*****
*****
Lucky had strange dreams that night. They started off nicely enough with mildly erotic scenes involving Donna and Athena. Then they quarreled with him – becoming one girl whose face was Athena on one side and Donna the other. Eventually they stalked off, leaving him miserable.
Soldiers burst
in to arrest him and he was hauled before Sen. Joe McCarthy and a host of
accusers who shouted that he was a Communist. And Lucky said, no, no, he was
only a little bit red – not Communist at all.
Then McCarthy became
Yorgo who accused him with being a dupe of the British, an enemy of Enosis. And
then there came Jim – sad-faced, wearing robes like the monks at Terra Santa.
Jim said, “If
only you would listen, Lucky. If only you would listen.”
Lucky protested
– “Listen to what, Jim? Listen to what?”
Jim only shook
his head. “Just listen, then you’ll know,” he said.
Lucky jolted
awake, the sheets soaked with sweat. His jaws ached from grinding his teeth and
for a moment he didn’t know what to do, thinking he had to somehow deal with
angry girls, Yorgo, Sen. McCarthy and a critical Jim Demetrakis. When he
realized it was only a dream, he felt like falling to his knees and thanking
God, like a castaway sailor who had found had his perilous way to shore.
It was 4 a.m. but he was too charged up by his disturbing
dreams to sleep, so he searched his shelves for something to read. Just then,
there was a sharp bang on the roof. Startled, his head jerked up and he heard a
whole shower of hard objects rattling about. Was it hail, he wondered? Hail was
not unknown in Cyprus this time of year, even though it wasn’t really cold
outside yet.
He jumped when something heavy thumped against the outside
wall. Then there were more thumps - a multitude of heavy blows. All very fast –
boom, boom, boom!
If it wasn’t hail, maybe it was a storm. He listened, but
there was no wind, just the patter of running feet. More slams against the
wall. The house was made of stone, so it did not shake. However, there was a
definite vibration in the walls and the vibrations came from just outside his
room.
An earthquake? There was another shower of thumps on the
roof, followed by the sound of running feet. This was no earthquake. He could
clearly hear at least two people scrambling across the tiles, slipping in their
rush, falling, knees cracking the tile.
Lucky sat upright, rolling the comic book into a tight tube
to make a weapon. Something scraped against the outside wall. It definitely
wasn’t one person who was doing the scraping, but several. Lucky could imagine
the shadowy figures dragging sticks and iron bars and knives across the rough
stone exterior.
His heart was thumping, but he wasn’t frightened. Something
that sounded like the wind blew along the veranda. Lucky knew it was not the
wind, but people running. Then all along the house there was a knocking and a
banging against the walls and the heavy, barred shutters that guarded the
entrances to the house. People were racing along the outside veranda that
encircled the house, scraping things against the wall, banging the shutters
with fists and clubs and knives. Strangely, not one word was spoken during the
assault.
Lucky got up and went to the shutters. Hesitantly, he put
ear against the wood. He quickly drew back – there was someone on the other side.
He shouted in Greek – “Piohs? Piohs?” Meaning who is there?”
There was a startled woof! Of surprise then fleeing
footsteps. Lucky almost threw open the shutter, but then thought better of it.
Behind him, the bedroom door burst and Lucky whirled, readying
his comic book tube, which was still his only weapon.
His mother stood there, a blue robe belted about her waist,
her hair a wild Irish tumble to her shoulders, her good eye fierce and staring
at Lucky, the blind eye fixed with its sister so strongly that it seemed more
powerful – as if it could see right through him. She brandished her personal
weapon, a small .25 caliber automatic, called a garter gun. More angry than
frightened, she waved the gun about – she was a good shot, a calm shot, so anyone
in front of that barrel was in deep trouble.
Another barrage of banging came at the shutters. Helen
spread her feet, her robe and lacy nightgown swirling around her legs. She
wagged the gun at the veranda door.
“Open it,” she said. “So I can shoot the S.O.B.’s.”
Lucky hesitated. He was scared that Sandros would be out
there and he didn’t want him to get shot. Sure, if this was Sandros’ doing, he
was mad at him. But Lucky didn’t want to see him killed.
“Let’s wait,” he advised. “Maybe they’ll go away.”
Helen moved forward. “Crack it open,” she insisted.
Lucky obeyed. His mother shoved the gun through the opening,
twisting the barrel so it pointed at the sky. Then she fired, one, two, three…
the .25 cracking out shot after shot until it was empty. Lucky’s mother dropped
the clip and shoved in another. She fired off two more shots into the night
air. They heard male voices shouting in alarm and pounding footsteps fleeing
the scene. After awhile, Helen fired two more shots. There was no reaction.
Lucky’s mother turned to him, smiling from ear-to-ear. She
gave her son a hug, then drew back and said, “I think they know we’re serious.”
Lucky laughed and then watched in amazement as she fetched
Brosina to help her pick up the spent shells and mop the floors to get rid of
the smell of gunpowder.
