Chapter 4: The Nobel Dispatch: Mario Molina

I was sipping on my tragically weak embassy coffee—standard-issue bitterness, tinged with the melancholic aftertaste of bureaucratic despair—when Barbara breezed into the cubicle corridor like an early summer wind sweeping through a stale library. Tall, blonde, almost incandescent in a way that defied effort, she radiated poise and calm joy.

“Hi, my name is Barbara. I am German, raised in Karlsruhe!”

Before I could even find a proper sentence, another whirlwind swept in behind her—Regina. Barely in her twenties, undistilled Veracruz sunshine in motion. She burst into the room with the enthusiasm of a parade, no volume control, no filter, no brakes.

“And I’m Regina! I’m from Veracruz!”

She didn’t ask if I had a moment. She simply claimed it.

“So you’re new, right? What are you supposed to do?” she said.

I blinked, still processing the sensory overload. “I’m not sure yet. I was supposed to be on the politics desk, but I got reassigned to academic affairs. I think I’ll just … write cables. And you?”

She threw her head back in laughter, radiant and unrestrained. “Poor guy. Writing cables is the worst. It’s destroying my grammar. Who even talks like that? It’s bureaucraspeak! Like Newspeak. You know—Orwell!”

I nearly choked on my bitter brew. Who quotes 1984 mid-chitchat? I loved it instantly. She was brilliant, irreverent, and gloriously chaotic. Exactly the kind of storm I didn’t know I needed.

Barbara chuckled softly, stepping back with a grace that felt rehearsed. “It seems you’re busy. But we’ll meet again.” She said it not like a prediction, but a memory—as if we had always known each other in some other life.

That’s when Agent Martínez materialized, like the change in a soundtrack. His tone was brisk. “Deputy Polo wants to see you. Immediately.”

As we strode down the corridor’s dim-lit stretch of diplomatic beige, I glanced back. Regina and Barbara were still chatting—animated and still, fire and ice. A perfect singularity.

Martínez leaned in conspiratorially. “Barbara used to be one of Ambassador Serrano’s executive assistants.”

“Really?” I asked, intrigued.

“She requested a reassignment.”

I frowned. “Why would she do that? I’d kill to be in Serrano’s inner circle.”

Martínez shrugged. “She wanted her life back. The Ambassador lives in the official residence—the three-story one overlooking the river. There’s a hidden passage from the Embassy. Only she has the key.”

“…And we’re casually talking about secret passages now?”

“Well, consider the hours. She worked late. Like, 9 p.m. every night. Most ambassadors don’t. Barbara was one of three assistants covering shifts around the clock—including the graveyard one.”

I let out a low gasp. “So Serrano runs the Night’s Watch of Mexican diplomacy.”

Martínez chuckled. “Pretty much. She wants to stay synced with Mexico’s political clock, which means living on Berlin time—but thinking in Central Standard.”

We reached Deputy Polo’s door. I braced myself. “See you later,” I whispered.

“Come in,” said a voice behind frosted glass.

Inside, Deputy Polo looked like someone who had just emerged from a minefield of budget crises and interagency squabbles—or worse yet, barely survived three consecutive wars, a disheveled spirit yet with an accustomed old-triumphant resolve. Her desk was a battlefield of coffee-stained folders and old victories.

“Nicolás! How’s Berlin treating you? Found a home yet?”

“Actually, yes. Southern tip of Museum Island. Overlooking the Spree. Sailboats from France and the Netherlands dock right outside.”

She barely glanced up. “Nice. Now—two updates.”

I leaned in.

“First, you’ve been granted a one-on-one meeting with Ambassador Serrano. Fifteen minutes. In two weeks.”

My eyebrows shot up. It felt like being called before Berlin's Nefertiti, cloaked in myth, with stories swirling around her like sandstorms in the Nile.. Or booking tea with the Foreign Minister. Same thing.

“Second,” she said with a grin, “Larenas has been recalled to Mexico City. Advisor to the Foreign Minister. Effective immediately. So... you now head Academic, Scientific, and International Cooperation Affairs. All three.”

“Triple-hatting. Roger that.”  

