Tag: cia

The Circle

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Excerpt

…back for a while; his thoughts travel to his good, old friend in Baghdad. Ibrahim has
done well with this young man; he has brought him up the right way. It’s no wonder
the old man is so proud of Hakim. It’s no wonder that he sees him as a real son; he
even calls him his son. He gets the check and goes out to find a taxi to take him to the
Sheraton. The rest of this weekend is going to be smooth and pleasant for Bevan
Longhorn.He may even sleep in peace tonight since he knows everything is coming
together nicely for his exit strategy. His plan is unfolding like clear spring water
running slowly down to freshen up the roots of the delicate vegetables and flowers.

Monday has gone by slowly but steadily, as if time learned to go by unnoticed,
like a well-tuned machine with gears grasping everyone in between them,
stretching and pulling to the point of being ready to snap. Hakim and Jennifer
spent their Monday getting ready for their move. She took the day off and did the
packing of things one does last; Hakim also stayed home and together they organized
the details of the actual move. Today, Talal has come to help them. He’s the
one who’ll get the rental truck. Emily is there as well, doing what is necessary to
help Jennifer with the kitchen items, since men do not always do things the best
way in a woman’s eyes when it comes to the kitchen.
Ahmed has gone with Talal to get the truck.
“I’ll get the stuff tomorrow,” Ahmed says.
“You got it, already?” asks Hakim.
“No but it’s ready; it’s just a matter of going for it.”
“Alright, now be careful. Who are these guys?”
“Leave that to me. Don’t worry about who they are or why they are doing
this; leave that to me.”
They get the truck and Talal drives it back to Hakim’s apartment. They start
putting things in one by one and Jennifer and Emily tell them where to position
them in the truck. It takes about an hour and they are ready to go to Emily’s for
the rest of the things. Once they finish there, they drive to the new place and
move everything upstairs. One elevator has been reserved for them and that
makes work a lot easier. By two in the afternoon, they are done; the only thing
left to do is to put together the bed and put away the kitchen things, while Talal
and Ahmed return the truck to the rental company.
When all that is done and Talal comes back with Ahmed, Hakim orders a
couple of pizzas and they sit around and enjoy the food. The weather had given
them a break with sunny periods throughout the day, and while it’s late in the
afternoon, there is still plenty of brightness, and one can see the beauty of the
view to the west toward the Pacific Ocean.

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Jazz with Ella

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Finally the plane broke through the cloud banks, the turbulence vanished and the sight below pushed all thoughts of adolescent students out of Jennifer’s head. She was flying over the birch forests and ragged patchwork fields of the mighty Soviet Union. She gazed eagerly. An image formed easily in her imagination: two young women—her mother and her aunt—thin and desperate, still grieving the loss of their parents, tramping across this very landscape in 1945 following the path of the victorious troop convoys. How far had they walked to the Polish border? It must have been a wearying journey for the two refugees…
Suddenly a wedge of apartment blocks appeared on the horizon signalling the suburbs of modern Moscow. The plane circled once, the wing dipping to reveal wide straight highways, clusters of huts amid evergreen trees, and finally, the runways of Moscow’s Sheremetyev Airport.
“Hallelujah, we’re really here!” Paul exclaimed. Eve and Dawn giggled. David opened his eyes. A wave of relief flooded the passengers as the plane bumped to a halt. Applause broke out. One stewardess allowed herself a thin-lipped smile while the other busied herself in the galley.
The thunderstorm’s humidity hit them the moment the cabin door opened. The summer air was moist and the black clouds still rolled overhead, but for the group from Canada, now shuffling down the steps to the tarmac, no amount of bad weather could destroy this imperial moment. For some, such as Maria, it was a return to the land her parents spoke of, though not always fondly. For others, Jennifer included, it was their first glimpse of a powerful myth. She had never understood Winston Churchill’s quote about Russia—”a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma”—and suspected it was hyperbole, but as she stepped from the plane onto Soviet soil, she shivered. Churchill had met Stalin. He should know.
What was this country all about? She had first come to know it through the literature of long dead authors, Pushkin and Dostoevsky, considered dissidents in their time. Lately she had come to understand its dark underside through the secret writings of Alexander Solzhenitsyn, banned in the USSR, published in the west. Yet she had also studied its most glorious moments in the ecstatic language of its revolutionaries. Despite the ordeal of the landing, she felt eager, charged, ready to go everywhere, to see it all.

