadow play on the ceiling.

After Aleksandra had placed the two glasses in the sink, not without first throwing away the remaining wine in her glass, she placed the opened bottle in the small refrigerator. She smoothed out her grey skirt, went into the bedroom and flicked a light switch next to the wardrobe. But instead of the glow of the narrow lamp above the bed, a slight creaking sound was heard, apparently coming from the wardrobe. The next moment, two men in simple suits stepped out of the wardrobe and bowed slightly to Aleksandra. The latter replied with a nod of her head and then asked in a friendly but firm manner, "What is the meaning of this unannounced visit here?"

While the first man prepared to answer, the second turned up the radio on the desk. Finally, he left the room through the front door. "Comrade Major, an assignment of special importance brings us here. We are to prepare the flat for a meeting." Aleksandra looked a little confused. The man in the suit took advantage of the moment of embarrassed silence to let his gaze wander over the desk where the red-bound booklet lay. "This," Aleksandra said, now with more sternness in her voice than she really wanted, "comrade, serves to keep me up to date on what is being taught to our youth. But about your visit: There are never any meetings in this flat."

As if he had been waiting for that cue, an older gentleman in a dark suit stepped out of the closet. The other man in the suit stepped back and, at a nod from the newcomer, left the room through the closet. Aleksandra looked slightly unsettled, but then tightened her body and saluted.

She remained in this posture until the older man held out his hand to her, which she took hesitantly, "Aleksandra, happy birthday!" After letting go of her hand, the elderly gentleman sat down at the table in the second room and took a biscuit without being asked. Aleksandra turned to him and looked at him in confusion, "Thank you, Comrade General. How did I earn the high honour of a visit?" The man gestured to the opposite chair where Aleksandra took a seat, careful to remain seated only on the edge and once again smoothing the folds of her skirt above her knees.

"I suppose it's not enough for me to visit you for your birthday? How are you doing in the Department of Scientific Cooperation?" he asked now, glancing around at the same time, "And do you have anything to drink here?" On this cue, Aleksandra virtually jumped up, fetched a bottle of vodka from a compartment on the desk, a glass from a cupboard in the fitted kitchen and poured generously. The older man nodded in a friendly manner. Aleksandra took her seat again and began to speak: "There is a very harmonious climate among the comrades, I can use my learned skills in the department for the good of the people. Our office is currently working on improving the energy infrastructure through higher efficiency in energy production." The old man nodded and took a large sip, "Excellent choice, my dear. But back to your work. More nuclear power plants, I hear. Well, I don't know much about that. I was actually referring to the environment. Do you feel comfortable there?" Aleksandra looked a little embarrassed: "I am very grateful for this task. And I think my work is meaningful and constructive. The interaction with the comrades is professional."

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of chewing that the General made as he ate the next biscuit. Finally he raised his voice, Aleksandra knowing even before the first word that this was a momentous occasion. Because always, before General Shelepin said something significant, he reached for his wristwatch and adjusted it: "Aleksandra, you are not only one of our best employees, but probably the only one I can fully trust for the next assignment. You know that there are very different views in the Politburo and the Central Secretariat of the Party about the future of our foreign policy."

Aleksandra frowned for a moment and then replied soberly, "Comrade General, I am not familiar with what goes on in these bodies and I also ask not to be privy to political matters. My loyalty is to socialism and, as its instrument, to the Soviet Union. I will therefore carry out any assignment that serves the goal of the victory of socialism. I am an architect and, moreover, have at all times endeavoured to strengthen confidence in the protective power of the Soviet Union among our present and future allies. But I was not and am not suited to political intrigue."

Shelepin winced slightly and Aleksandra regretted the words she had just uttered, "Not, Comrade General, that I meant to imply that you were involved in intrigue." The man waved it off, "Aleksandra, you are heartbreaking. Perhaps we should include a woman like you in the Politburo after all, so that these boring old men would finally be shaken up. But let's get back to the point: this is in no way a political intrigue. Rather, our comrade Foreign Minister has made a daring proposal to me, with the express request that only a highly trustworthy person be entrusted with its implementation, and at the same time to make sure that neither his, nor my official apparatus will find out anything about it. Your rank, which you have earned honestly in the successful actions of the past years, and your personal loyalty to me make you the only possible person. I know that I can trust you completely. It was my protection that saved you from the personal vendetta of some comrades against your family, my support that enabled you to study and work for the 2nd Main Bureau of the KGB."

