Tag: cia

Jazz with Ella

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the civil rights movement would make headlines in the Soviet Union. It would probably be couched in the language of the state extolling how the slave masses had risen up against the capitalist oppressors or some such jargon. She realized she had not seen a single black person since her arrival in the country, although Moscow University reportedly attracted African students.
“Excuse me. I am naïve,” he went on. “I must ask a very important question. Promise me not to laugh?” She nodded. “Is it only black persons who make jazz music in Canada or America? Or can white people like me make jazz?”
She tried not to grin at his earnestness. “Why would you ask that? Lots of people of all colours play jazz! You’re safe there to play whatever music you want…” She could see his discomfort, so she continued more gently. “It’s true, jazz has its roots among black musicians, that’s for sure. Many of them grew up singing in church choirs, like Aretha Franklin, for example. She’s my favourite. Do you know her?”
“No, tell me.” They spent the next while with Jennifer dredging up anything from her memory that she had ever learned about jazz, gospel or blues in the west to share with Volodya. While they were engrossed in this, Alya tapped on the door and entered with a bottle of brandy, some cheese, bread and a cut-up cake that she served. She settled herself comfortably with an air of possession. When the three were seated, the woman’s eyes swept up and down Jennifer appraisingly. She asked the usual questions in broken English. Where did she work? Was she married?
Jennifer responded more quickly this time on the marriage question. She had decided to answer questions with the vague, “My husband and I no longer live together,” rather than a more elaborate explanation.
Volodya switched on a radio that played American swing music. “It’s time for Voice of America,” he told her. “Reception is good at this time of day.”
“They must be broadcasting from somewhere outside of the Soviet Union?”
“Military base in Germany, I think.”
“Please eat,” said Alya, who was not having any of the cake herself.
Jennifer was just getting ready to ask Alya about herself when the woman swung toward Volodya in a gesture of approval. She rose, made her apologies, and left the bedroom with a significant glance at the bed.

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The Circle

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Could she be cheating on him? Matthew has been married for a long time; he’s a
fifty-five-year-old established bureaucrat. Why suddenly does he have all this
anxiety about his wife being unfaithful?
He turns on his other side and crawls under the sheets. He changes the TV
channel and slowly his eyes grow tired. He feels all the emptiness in his stomach
and in his heart. Then his worrisome mind slows down and he falls asleep.
“What did Dad have to say, Mom?” Jennifer asks.
“Nothing important, honey, the same old story.”
“Is he coming home on the weekend? I heard you telling him Hakim has
gone to New York. Did he say anything about that?”
“No honey, nothing. He says he’ll be home on the weekend.”
Jennifer goes upstairs to her room and Emily pours herself a drink.

Wednesday morning in New York and the sky is clear. A tired city awakens from
a last night of excitement and partying. New York is a city that never sleeps, like
Las Vegas. New York has the reputation as being the best entertainment city in
North America, although the big corporations running the Las Vegas casinos
like to think their city is the best in that department.
Hakim is up. He gazes at the view of the waterway. Far to his right he can see
the boats as well as cars in the streets. He has been up for a while when Ibrahim
comes into his room, prepared for the day.
“Good morning, my uncle.”
“Good morning, my dear son.”
Ibrahim calls Rassan to order their breakfast. While they wait Ibrahim calls
his lawyer, William Polson.
He speaks to the receptionist, “Good morning, this is Ibrahim Mahdi. I amin
New York and I would like to talk to William.”
It takes a few moments before a person answers.
“Good morning, Ibrahim, how are you? Welcome to New York. Where are
you staying?”
“Good morning, William. I am at the Manhattan Sheraton as always. I want
you to get Bill Wanton and Regis Hudson and come over for an hour, some time
after eleven. I need you all for an hour or so. Get Regis and Bill to bring along the
necessary forms for new accounts. You also need to prepare a power of attorney
and bring it along.”
“That sounds good, Ibrahim; I’ll put everything together. I’ll confirm our
timing within half an hour.”