The next day Lucky’s father – who had been so hungover that he slept through the
whole thing – didn’t seem too perturbed about the incident. Even so, he called
a cab and said he’d speak to the security people at the embassy before he went
to the base. Lucky was glad his father hadn’t reported the matter to the police
chief – the villagers would only become resentful and support Sandros.
Lucky skipped school so he could keep an eye on things. He
was on the roof of the garage checking out the village when his father left. As
the cab turned onto the highway, Lucky saw Sandros on the corner with a thin,
dark-faced man. The boy pointed out the cab to the man, who nodded, climbed on
his bicycle and pedaled after it. Alarmed, Lucky watched a minute, then saw the
cab pick up speed and leave the man far behind.
Later, Lucky heard the familiar roar of Yorgo’s motorbike
coming up the hill. It stopped outside and Lucky went to answer the door. He
hadn’t seen Yorgo close up for months and it seemed to him that the man
appeared thinner, his skin sallow and his eyes darted about – not looking at
Lucky directly as he asked to see his mother.
Except for occasional erotic thoughts about Athena, Lucky
had nothing to feel guilty about. He escorted him into the living room and
fetched his mother, who was in the garden gathering flowers for the dining room
table. Lucky hung around, hoping to hear what Yorgo wanted, but a look from the
landlord made it plain that his presence wasn’t welcome. Lucky felt bad about
that – despite the problems over Athena - he quite liked Yorgo and wished they
could become friends again.
The conversation went on for a half-an-hour or more and when
Yorgo and Helen came out of the living room Lucky saw that Yorgo’s eyes were
red, as if he had shed some tears. Lucky’s mother looked stern and she was very
cold as she saw Yorgo out. Lucky started to ask her what was going on, but she
held a finger up to shush him.
Then, when Yorgo’s bike roared down the hill, she said, “We
have to find another place to live.”
Lucky was stunned. “Why?”
“Yorgo said some men came to see him and ordered him to get
rid of us, or there’d be trouble.”
“Everybody in the village likes us,” Lucky protested. “We
let them have all the water they want from our wells. We helped them after the
earthquake. Besides, we spend a lot of money here. Money they really need.”
Helen said, “Yorgo said very much the same thing. He doesn’t
want us to go. People in the village will be angry with him when they find out.
But he says he has no choice. These men are dangerous.”
Now, Lucky understood the assault on the house the previous
night. They were trying to scare the family, soften them up for Yorgo’s ordered
visit. He also understood Sandros’ sudden hostility. The boy was a zealot – a
condition that does not recognize friendships for long.
“It’s just like with Jim,” Lucky said, disgusted.
His mother sighed: “Your father says things are getting
worse all over Cyprus. Gun smuggling, guerrillas in the mountains. It doesn’t
look good.”
Lucky wasn’t
surprised. Although he’d mostly been cut off from street gossip since he
started at Terra Santa, he’d noticed that he was drawing more hostile looks
from people in Nicosia. To combat this, he made sure he spoke Greek often and
with his voiced raised so everyone could hear. He also tried to introduce the
fact that he was American and not British wherever he went. Only a few fanatics
were anti-American. Most people beamed with pleasure to meet an American boy
who spoke their language so fluently. Americans, they proudly believed, had
patterned their government after the ancient democratic principles of Athens.
And this was the reason for that great nation’s success.
“Yorgo wants us out fast, right?” he said.
He didn’t see any sense in dragging their heels. What
sympathy they had in the village would quickly melt if they attracted trouble
and that trouble drew the police.
“I suppose we could go back to the hotel until we find
something,” his mother said. “I’ll have to talk to your father and see if the
Company will help.”
So that’s what they did. Although, as usual, the promised
government assistance was slow to come. And once approved, nearly a year passed
before they collected the money spent at the hotel. Fortunately, it only took a
few weeks to find a new home – an apartment in a new building just outside
Nicosia and only two miles from Terra Santa. The apartment was like nothing
Lucky had ever seen in the states: four bedrooms, three bathrooms and a rooftop
garden the size of a basketball court. There was a separate suite of rooms,
including a bath and small kitchen for the maids.
Unfortunately, Brosina and Thea could not follow them to the
new home. The same men who had visited Yorgo, visited their families and said
there would be hell to pay if they remained with the Coles. There were many
tears over this decision – especially with Brosina, who said she felt like she
was being forcefully separated from her own children, with Lucky and little
Charlie gone. Lucky sorely missed his protector and confidant in the weeks that
followed and Charlie was inconsolable – he cried for Brosina every day and when
Helen finally hired replacements maids for the new apartment, he treated them
coldly and scolded them at every opportunity in his baby Greek.
The head maid, Leda, was a stunning young woman of twenty
five. Her credentials were as impeccable as she was beautiful. She’d served
many prominent British households and had a fat sheaf of references. In reality,
she was lazy and quite imperious, making the poor, pimply adolescent second
maid do all her work while she visited with a continuous stream of male
“cousins” who showed up at the house whenever Lucky’s mother and father weren’t
home.
Beautiful as she was, Lucky never cared for her, much less
trusted her. He had a definite Cypriot street-wise sense that this woman was
after the main chance, no matter who got in her way. The distrust was mutual,
because Leda made it known from the outset that she thought Lucky was a callow
youth, whose presence she found objectionable. This lasted until Lucky’s
fourteenth birthday. He invited a few friends to a small, rooftop party.
