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| Sinon Spinning Lies About The Trojan Horse |
It was Thursday, the day before New Year’s Eve and Lucky’s mother was standing on a chair, while Leda pinned up the hem of the cocktail dress she was going to wear at the British embassy party. She and Lucky’s father would be the guests of the Digby’s.
Lucky,
meanwhile, planned to spend the evening at Keith’s house with a few friends
from school. He figured he and Keith would spend half the night telling about
their adventures in Metaxa Square, a conversation he’d rather not have just
now. Every time he thought about it, his stomach churned like a washing
machine. However, Mr. Jacobs – the new CIA medic and semi-official youth
counselor – said that the more he told the tale, the less effect it would have.
“Think of it as
creating an emotional callus,” he said. “The more you talk about it, the less
it will bother you.” He gave Lucky a playful thump on the shoulder with a
half-balled up fist. “Not that it’s bothering you that much, right?” he added.
“You’re a real soldier. I could tell the moment we met.”
Lucky had the
sudden urge to flatten the man’s nose with one of his grandfather’s patented
punches. He immediately felt ashamed of himself. The guy was just saying Lucky
needed to be tough – what was wrong with that? Nothing, right? Tough was good.
Scared was bad.
Lucky’s father
entered. Normally he’d be getting “tuned up,” as he put it, for the New Year’s
celebration. But he was on standby and could drink nothing stronger than
coffee.
“Just got the
call,” he told Helen, who was being helped off the chair by Leda. “Joe dumped
that new bike of his.” Helen started to get alarmed, but his father raised a
hand. “He’s fine. In the hospital, but fine. Nothing but bruises and badly
wounded pride.”
Joe had bought
himself a motorcycle. Not a motor bike, like Yorgo’s, but a powerful British
Triumph – the Tiger 110 - that Joe had shipped from England. He told everyone
who’d listen that it was the fastest Triumph to date and that it was similar to
the bike that Marlon Brando straddled in the “The Wild Ones.”
“Thank God for
that,” Lucky’s mother said. “Not to sound callous, but does that mean he’s
going to work, or do you have to take his shift.”
Lucky’s father
shook his head. “No such luck,” he said. “They want to keep him under
observation for the weekend.” He checked his watch. “There’s a cab on the way
to pick me up.”
Helen sighed
resignedly – but with good nature. “That’s life at the Pickle Factory,” she
said.
The cab came
about 6 p.m. Lucky’s father kissed Helen goodbye and waved to Lucky as he
hopped in and the car sped away. The usual procedure was that his dad would
take the cab to the U.S. embassy, which was his cover job. There, a special
pool car would ferry him to the base. It wasn’t a fool-proof system, but it had
the value of being simple and not drawing attention to itself. Embassy people
were routinely whisked here and there on assignments.
Recently,
however, some people had been getting paranoid about the transportation setup.
That had been Joe’s stated reason for getting the Triumph – so he could drive
himself to work.
After his father
departed the evening progressed normally. Lucky and his mother and Charlie had
dinner. After Charlie went to sleep, they listened to the radio for awhile –
“Suspense Theater” had been imported from the States. Then they went to bed.
Lucky was reading “Andersonville,” MacKinlay Kantor’s fabulous Civil War novel
about the infamous Confederate POW camp. The U.S. embassy maintained a
revolving library of new works for its personnel and their dependents.
It was a
gripping tale, but the hour grew late and Lucky fell asleep with book the
across his chest. Hours later a door slammed violently shut and he came
suddenly awake, alert and his nerves thrilling. He looked around – the bedside
light was still on. Were they under attack again? He listened closely – no
rattling on the roof, or running feet on the veranda.
Then he heard
voices – his mother’s, urgent and frightened. His father’s voice – a rumble,
but very weak. His first thought was that his father was drunk and abusing his
mother again. He jumped out of bed, ready to race out and defend her. Then he
remembered that his father was supposed to be at the base. What had happened?
He heard the phone ring and then his mother answering it. She mumbled
something, then very clearly he heard her say, “Hurry!”