Aleksandra acknowledged the list with a nod and was about to say something, but the general continued unperturbed, "You will welcome a guest and look after him carefully. It will be a kind of friendly visit, and he shall receive all the information you deem necessary to gain his trust. At the same time, you will check his reliability. Possibly he will play an important role, possibly he is a spy of the West or even just a laughing stock. The meeting will take place between you and the guest because our government cannot make direct contact with the organisation he represents. Possibly, however, a constellation will arise which could bring socialism a great step forward, not only in Europe."

"I have often looked after visitors who wanted to find out about construction and progress here. Among them were also communists from Western countries. But each of these visits was announced to me through my direct superior in the Department for Scientific Cooperation. I only received additional information from your office if necessary. With this long-winded introduction, if you'll pardon my saying so," Aleksandra replied, "you're either dealing with a fascist or a Japanese. And with neither of these sides is it likely to be possible to enter into negotiations without making more compromises than are possible in good conscience, is it not?" Schelepin laughed brightly: "You're close, it's a Catholic priest."

When Johann returned exhausted from the library to the college in the evening, a fellow student was already waiting for him at the entrance. Johann thought for a moment, it was Gerhard who had started this semester. He came from Konradsheim in the Mostviertel, not too far from Johann's home in Bischofstetten. But before he could think about it any further, Gerhard sputtered out: "Where have you been for so long? The rector is expecting you in his rooms immediately. Two guests are with him, but I don't know them. In any case, you should go up right away."

Usually, it was not a good sign when one of the students was summoned to the Rector. It had never happened to Johann before; and he had observed with a certain pride when one or the other came back from the headmaster's office with his head hanging down after such a lecture. Most of the time it was disciplinary misconduct that was punished with such summons. 

Not wanting to lose any more time, Johann went straight to that aforementioned room, still carrying his black case, to the rector's office and knocked. A neutral "Come in" commanded entry more than it invited the door to be opened. The secretary's room was empty and dark, but light shone into the small room from the headmaster's office. "We are here! Come in!"

The constellation in the room was more than strange to Johann. Sitting on the seat behind the desk was not the rector, but a prelate he did not know. In one of the darker corners stood someone who looked as if he were wearing an Austrian army uniform. Finally, the Rector stood in front of the desk like a schoolboy. "Gentlemen," the Rector began without waiting for a greeting from Johann, "I introduce Doctor Johann Erath, Diocese of St. Pölten, student at the Pontifical Institute of Historical Sciences. He has not been guilty of anything in the last three years, will take his final examination in a fortnight and then return to Austria."

The prelate, about 50 years old, made a thankful bow of the head and began to speak, "Thank you, Rector, we no longer need your presence here." "I must protest," the latter raised his voice, "when it concerns the students entrusted to me, I have the right and the duty to attend all discussions." 

The prelate smiled mildly, "Your sense of duty is very commendable, Reverend Father, but I am happy to relieve you of your duty of supervision on behalf of the Secretariat of State. You may leave now."

With a barely perceptible nod to the prelate and without so much as a glance at the uniformed man in the semi-darkness, the rector snorted and left his own office, which had been so brazenly taken from him, and more noisily than necessary closed first the door to the anteroom and then, noticeably audibly, the door to the corridor.
Johann now stood in front of the desk, silently observing what was happening. He waited for one of the two gentlemen to ask him to speak. The prelate looked at him with the gaze of a tailor who is judging the fabric to see if something suitable could be made out of it. Then he began slowly: "Your credentials are impeccable, as is the judgement of your ecclesiastical superiors. You seem not only to be a faithful servant of the Church, but also a very bright and intelligent one. You have completed a historical degree in Austria, as well as a theological one, which you have now deepened in Rome. And at such a young age." 

Johann did not know how to respond to this praise. The last three years in Rome had taught him never to be too quick to respond to a curial's kindness, or even to tell him frankly what one thought. There were too many safety cords taut; one careless utterance could have immediate and disastrous consequences. So Johann just nodded. "This here," the prelate said with a gesture of his hand towards the uniformed man, "is Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Bruscheck. I am Angelo dell'Acqua, Official in the Secretariat of State." 