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Jazz with Ella

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Volodya stirred from his place on the bench, one arm over her shoulders. His face betrayed an odd mixture of pride in his home and uneasiness at the conversation. “You have no idea how much suffering,” he replied. “This very spot, these buildings around us, were built by Swedish prisoners of war during Peter’s time. This was a swamp and many of them died working in it, their bodies beneath us in this earth.” He shuddered. “Then, of course, there was bloodshed during the Revolution… That boat—you can almost see it from here, the cruiser Aurora—it fired the first shots after Our Leader, Lenin, arrived in the city to rally the workers in 1917. Those years meant war and famine. There is not much recorded because the state does not want to remember those bad times.”
“The city was under siege again in the Second World War, I know,” added Jennifer, “and many died of hunger.” She felt privileged to hear the stories of its history from a real Leningrader and not from their pedantic tour guide.
“Yes, those years are well documented. The destruction was visited upon us from the Nazis, not from the revolutionary forces.” He fell quiet for a time. “I love this city,” he went on, “but it illustrates a horrible truth. It seems that anything that rises up and is good must always be built on suffering. This city has a legacy of suffering and bloodshed but it has survived, and it’s good. What was that word you used? Joyous?”
“Yes, joyous,” and the thought of the untapped beauty still to be found in this extraordinary place made her swell with emotion. She leaned over to kiss him, not for the physical act of kissing, but because she wanted to seal that thought with something meaningful. He was surprised at her gesture but soon kissed her back. When they finally fell gently away from one another, a few faint stars had appeared in the sky.
★
On the fourth day in Leningrad she noticed that, suddenly, the stores were stocked with Israeli oranges. Everywhere women shopped in pairs, each carrying one handle of a shopping bag overflowing with the fruit. At the end of a long afternoon together, Jennifer and Volodya stood

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The Circle

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Their flight is a five-hour affair. They have first-class seats and are served a
light lunch once the plane is in the air. Hakim is hungry and enjoys the food,
although Ibrahim eats only a bit of his. They each enjoy a glass of red wine.
Hakim asks the same question as on the previous day.
“My uncle, you promised to tell me more about the work Matthew Roberts and
the Admiral do for the CIA, do you remember?”
Ibrahim takes a deep breath, smiles, and says,
“It is a long story, my dear boy; however, in a nutshell, this is it. They both
work for a department that goes by the code name the ‘Circle’. They are located
in Washington D.C., not in Langley. In their department 130 people analyze
intelligence, data, and information, and make recommendations to the
Executive Branch. This is where decisions about war take place. Based on the
recommendations of the Admiral, who bases his decisions on the analyses of
Matthew’s people, the war room as some call it, takes its stand against any enemy
as circumstances dictate.”
He stops and takes a deep breath. Ibrahim does that a lot more often, Hakim
notices. The old man looks at his nephew, wondering how far he can still go with
this.
“They are the basis of a detailed system that undermines the governments of
various countries, based on what their goals are and serving their interests the
best way possible. They formed the basis for the decision to go against Saddam
Hussein in the war of 2003. That department of the CIA is the one which sexed
up the propaganda before the war.”
“In other words, they are the reason the war started?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way exactly; however, they had a lot to do with it.
You see, they are not the final decision makers of the government, but they make
recommendations based on data. They have a plan of action for any foreseeable
event, which could turn the outcome of their strategy one way or another. They
plan with various options always before them, and even then they prove to be
wrong on many occasions. There’s always a variable that cannot be predicted
ahead of time, and when it comes to play, it alters the results time and time again.
This is the same reason they are wrong so many times—the unpredictability of
the reactions of people to certain events and to intelligence. Every time you think
how or why a decision has to be made, it’s like being in a maze, and you can only
hope for the outcome you have predicted.”
He stops for a while, calls the flight attendant and orders two glasses of wine.
Hakim takes a sip of his wine, looks at his watch, and estimates they are halfway
to New York. His uncle looks tired. Yet Hakim wants to know more.
“What else do you know, my uncle?”