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The Circle

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Excerpt

Bevan Longhorn dresses in casual clothes and goes down to the lobby of the
Sheraton Hotel. It’s Sunday morning and the lobby is filled with people coming
and going. Bevan has stayed here before, and this time, although he has only
been here for one night, intends to make the best of it. He has arranged his
departure for the evening with American Airlines and is to arrive in Washington
sometime before midnight, giving him enough time to relax and get to his office
Monday morning. On the other hand, if he feels tired the next morning he can
always skip work for a day; the agency will survive without him.
What presses on his mind today is making sure he can put his hands on what he
needs to proceed with his plan of exit, as he calls it. These two young men better have
thought of everything; he doesn’t have the time to pussyfoot. However, he has faith
in the old man, whom he has always trusted to deliver what is necessary.
He walks into the hotel restaurant and orders his breakfast. He opens the
morning paper and reads the headlines; the same stuff again and again. His breakfast
comes and he tries to enjoy it, despite the headlines and his thoughts. What happens
if the two young men cannot get what he needs? A shiver travels down his spine like
a thunderbolt as this thought sinks deep in his mind, and he squirms out of fear that
all his mental preparation for this last mission might be in vain.
He overhears two couples next to him talking about the Oscars scheduled
for sometime in March. They seem to be very absorbed in what they are
discussing; he hears one of the men supporting one actor over the others, and
the other three people seem to agree, as Bevan doesn’t hear any objection to the
first person’s remarks.
His thoughts take him away again to his plan of action, and he glances at his
watch; it is only 10:30 a.m. He’s so anxious about his plan that he cannot wait to
meet Hakim at Earl’s and get answers. Ibrahim’s nephew had better have good
news for him, or else. What can he do if they cannot get it?
He finishes his breakfast, pays his check and goes for a walk around the hotel
grounds with the manicured lawns and the pretty shrubs and flowers
everywhere. He needs to clear his mind and the crisp morning air will help. He
also needs to stretch his legs.

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Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

“Just close your eyes and think of something else,” he told her.
Paul’s a good buddy, she thought, and he stuck with me through all of the Michael years. She realized she was already thinking of Michael in the past tense and wondered if that was a sign of healing. The last time she had been on a plane she and Michael had flown to California for their first wedding anniversary. That had been just one year ago.
As instructed, she shut out the sight of the storm clouds and retreated into her thoughts. She wondered for about the fifth time why Paul had not been selected to assist Chopyk in leading this Soviet Union trip. It meant prestige and academic advancement. Paul was at least as well educated as she was with all the same qualifications: experience as a teaching assistant and going for his Ph.D. Besides, he was a man and the department favoured men in positions of authority. The graduate women often got no farther up the tenure track than lecturer. Jennifer was a loose cannon; she knew that was her reputation around the department. She was not one to toe the party line—or to sleep with the chairman to improve her grades.
Could it be, as her women’s lib friend had told her, it was because she would accept less money for the job? Just the cost of the trip and a small daily stipend—that was all she was receiving. Paul would have held out for a real salary, she thought uncomfortably. But she had to take this trip. It was ridiculous to think she could continue as a University of Vancouver graduate student in Russian Literature without actual exposure to the Russia of today—the Soviet Union. The department had been trying to organize this language immersion tour, a first for any Canadian university, for years. It was time to damn the expense and go.
This plan had seemed pretty clear until a warm day in May when the departmental chairman, Dr. Hoefert, summoned her to a meeting at Professor Chopyk’s office, and he had hinted to her on the phone that he might have some good news regarding the language tour. It turned out that she had been summoned not so much to Chopyk’s office as to his adjacent waiting room. She spent three quarters of an hour glued to a sticky orange vinyl chair, feeling her hair frizzing wildly in the humidity of the overheated building, one foot bobbing in time to the tapping of the secretary’s typewriter.
Occasionally, Chopyk and Hoefert had glanced through the glass panel as if to determine that she was still there. At first she mentally railed at professors who expected papers to be turned in on time but couldn’t be bothered being punctual for appointments…

