Siberian Agenda
by
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The Premier, a heavyset man with merging eyebrows and piercing blue eyes,
which tended to magnetize whomever he spoke to, seemed to fit, be a part of, his spacious office and its heavy décor – thick oak bookshelves stacked with books all the way up to the high ceiling, thick-legged chairs, a massive desk, and a bulky black leather armchair. The glass bar was the only fragile exception to the sturdy, gravity-loaded everything else in the office. The Premier approached the bar and pushed its glass panel to the side. It slid smoothly revealing two rows of ragtag labeled bottles. The Premier selected one and poured himself a drink.
"You''ll find your favorite -- Johnny Walker -- in the top row, Comrade General." He lifted his thick-bottomed glass toward the chandelier and stared at the light-cluster through the amber liquid. "But I prefer Armenian cognac."
The General was not in a hurry to find his favorite. Instead, he removed his thin-rimmed spectacles, carefully freeing one ear at a time, and brought them down to chest level. Then he gently cleaned them with a plain white handkerchief. That was his style; he accomplished each action in a meticulous manner, even such a trivial task as cleaning his specs. He lifted the spectacles, carefully examined the lenses for spots and, finally satisfied with their condition, repositioned them on his long, straight nose. Now he was ready to proceed with the main task -- pouring himself a drink.
"To the success of Operation Bold Eagle," the Premier toasted.
The General raised his glass too and watched how the Premier downed the cognac. Then he sipped his whiskey, the ‘bottoms up’ was not his style.
"Barring the unforeseeable, we''ll have our man in the Oval Office a year from now." The General approached the tall, dark window and glanced at the night
The red star of Spasskaya tower of the Kremlin glowed brightly like a beacon of victory.
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About the Book
This political thriller brings to light certain events of the Cold War hidden from the public eye and buried, until this time, under the tombstone of national security.
There is a think tank in this nation which oversees those constitutional checks and balances. It is not an official organization, it is not affiliated with any political party, it prefers to stay in the shadows. It has its information network and uses very powerful tools, like media, to promote its policies, manipulate political events, and enforce its will upon the nation, some say upon the world. One of its functions is to solve crises both national and international.
Remember the Watergate scandal? You thought that you knew the whole story: the amateur break-in, the infamous cover-up, and the deserved punishment to all who participated. Slam-dunk case. Now stop and think. The plumbers, it has been said again and again, broke into the opposition headquarters to install listening devises. But why to break in? That installation process could be accomplished almost casually, in the open, by a half-skilled operative. It is obvious that the plumbers were after something bigger, which is a secret.
The novel is about that secret – how it was created and how it was buried.
Fiction? You judge.
About the Author
It’s the height of the Cold War. Both superpowers hold each other by the throat. The author is in between, literally. He sails on the high seas crossing oceans and circumnavigating continents. After graduating from a maritime college, he is employed by the Black Sea Merchant Marine sailing Soviet tankers and cargo ships around the world.
The Cold War is on, tensions rise, it is time to choose sides. The author jumps ship in the
The author survives the ordeal in the Turkish jail and seeks a political asylum in the