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Jazz with Ella

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“We didn’t order…oh what the hell,” said David. Jennifer reached for the refreshing water eagerly.
Paul chimed in. “A country that puts a man in space, yet you look at the filthy exhaust those busses are pushing out. That’s no rocket fuel. It coats everything, gets into your lungs.”
She agreed. “At least this city seems light and bright and modern”—everyone nodded—“whereas Moscow was so drab.”
“Boy, was it ugly.” David shook his head. “Though I have to say everything looks a tad more cheerful after a bottle of the local brew.” He helped himself to another glass.
The waiter finally showed up with some sickly sweet plum syrup. It didn’t cut the vodka, but by that time they were almost past caring. The lounge filled up with British and Americans, some of them in baseball caps, a few individuals who spoke Russian with a German accent and a party of serious, silent Asians.
“I think they’re North Vietnamese,” David whispered.
The Asians were seated at the table with the centrepiece, Jennifer noted. So the Soviets were not above spying on their Communist cousins. It fit with the current paranoia. Suspicion of Asian aggression was running high in the country and tension marked the border with China.
“We’re going to need another bottle here. I’ll get it,” said David suddenly.
“Do you think that’s wise?” put in Lona.
“What’s wise got to do with it? We’re in the Soviet Union, guys!”
The conversation continued, the waiter brought a tray of snacks, the level in the vodka bottle plummeted, and Jennifer couldn’t quite remember how they had acquired another guest at their table. He was a Soviet man, about 45, with curly hair, dressed in a fashionable lounge jacket. Apparently he had been listening to their conversation for some time. He shook hands all around and told them in fluent English that he was an editor of a prominent Soviet newspaper. None of them really believed him. What would an editor be doing sitting in the bar of a Soviet hotel that catered exclusively to tourists?
“I bet he’s a black marketeer,” whispered Ted loudly, leaning towards Maria. “He wants to buy our jeans—or get into your jeans.” She giggled. Lona looked puzzled.
“Is this a joke?” Paul asked.
“No, he’s a spy,” said David.

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The Circle

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Now Hakim finds the opportunity to get back to the subject which has been
on his mind for the past two days.
“Please tell me, my uncle, what you know about Jennifer’s dad and the
Admiral? What work, in particular, do they do for the CIA?”
Ibrahim looks at him closely, “It is a long story,my son; however, you deserve
the truth. I promise we’ll discuss that on our trip to New York; leave it alone for
the time being. By the way, let me ask you a question. How do you see your
relationship with young Jennifer? How do you see yourself in the next little while
with her, or is she just a flirt whom you’ll leave behind when you return home?
You know, you may find yourself with a lot more responsibilities than you have
in mind so far.”
Hakim is unprepared for such a discussion, but Ibrahim is right; he has to
make up his mind regarding his relationship with Jennifer, sooner or later. He
asks himself the same question sometimes and doesn’t have the answer. He’s not
sure where he wants their relationship to go, not yet.
“I don’t know, my uncle; I like Jennifer. I like her a lot, but I haven’t thought
of anything beyond the present. She’s just a girl I see these days.”
“You mean she hasn’t touched you in a special way?”
Really, has she touched him in a special way? He wonders. He turns and looks
deep into his uncle’s eyes, and the old man who knows life sees in Hakim’s eyes a
young man in love. He smiles at him and says, “I see that she has touched you in a
lot of different ways, my dear son. That being said, you are a young man, and a
young woman will always be welcomed next to you. Whomever you choose to
have next to you is going to be my favorite one. Remember, always remember
the priority of things and devote the necessary time to each. You will learn as you
go. She also has to know how far she can go with her wants, when you need to put
extra time into the family business. Women are always welcome in the life of a
man, particularly a young man. Our relationships with them are of a certain
kind; each of us has his own way of defining that, and each of us learns from his
own experience with a woman who we are and what we like in life. But always
remember that you give your woman the part of you that belongs to her, and the
rest of you belong to you and nobody else.”
Hakim appreciates his uncle’s comments and doesn’t hesitate to let him know.
“I know, my uncle, I appreciate your advice on everything. Your opinion is
always most important to me. That’ll never change, I promise.”
“Thank you, my dear son.”
Before they part Hakim learns he has to be at the hotel the next morning at
about seven, as their flight is at 10:15 a.m. and they have to be at the airport two
hours earlier.