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Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

“Because you don’t want to face the consequences of not helping.” Shukshin glowered at the public official.
“What do you mean?” Pyotr became agitated. “Are you threatening me? If this is a joke it’s gone too far!”
“It’s no joke.” Pavel spoke again. “I need all of the documents: permits, propiska, passport, whatever is necessary, and I need them soon. As to why you should help me then I’m afraid it’s like Shukshin says. You don’t want others to know what we can tell them about you.”
Pyotr froze to his chair. It was not a joke.
To his surprise, Vera chimed in. They were all in it together. “You were seen…at the boathouse. You understand me?” He remained silent so she continued. “With the police chief’s wife—what’s her name, Tanya?—and we all know that the police chief would not like your activities with his wife, would he?”
Pyotr was stunned. It was all collapsing in front of him—the careful secrecy, the hidden assignations. “We…simply meet to talk. There’s nothing harmful….” He stopped. Vera was shaking her head. “We have photos,” and she pointed to a large American-style camera on the bed. “We took photos of you and Tanya together. Believe me, you were not just talking.”
“What! Devil take it! Give me those photos. You have no right…” He stood up, prepared to invoke some bureaucratic rule that would force them to comply—or what? Report them to the police? They sat politely while he worked through his tantrum, sputtered another oath or two and smacked the table with his fist. Finally he sat again and slumped in the chair.
“May I pour you another drink?” Vera inquired with a sweet smile as if he were a friendly visiting uncle. “I think it would be best to find the passport first, don’t you? That way we can make the other documents match whatever the name on the passport.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Pyotr agreed at last. “I know of just such a widow who would probably give up a passport for a sum of money. I hope you people have some cash to pay her.”
“We’ll find the money,” said Pavel. “You find the goods.”
“And some cash for me, for my trouble in locating the passport,” the official continued. But Shukshin had only to glance at him quizzically and indicate the camera once more for Pyotr to understand that any cash benefit to him would not be forthcoming.

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The Circle

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excerpt

The vegetable garden is a large area at the back; located on the north side of
the property and sheltered by a fence to the north. Their house faces east so that
the garden is on the western part, with the western and southern sun hitting it
almost all day. On one side, William has a small area covered with plastic and
Evelyn tells Bevan that’s where they plant the tomatoes and eggplant which like
the heat and not rain.
“We get a lot of rain here, as you know, and tomatoes don’t do well in rain, so
he covers them every year. Everything else we plant is exposed to the weather.”
“What do you usually plant, Evelyn?”
“We grow everything, you name it; we grow potatoes, celery, leeks, beets,
Swiss chard, garlic, onions, greens for the salad, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers,
spinach, beans of three different kinds—oh, Bevan , everything is grown here,
believe me,” she says, quite proudly.
“In other words, you literally live off the land.”
“Yes, and you’ll see all that when you come this way next year.”
Bevan smiles, and it’s his turn to clear his throat. Evelyn looks at him and smiles.
“You’re not planning to come our way when you retire, are you, Bevan?”
“Well, to be honest, Evelyn, I haven’t given it any thought as yet; I have a few
things to do before I retire.”
“What do you still have to do, my brother? Isn’t it enough that you have given
this service of yours your whole life? Aren’t the tragedies that have taken place all
over the world in the last thirty years enough? However, I don’t want to go there
again and upset you; after all, you’re an admiral. Your job is to serve the armed
forces of this land.”
But Bevan doesn’t get upset with Evelyn. He has made peace with that side of
himself, and his sister doesn’t get him upset anymore. As a matter of fact, he’s at
such peace with himself lately that he feels just great, even when she talks harshly
about the army.
“Are you at peace with yourself, Bevan?”
He takes a deep breath and looks at the garden with all the vegetables they
grow. He sees his sister being so relaxed and in a state of complete satisfaction
with herself. He knows he’s in that same state also, but it’s very hard to explain
why. He knows why and that is good enough for the time being. When they read
in the papers later on what has transpired, they’ll understand. She’ll understand
why he’s at peace with himself at this time in his life.
“I am quite happy to see that you and William are in good health and in good
spirits, as always. I’ll make a point of coming back here again some time and then
perhaps we’ll talk about being at peace and all. Right now, I’m very happy to see
you are well, my dearest sister.”