Lucky shrugged
on his robe and went to see what was happening. He found his parents in the
living room and it was a bizarre sight.
His father was
sitting in a straight-backed chair, his sports coat flung open, his white dress
shirt peeled back to reveal a bloody T-shirt. Lucky stared at the darkest spot,
which was a long gash across his stomach that was bubbling blood. His mother
had a pan of hot water, a bottle of alcohol and several towels. Everything was
a smear of red.
Lucky’s father looked
up. His face was gray and pinched with pain, but he forced a smile that was
more of a grimace than anything. “Had an argument about the cab fare,” he said.
Lucky’s mother
turned. “The bastard stabbed him,” she said. “I’ve called the medic.”
“Who stabbed
you?” Lucky demanded.
His father waved
a tired hand. “Just get me some brandy,” he said.
Lucky ran to
fetch it. His father drank down a hefty shot and some of the color returned to his
face. “Don’t ask any more questions,” he said. “They wouldn’t like it.”
Lucky knew that
by “they” he meant the CIA investigators – Agency cops. Just by invoking them,
he realized that his father expected the investigators to arrive along with the
medic at any moment. And sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the medic and two
large men in sports coats and open-necked shirts arrived. The medic treated his
father on the spot – getting Helen to spread sheets across the couch. He
cleaned the wound, shot the area full of Novocain and looped in several
stitches.
“He was lousy
with a knife,” he told Lucky’s dad. “Missed all the internal organs.”
“You’d better go
find him,” his dad told the two large men. “I left him in a ditch. His cab’s
outside.”
One of the men
caught Lucky listening in. “Why don’t you find something to do, son,” he said.
Lucky made
himself scarce. However, he stopped by the front window to look out. There was
a taxi in front and for some reason its windshield wipers were going, flipping
back and forth. Lucky slipped outside and went to the cab. The engine was still
running. He switched it off, then found the wiper button and switched that off
as well. He noticed that the back window was smashed in and there was glass and
blood all over the seats.
A CIA cop loomed
up behind him. “Good thinking,” he said. “Don’t want to wake up the whole
neighborhood.”
Lucky returned
to the house. He found his mother in the kitchen. Leda was up and Lucky’s
mother was telling her to go sleep in Charlie’s room in case the noise
disturbed him. But Leda was sleepy and frightened and it was hard for her to
understand.
Lucky said in
Greek, “There was a small accident at my father’s office. The doctor is with
him now, so there is no need to worry. But we don’t want to upset the baby, you
understand? He would worry about his father.”
This calmed her
immediately. Work-related accidents were a normal part of Cypriot life. “I’ll
see to Charlie,” she said, going to the refrigerator and getting out some milk
in case he woke up.
When she was
gone, Lucky asked his mother what had happened.
“Somehow they
found out,” his mother said. He didn’t have to ask what she meant – obviously,
his father’s cover had been blown.
“He never got to
the embassy,” she went on. Her face was pale, but she was very much in control
of herself. “The cab driver tried to kidnap him. They got out into the country
and your father knew he had to do something fast, before other men came. There
was a fight and your father was stabbed. But he got the knife away from the cab
driver and chased him out of the cab. Then drove home.”
“And the cab
driver?” Lucky asked, remembering that his father’d said he’d left him in a
ditch.
“He might be
dead,” she replied. “Your father wasn’t sure.”
Before she could
say more, one of the CIA cops entered and said he needed to confer with Mrs. Cole
in private. Lucky didn’t mind being left out, knowing there was little his
mother could add.
The talking went
on for an hour or more. Lucky went to bed. The next day his father – looking
gray and a little woozy from pain pills – was driven to the base to meet with
Mr. Sisco.
When he returned
home he said they had thirty six hours to get out of Cyprus.
LUCKY IN CYPRUS: IT'S A BOOK!
Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:
NEXT: GOODBYE TO JIM ON STOKAHLO HILL
*****
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.
*****
Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
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Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
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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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