She slid a folder toward me with the seal of the Countess of Wisborg, descendant of Princess Marianne Bernadotte of Sweden. “And Nicolás—you’re going to Lindau.”

“Lindau?”

“Tomorrow.”

She grinned. “You’ll like this mission.”

As I stepped out of her office, my phone became active again and detonated. Embassy phones get silenced automatically in the building—anti-espionage protocol. But the moment I hit open air, it buzzed like a hive on fire. Five emails per minute. Larenas was unleashing his entire legacy, cc'ing the known universe.

I rushed to his office.

Barbara and Regina were already there, lounging like undercover royalty. They looked at me with a twin glint of expectation.

“See you at your cubicle,” they chimed, Barbara half-smirking, Regina waving like a cheerleader. Somehow, they already felt like undeterred tongue-in-cheek conspirators.

Larenas looked like a man clinging to the last plank of a sinking ship. Exhausted. Relieved. Doomed.  

“You okay?” I asked.

He gestured to his overworked screen. “I’m leaving. Opportunity of a lifetime. You’ll be great.”

Then came the hurricane.

“You now manage a 100K-euro budget, 64 scientific cooperation projects—mostly with German universities. You’ll travel across the country. Barbara and Regina will help. Regina’s on a temporary contract—for the Dual Year Mexico-Germany program. Barbara’s permanent. And she’s an official interpreter. Treat both like gold.”

I nodded, stunned and slightly panicked.

“Oh—and Lindau. You’ll be meeting the Mexican Education Minister. He’s bringing an entourage of thirty: ministry staff, the President’s scientific advisor, and twenty rising-star PhDs. Your point of contact is Dafne, who works for Borja—the Head of International Cooperation at Mexico's National Council of Science and Technology.”

“What’s in Lindau? A summit?”

Larenas smirked. “Better. A Nobel Laureates Meeting. Thirty to fifty Nobel winners. Six hundred PhD students. Talks. Symposiums. Mentorships. Our own Mario Molina will be there. Mexico is this year’s partner country. This is big, Nicolás. Really big.”

I swallowed hard.

“Andreas—the German coordinator—and Countess Bettina Bernadotte of Wisborg are old allies. Tell them I send my best.” He stood. We shook hands. “Good luck.”

Back in the cubicle jungle, my phone buzzed with over 3,500 unread messages. Larenas had gone full scorched-earth—introducing me to every academic, institution, and think tank with a German postal code. Replies were already coming in. Welcome! When can we speak? Later. Much later. This would have to wait.

Regina popped her head in. “Hi boss! What cable should we write?”

Barbara, sipping coffee, rolled her eyes. “You are such a sucker,” she whispered.

I grinned.

“Barbara—please find the Minister’s arrival details. Coordinate with Dafne. Confirm lodging, logistics, everything.”

She stopped teasing and was instantly typing.

“Regina—get me accredited for the Nobel Meeting. Full access. Agenda, venues, secretariat contacts. Anything and everything.”

“On it!”

I paused. “And listen—I know this sounds like assistant work. But I just landed, and I need backup. That said, from now on—you’re both project managers. No hierarchy. We disrupt bureaucracy. Add it to your CVs. In meetings, we’re colleagues. And call me Nicolás."

They looked at each other—half-disbelieving, half-thrilled.

“If you want to come to Lindau, I’d love that. No pressure. This won’t be the last chance.”

Barbara and Regina smiled, softer now.

“Thanks, Nicolás. But it’s too short notice. We’ll be your remote team here at the Embassy.”

“Let’s make an impact,” Regina added.

We would. I knew it in my bones.

I wasn’t just writing cables anymore.

We were writing stories—and I had a team.

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Diplomatic Dispatch No. 468 – ‘Cable from the Mexican Embassy in Germany’
Originating Location: Berlin, Classified. Ambassador's Office
Date: 2016
Recipient: Foreign Office – Relay to Office of the President and to the Ministry of Education
Message: Third Secretary Nicolás Arriaga will receive the Minister of Education, the President's executive scientific advisor, and their entourage in Lindau, Germany.

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