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Jazz with Ella

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…she would try out a suggestion that a friend had whispered to her once to increase their enjoyment. It sounded like fun. But what would they do when winter arrived? Really, they needed their own place and that meant that Pavel needed papers—a passport, and a residence permit, at least. They would have to get busy.
★
It was a very different world for Pavel. Up with the rooster, check the chickens, water the market garden with buckets from the well. (Surely they had heard of garden hoses in the Soviet Union? He planned to do a little shopping in Toglyatti or Saratov one day.) Then, check the primitive irrigation system that watered the larger crop of barley. Estimate the height on the patch of sunflowers; as soon as they grew large enough, he had some great plans for intimate picnics with Vera among their stately stalks. She would look gorgeous, her sinuous shape naked in the fresh air. The pine forest was getting a bit old—he always returned with twigs and grit in his clothes. He hadn’t yet thought about how they would find their privacy once winter arrived.
If it were market day, they would pick the early beets and new potatoes and Shukshin would drive the produce into the village using his antiquated motorcycle and attached cart, a vintage vehicle that had probably seen service in the last war. These visits usually entailed time spent in fixing the motorcycle when Shukshin returned. Pavel didn’t know that much about mechanics either, but here he was learning faster. The way the parts fit together was engrossing; he found he could figure it out with some help from Shukshin, and he lamented all the years spent in studying academic subjects without getting a good grounding in what every adolescent learned while growing up: working on the family car.
The elder Shukshin thought he had died and gone to heaven; a good strong lad to do the farm work—at no expense to him other than some room and board. Granted, he wasn’t trained, but then neither was the last lad that he had asked to help him. A dimwit—and he had been sent packing. Fortunately, there was no official record of his ever working for Shukshin. That was the good thing about living in the provinces—no one from Moscow was very interested in whether they stuck to the regulations.
Moreover, Vera was in love with this strong, bright lad. There was only one annoying problem—he was a foreigner. He would likely get…

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The Circle

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He laughs and turns to look the other way. They are walking to her car, the
same old Chevy Impala; it must be at least twenty years old by now. He
remembers her having that car for a long time.
“You still drive this Impala? I’m amazed it’s still running; and, yes, to come
back to the subject of retirement, I’m thinking of retiring next year. And yes, I
can see myself without the service.”
“What are you going to do? Most people, after so many years with an
organization, go downhill as soon as they retire, because they don’t know what to
do with themselves. What are you going to do, Bevan?”
“I haven’t thought about that yet, Evelyn. Perhaps I’ll come this way and
retire with you in your hermitage and be as isolated as you for the rest of my life.”
He makes fun of her.
She starts the car and drives out of the parking lot; it’s a busy evening as most
people have finished their work week and are headed home for the weekend.
“You would be welcome to come and stay with us for as long as you like; but I
know you, you like to be with lots of people. You could never live isolated in a
hermitage, as you call it.”
He turns to her.
“Sometimes, one can feel isolated even among people, my dear Evelyn,
particularly in the midst of lots of people, trust me.”
Evelyn doesn’t respond as she concentrates on driving the busy streets of San
Francisco. It takes forty minutes to get to her house, and they find William half
asleep in his chair, watching TV.
Evelyn shouts at him, “William, for God’s sake, you’re asleep, at six in the
evening.”
William gets up and shakes Bevan’s hand.
“Hello, Bevan, what brings you this way?”
“Hello, William.”