Johann bowed slightly and replied, "I thank you for the honour of being introduced to you." At the same time, he bit down on the question of why he had been appointed here. He had never had anything to do with the State Secretariat, even less with the Austrian Armed Forces. And what these two institutions had to do with each other directly was not clear to him either. As if he could read his mind, dell'Acqua continued: "Lieutenant Colonel Bruscheck has been assigned an important mission. He will be travelling to Moscow next month as the Austrian defence attaché - the first of his kind. He has some information for you." 

At the prelate's cue, the uniformed man stepped into the light a little. He looked formal but not forbidding, but his gaze seemed to scan Johann: "You were born in Lower Austria in 1934, graduated from Melk and studied with incredible speed, which was undoubtedly at once made more difficult and possible in the first place by the turmoil of the war. When your education began in Melk, this school was still a Napola; when you graduated, the Benedictines were back." Johann winced briefly. Both were true, but in the 1944/45 school year there was hardly anything left of the former Napola. Some professors had fled, others were trying to build a new identity as pious resistance fighters. And although the director's pithy speeches every Monday and Friday until April 1945 told of the Endsieg, Johann could not forget the sight when, on the day of Hitler's suicide, the director also chose this path and shot himself at the fountain in the large courtyard during the first lesson. The blood-red water continued to splash even after the school caretaker and gardener fished the corpse out of the basin to the amazement and horror of the pupils and carried it away in a wheelbarrow. Johann also remembered how in May 1945 the church, which had been used as a storage room, was cleared again and the first church service in seven years was celebrated there. Could his school days have made such a big splash that now even the secretariat of state was involved? He knew too little about diplomatic customs, no, he did not know anything about them at all, to even draw any clear conclusion. 

His brain was working at peak performance, and he noticed how he began to sweat slightly. Undeterred, the lieutenant colonel continued talking, "We also noticed that you have regular contact with a Russian student." As if shot out of a pistol, Johann now answered unasked: "Grigori Wassilewitsch Homik is Ukrainian. He is also studying church history and lives in the Collegium Russicum. He is Greek Catholic, so by no definition, ecclesiastically or nationally a Russian."

His quick, perhaps all too quick, reply caused the two gentlemen opposite to startle briefly. Had he made himself suspicious by this defence? Had the prelate pointed out earlier that the officer knew about Russia? Was he being accused of being a spy? Such a ridiculous thing! Nevertheless, he noticed that his stance was becoming a little shakier. He clasped his hands behind his back and tried not to look nervous.
The prelate smiled: 'I told you, Lieutenant Colonel, that this eager student here is hardly suitable for our plan. He is so honest and correct that he is surely out of his depth with a covert action."

The uniformed man shook his head with a smile, "That is precisely why he is perfect: he is intelligent and loyal, but at the same time as openly readable as a book. He has a high retentiveness and is ambitious, at the same time versatile in his interests and not shy in making contacts. He is well educated and at the same time as unknown and insignificant in their hierarchy and in Austria as someone must be for this job."

Johann now completely lost the context and the last sentence hurt his considerable pride: "Unknown and insignificant", yes, that was true on the one hand, but on the other hand he still felt important and called to produce important things: A book, an encyclopaedia, one day the position of university assistant.

The words of dell'Acqua brought him back from his sulk: "My dear brother, we will send you like a sheep in the midst of the wolves. You will bring forward your final exams, your professors have already been informed and there is no need to be concerned about it. All of them have confirmed that you could graduate at any time. The examination is scheduled for eight o'clock tomorrow, here. I will attend it as well as the Lieutenant Colonel, but our verdict on you has already been determined. Today's interview was the confirmation of our choice." 

The prelate's words passed him by like an express train and he did not know whether to contradict or say anything at all. But by then the prelate was already speaking further: "The Soviet Union is an important factor in the future development of the world, which His Holiness has also pointed out many times from his own experience." 

Yes, thought Johann, Pope Gregory is Armenian after all and must live with the fact that his homeland is part of the Soviet empire. "There are, of course, often stated and undeniable massive differences of opinion about God and the world in the communist and Catholic world views, although there are certain" the prelate hesitated in his search for the right word, "convergences in the practical consequences, which of course can never be said officially. The Vatican cannot enter official contact with the USSR, Austria can. After all, their country has a state treaty with the Soviet Union and, not least through this, its independence and a considerable territorial expansion." 