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The Circle

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o the University of Southern California Medical Center, wait for him, and get him
back to the hotel. That’s his business for the morning, nothing else. The ride takes
about fifteen minutes, as rush-hour traffic is over and the streets are quieter at this
time of day. They arrive and the driver opens the door for them. Ibrahim gets out
with Hakim, and they walk toward the reception area. A blonde girl of about
twenty-five greets them.
“Good morning, sir, please have a seat. The nurse will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
The nurse comes to get Ibrahim. Before she guides him away, Hakim asks
how long they’ll keep him inside and the nurse says about one to two hours. They
have to perform a CBC and obtain a few scan images; the doctors have organized
two MRIs, and they need to do a small procedure to get a specimen. After that,
he’ll be free to go.
After they take his uncle away, Hakim takes a stroll on the grounds of the
medical. He walks for a while and then dials Talal’s number. The phone rings
four times before Talal answers. Hakim asks for news and Talal confirms that it
will take a few days. Hakim finds a bench and sits. His mind goes to Matthew and
Bevan once more. He is eager to learn more of what they do, the specifics of what
they deal with, and whom they report to.
He dials again and calls Peter at the office.
“Hi Peter, how are things there, today?”
“Not much different than any other day. How are things with you and your
uncle?”
“They’re doing the tests. He’ll be in for a couple of hours.”
“Okay. Do you need anything else?” Peter senses Hakim has something to say
to him.
“Look, Peter, I’d like to sit down with you in the next couple of days, is that
okay?”
“Yeah, what’s on your mind? Talk to me.”
“There is no rush. Just hang tight, we’ll talk when the time comes.”
Peter understands he has to leave this alone until the right time; after all, you
don’t push the people who have money and the power that comes with it.
“Suit yourself, Hakim, I’ll be ready.” He stresses the last words and Hakim
likes the sound of that.
“Thanks, Peter, I know I can count on you when it comes to the serious stuff;
thanks a lot.”
He spends the next hour or so outside, with his thoughts traveling to the
future and what he needs to organize with Talal next to him at the top of the
ladder. But he wonders what to do about Jennifer. The question breaks the …

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Jazz with Ella

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Just as they had spent that first evening on the street, Jennifer and Volodya spent the next afternoon mostly on the street, in the peculiar privacy that Soviets find in large crowds. She bought him cognac and cigarettes at Beryozka the foreign currency souvenir store. He bought her Russian language books, stories of the city, and corrected her sentences. She showed him her contact lenses and how they worked. He marvelled. Such things were unheard of in the Soviet Union, he told her, but he had seen some Japanese tourists use them. That night Jennifer returned to the hotel, Volodya to his home.
The next day as they were passing the Hotel Europe, another accommodation reserved solely for visitors from the west, he grabbed her hand, glanced around to see if they were being followed and walked into the lobby, saying in English, “I want to show you something. Go along with me to the restaurant.” They strolled to the elegant restaurant portal and waited in the foyer. There was no one in sight.
“Hey, if you’re pretending to be an American, you’re holding your cigarette all wrong,” she whispered. “Don’t curl it under your hand. Just let it sit between your fingers. Like so.” She surreptitiously straightened his fingers, rearranging the cigarette. He grinned at her. She felt the warmth of the smile and let her hand linger on his.
“Thank you,” he said in English. “Now look over at that table under the light. I will not point. You see?” Jennifer peered. “See the centre arrangement? That is a microphone—how they listen. Only the ones with that arrangement—and some of the others there, that table and that one.”
Jennifer stared but couldn’t see the difference in the various tables.
“How do you know?”