Alas, Lucky was strapped for female companionship. Athena
was forbidden to him and Donna was in Istanbul and not expected before
Christmas. He asked a pretty blonde – Carolyn – the daughter of one of his
mother’s friends. He also asked the Digby brothers.
The moment Tom Digby showed up, Leda became a different
woman. Lucky was behind her when she opened the door. Coldly she passed young
Keith through, then the tall figure of Tom appeared. Her eyes widened when she
saw him – he was pale with shockingly black hair, features as sharply defined
as a Greek statue. Lucky didn’t see it that way at the time, but his date,
Carolyn, ran Tom’s looks down for him in a disgustingly moony monologue.
“He looks like a movie star,” she said, breathlessly. “A
real dream boat.”
“What’s so hot about Tom?” Lucky asked, feeling surly. “He’s
just a guy.”
“Don’t be thick,” Carolyn said. “Did you see how your maid
reacted when she saw him?” Lucky admitted that he had. “Well, then,” Carolyn
said, tossing her head as if those two words proved everything. And perhaps
they did, as time would soon indicate.
Just after Thanksgiving, Tom and his father had a bitter
fight. Keith told Lucky they nearly came to blows and his mother was frantic
that something terrible was going to happen. The quarrel was over Tom’s future.
Evidently, his relationship with the shop girl had cooled and now he wanted to
return to school. His father, however, saw the whole incident as proof of that
he was still a child. He wanted Tom to get some “seasoning” in the army, so he
could grow up and shoulder life’s responsibilities.
Tom was not only opposed but had some hard words about what
he thought about the military in general and the British army in particular.
Finally, Mrs. Digby called Lucky’s mother and begged her to let Tom stay with
them until things cooled off. Apparently she had money of her own and was going
to take the daring step of paying for Tom’s school and she needed time to break
it to her husband. And so Tom Digby came to live with them, to the huge delight
of Leda.
Where she had been lazy before, pushing the work on the
other maid, she became a veritable whirlwind of activity, especially if it took
her into Tom’s presence. The clothes, which Helen had complained were getting
drab from poor washing, were suddenly sparkling now that Tom’s possessions were
mixed in. And she sang wherever she went, the radio turned to romantic Greek
ballads. Even more significant – her male “cousins” stopped coming around.
Eventually, Leda got her way and she and Tom had a brief fling.
Late at night Lucky could hear them giggling in Leda’s room, followed by soft
passionate sighs. If Lucky’s mother knew about it, she never let on.
Tom was great fun to have around, especially on weekends
where there was a large hole in Lucky’s life that his village friends and Jim
had filled. At eighteen, Tom also had a driver’s license and whenever he could
borrow the family car Lucky would play guide, showing him many of the places
he’d visited with Jim. A week or so before Tom won his skirmish with Mr. Digby
and returned to college, Lucky asked him why he was so opposed to the army.
Lucky knew that eventually Tom would have to perform his National Service, just
like Lucky would one day face the draft. This was an eventuality that most boys
faced the world over.
“Oh, I don’t mind as much as I much as I say,” Tom answered
with a sheepish grin. Then he turned serious. “But I don’t want to do things on
my father’s terms. He’s had his way too long and it’s about time he learned
that I’m not under his bloody thumb.”
“Good for you,” Lucky said, admiringly. He knew just how Tom
felt.
Tom paused, sipped his retsina, then leaned forward and
spoke in a low voice. “Besides, you surely noticed that my father is barking
mad.”
Lucky jumped at this, shocked at the plainness of Tom’s
description. Then he nodded. “Mine too,” he said.
“They should put him out to pasture before he gets worse,”
Tom said. “As far as I’m concerned he’s a danger to the world.”
Lucky frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You heard about those lads up in Paphos that got shot up,
right?” he asked.
Lucky nodded. It was quite a scandal. Apparently a British
patrol had mistaken two unarmed boys for terrorists and they’d been shot and
killed. Then, suddenly, it dawned on him
what Tom was saying.
“That was your-“ He broke off. This was not something that
should be said aloud – especially in a public place.
“Too right it was him,” Tom said bitterly. “The bloody
bastard.”
NEXT: A TERRRORIST CHRISTMAS.
*****
Here's where to get the paperback & Kindle editions worldwide:
Here's what readers say about Lucky In Cyprus:
- "Bravo, Allan! When I finished Lucky In Cyprus I wept." - Julie Mitchell, Hot Springs, Texas
- "Lucky In Cyprus brought back many memories... A wonderful book. So many shadows blown away!" - Freddy & Maureen Smart, Episkopi,Cyprus.
- "... (Reading) Lucky In Cyprus has been a humbling, haunting, sobering and enlightening experience..." - J.A. Locke, Bookloons.com
*****
NEW: THE AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF
THE HATE PARALLAX
THE HATE PARALLAX: What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A new novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan
After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm ravaged night.
BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization.
*****
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United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
 |
Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
|
In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is "The Blue Meanie," a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself.
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