Talal and Hakim take the bags and go inside. The house smells stuffy from being
closed up for so many days. The flowers in the pots are dry and Emily takes the
watering can to freshen them up as she talks to Jennifer about her trip. It is, of
course, hard for anyone to understand by just listening.
“You’d have to go there to understand what it’s like, sweetheart; it’s difficult
to grasp the way they live, which is so different from the way we do things here.
Life goes on for them as it does for us. They’re people with dreams and…

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Jazz with Ella

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While the unlikely duo of Hank and Lona had been parting company, Jennifer and Volodya had also stood in the shadow of the exit sign once again making their goodbyes.
“Lona offered to take me to New York with her,” Volodya told her, “but I refused…”
“Of course,” Jennifer replied stiffly. “It would mean yet another border crossing and you don’t want that, now do you?”
Volodya’s face creased in a huge grin. “That’s not the reason I refused, my amazing woman,” he said.
He was teasing her, she realized. He doesn’t know what thin ice he’s skating on.
“She said she will contact me when my painting is sold. Ech, but I don’t think she will—if the painting sells for more than she paid me, then why would she let me know? She’s a business woman, right?”
He took Jennifer’s hands in his, kissed them, hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders and walked backwards through the automatic doors still holding her gaze. Then he vanished into the humid Montreal evening.
In Vancouver, it was obvious that some of the baggage had been inspected yet again. Jennifer saw almost a full roll of sticky tape covering the top of Chopyk’s suitcase as if the bag had not closed properly after the Customs had poked through it. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. One student missing and three artworks smuggled. Whatever happened, it had been the trip of a lifetime—though just not a lifetime she would care to repeat.
“Whoever goes through first should look for our bus,” called Chopyk. “Probably the driver will hold up a sign.” It seemed like yesterday when she had been the first one through the gate at Sheremetev and the adventure had begun. This time, she lagged behind, reluctant to face the world. Carefully, she propped her things up on a baggage cart. When she finally passed through the sliding doors right behind Linda, she noticed someone waving, someone with black bristly eyebrows and an armful of flowers. The man was not waving at Linda. It had been so long since they had been together, and so much had happened to her in the last three weeks, that she almost did not recognize her estranged husband.
“Michael, what are you doing here?” Despite herself, a full, warm feeling dispelled the black cloud, if only for a moment.

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Jazz with Ella

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Volodya hung back to the end of the line. Jennifer knew now that he would not flee; he would brazen it out. Besides, he had the passport. Soon David was there beside her, as always, to support her.
“Pull yourself together,” he urged her, glancing at her worried frown. “You haven’t been implicated in anything.”
“They’ll ship him back to the Soviet Union.”
“No, I think it’s Lona that’s going down today.”
She was just beginning to calm down when one of the Americans approached her with a shout. “Hey, Jen. Why are they beating up on your guy?”
She could feel the blood rush away dizzyingly. “What do you mean?” Her voice had faded to a whisper.
“They’ve got him by that desk as if he’s gonna be there for life.” The man laughed crudely. “He doesn’t look like a terrorist with that little pointy beard.” With a huge sense of relief, Jennifer realized he was talking about Chopyk as “her guy.” Not Volodya. David let out a long breath. He was thinking the same thing.
The time crawled by. The line snaked through the shabby building with most of the passengers being released to mill about on the apron in front of Jennifer.
As Jennifer remained at her post, Volodya finally appeared from the building walking carefully, nervously, but his eyes held that same light of triumph as they had just a few brief hours ago. He joined her, wordless. David shook his hand.
The very last people to exit the building were Chopyk and Lona who had linked arms. Her face was crumpled like that of a pouty child. Chopyk stared straight ahead and explained nothing as he passed the group. They were ushered to their plane. Volodya resumed his seat beside Jennifer. The plane took off.
Once again, someone had spoiled the party and the tension filled the stuffy cabin. A swarthy young man—Kazak or Uzbek, maybe—walked down the aisle, stared at Lona with interest and finally addressed her in thickly accented English. Jennifer could not hear the exact words but soon the man had insinuated himself into the vacant seat beside the blonde who still looked dazed. He’s either security keeping an eye on her, or she’s found yet another admirer. At least, this time, the trouble was not about her, Jennifer thought with relief.

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