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The Circle

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Hakim starts getting jittery and shows signs of being ready to go, although
Talal doesn’t seem to pay attention to the signals. Jennifer wants to go with
Hakim to his apartment and stay overnight and Emily wishes Jennifer and
Hakim would go, without Talal, so she might take him upstairs to her bed and
show him what it means to be sexually hungry. Yet, they all sit around and talk
for another half an hour, playing the game people call the waiting game as Emily
becomes interestingly aroused with each minute.
“I think it is time to go,” Hakim says, looking at Talal, who doesn’t seem to be
ready to comply.
“Mom, I’ll go with Hakim. I’ll get my things ready, okay?” Jennifer takes her
mom and Hakim by surprise.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, don’t you have to work tomorrow?” Emily
realizes her wish will become reality.
“Yeah, I do, but I’m going to get my things ready; I’ll go to work from
Hakim’s, no big deal. I’ll take your car.”
Talal relaxes with Emily knowing that after the two go he’ll really have the
time of his life. He imagines her breasts bouncing up and down as she rides her
hunger on top of him.
“I’m in on hurry, my friend,” Talal turns and says to Hakim. “I don’t have to
work tomorrow. The night is still young.Howabout another glass ofwine, Emily?”
Emily gives him the best smile ever and gets up and fills their glasses with wine.
She gives him the glass and he caresses her hand in a way only Emily notices.Hakim
is wondering what’s going on and how far Talal is going to take this.
Jennifer comes downstairs and the two are ready to go. They say goodnight,
and walk through the basement to the family garage. They take Emily’s car and
drive away.
Talal moves closer to Emily and takes her hands in his, her hands tremble.
She knows what comes next, although she likes to be taken by the hand and that’s
exactly what Talal does. They walk slowly up the stairs kissing and caressing.
Her bed welcomes them with open arms, as their sexual pleasure heats up
slowly but steadily, Emily is happy once more on top of him, her breasts
bouncing. He lets her enjoy the climax of her orgasm as he feels the sensuality
taking him over as well. Emily is loud in her moaning, breathing fast, and having
very strong convulsions at the top of her satisfaction.
In the midst of their sexual climax, the phone rings.
Emily looks at the display screen: it’s Matthew. She wonders for a moment
whether to take the call or not. She looks at Talal, and he knows who is on the
phone by seeing her reaction. He nods at her to take the call. She lifts the receiver.
“Hello, Matt,” she says, her breathing still a bit excited.

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Jazz with Ella

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At first when she heard someone calling out her name, she thought it was the kid next door who had first shown her the chipmunk. Crouched in the trees, she suddenly realized that it was Doug who was calling. Let him call, she thought. I’m having fun here. Even when she caught the panic in his childish voice, she had stayed, resentful. Finally she emerged from the grove to see the neighbour’s son flying down the slope and into the water and to see her mother racing out of the outhouse with a look of unveiled horror on her face. All of them running, running past her, ignoring her.
★
Douglas was buried in Toronto, in the small graveyard near their home. Jennifer’s father became even more distant with her, and the very life went right out of Jennifer’s mother. She blamed herself for not keeping watch, and oddly enough, she also blamed the lake, but not Jennifer. It was too deep, too wild. Yes, she should have been more vigilant, but they should never have gone to such a dangerous place, she told the family.
Jennifer knew the lake was not the problem. She had been the problem. She had let her brother drown. Though her father had said nothing to her, she knew that he would add another black mark to her name in that mysterious record book that parents keep.
Later that same year Lila got word that her sister Eva had been killed in a car accident. She could scarcely mourn—she was already in such a depression over Douglas. Bad things come in threes, Lila told Jennifer. Sure enough, her friend Svetlana’s daughter contracted polio and died. Now Lila wanted to keep Jennifer home from school where she would be safe from the disease that was crippling so many children. But Jennifer and Jacob insisted that she attend school, and Jennifer stayed healthy. She loved school and earned mostly As. From her school life she drew much of the attention and encouragement she was not getting at home. Her teachers thought her a model pupil.
At home, her mother had retreated into silence and servility. Her father rarely spoke to Jennifer, directing his commands through her mother: “Have the child clean up the kitchen. Make sure she’s dressed for Sunday school.”

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