The lieutenant colonel cleared his throat and interrupted the prelate: "The inclusion of the new federal states in the federal state of Austria was based on a mutual, voluntary decision. I therefore ask you not to speak of territorial expansion, which sounds too much like conquest." 

The prelate symbolically wiped the objection off the table with a casual gesture of his hand and continued: "You will accompany the lieutenant colonel to Moscow. There you will meet a contact person from the Foreign Ministry. Officially, you are on your way on behalf of the Austrian Academy of Sciences with a research project on historical buildings, the original plans of which are to be found in archives in Moscow. Your contact person from the Department for Scientific Cooperation will provide you with architectural information."

With a certain enthusiasm, the officer now took the floor: "This person, of course, works for the KGB, the Soviet secret service; to our knowledge in a subordinate position, but still with the rank of major."

Johann's head buzzed. Surely this was a joke. Neither could he appear for an exam tomorrow, nor could he go to Moscow just like that. And there he was supposed to work with a spying architect. What for? 

"If you are wondering what this assignment is for," the prelate now continued again, "then let me put it simply: there are some who claim that forces are gaining support and influence in the Soviet Union with which certain compromises could be made. One such person is the first party secretary, Nikita Khrushchev, for whom some analysts believe even higher office is possible. If we had a reliable contact with these reform-oriented circles without at the same time associating them with us - which would certainly harm their rise in the face of the radical atheists - then the Church could gain some influence on a future religious policy of the Soviet Union and its satellites. Always provided that all these contacts remain informal and that no notable persons are involved. Austria has offered to provide some support, as contacts are equally good both with Moscow and the Vatican. At the same time, we are aware that this mission can fail completely, indeed that you may be captured or even tortured and killed. That's why the choice fell on someone who can't divulge secrets even under torture, like a Catholic Austrian soldier or diplomat would."

The passing express train had gone up a notch with this last statement. Had the conservative church historian just been told through the grapevine that he might die a martyr's death in a Soviet torture cellar in a month's time? Or wait, was that martyrdom at all, if it was more about ecclesiastical diplomacy than direct testimony of faith? Or would he be portrayed publicly only as a private person who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The lieutenant colonel took advantage of the silence that had fallen: "Basically, you have nothing to worry about. It may even be an advantage that your Ukrainian grandmother died before you could meet her."

So they knew that too? Well, Johann only knew photographs of his grandmother, he didn't understand a word of Ukrainian or Russian, and he could only read as much of the Cyrillic characters as he was familiar with from the Greek alphabet. Somehow it had all happened too fast for him.

"I know that for you this all comes as a surprise, and much still seems inconsistent to you. You will gradually receive as much information as necessary, but no more. This is not least for your own protection. Possibly we can initiate something through you that will change the course of history; possibly it is only a dead end. Trust in God's support and remember that you have vowed obedience to the Church."

Dead end? The prelate's words brought Johann back, he pulled himself together and gained firmness: "I have never forgotten that, and I will not. I suspect that my bishop will be informed on my absence." 

Dell'Acqa nodded, and Lieutenant-Colonel Bruscheck interposed, "Neither your bishop nor your family will know where you are going. You will pass on the information by letter that you will be allowed to take part in an expedition to the places of activity of St Augustine, about which, however, you will only report in more detail afterwards due to the prevailing political unrest in Northern Africa. We will return to Vienna tomorrow by night train at twenty-thirty. Of course, you will not inform anyone about this conversation, nor will you say goodbye to anyone. The Rector will inform your fellow students that you had to go home urgently for family reasons. I hope you are aware of the honour this assignment will give you; and the responsibility."

Johann nodded silently.

Prelate dell'Acqua now stood up and approached him. Johann was at first unsure how to respond, "My brother, when I was sent to Istanbul at that time, I did not feel much different. I see remarkable options in your future and ours. God's blessings go with them!" As if remote-controlled, Johann went down on his knees to be blessed with the laying on of hands and the sign of the cross. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the uniformed man was also crossing himself. At least, he thought, not only is God on my side, but my companion is also on God's side.