To Kill the Duke

by Sam Moffie

  “Comrades…I regret to inform you all that our leader has died,” Mr. Zavert said. “Show me where they bury Stalin and I’ll show you a Communist plot,” he added.

  “That’s a great pun,” Ivan said.

  The other four men said nothing. Two of the men wanted Ivan shot on site and the other two hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  “So you like puns, comrade projectionist? So did Stalin. He learned all about puns from me,” Mr. Zavert slyly remarked.

  “It’s not a body double, Mr. Zavert?” the man who had summoned him asked.

  “There was only one double of Stalin and that man died a while back. Do any of you know why I had that man exterminated?”

  No one moved or said anything.

  “Because he wouldn’t get a tattoo and an operation,” Mr. Zavert announced.

  Now it was time for the men in the room to open their mouths, but as usual nothing came out in Mr. Zavert’s presence until they were summoned to speak.

  The man who had been cold cocked by the captain groaned and started to cry.

  “I hope you’re crying about the death of our leader,” Mr. Zavert said.

  The man furiously nodded yes.

  “Good. Go and take care of your head… and comrade, you’re lucky it was another one of my best men who got the drop on you,” Mr. Zavert said.

  That man left the room in a hurry…crying louder with every step he took down the hallway hoping to get aid for his aching head and better sympathy from Mr. Zavert.

  “What will happen now, Mr. Zavert?” the other man who had helped bring in the movie screen asked.

  “That is being decided as we speak. Members of the Supreme Soviet Circle of Trust will be handling this situation in a very delicate fashion. News such as this has to be handled properly. Go and fetch the woman who looks like the actress and dispose of her,” Mr. Zavert told the man.

  And that man left to find the woman who looked like Marlene Dietrich, who thought she was safely on her way home.

  Now, knowing that the woman would be killed, Ivan was scared. He cleared his throat and the three remaining men turned to him.

  “Can I turn off the movie?” he asked meekly.

  Mr. Zavert started laughing. “I heard you were funny, comrade Viznapu. By all means do what you do best. Once a projectionist, always a projectionist.”

  And Ivan walked slowly into the closet, where he wished he could stay for a very long time, but knew he couldn’t and so he began the process of not only turning off the movie, but putting it away in the canisters. He also wondered if Trotsky Number Seven would be ‘disposed of’ in the same manner as the beautiful woman.

  “Why didn’t the double want a tattoo?” the captain suddenly asked

  “What kind of operation was it that he refused?” asked the man now without two wooden spoons seizing on what his ally the captain had said, and hoping it would delay any bad news for Ivan.

  “You are two of my favorites,” Mr. Zavert announced as he took both men by their shoulders and walked them to the dead body of Stalin. He threw back the sheet that had been covering the corpse and pointed to Stalin’s penis. “Notice anything?”

  Neither man wanted to make a comment, so both shrugged their shoulders at the same time.

  “Smart men,” Mr. Zavert said with a laugh. “Very smart men.”

  “Notice that comrade Stalin is uncircumcised and has a tattoo on his penis,” Mr. Zavert remarked, as he pointed to Stalin’s still erect penis.

  Both men looked as if they were observing a frog being dissected for the first time.

  “Such faces for such brave men. You gaze upon people you have just killed, but the sight of a dead man’s still-erect penis offends you,” Mr. Zavert said seriously.

  Both men nodded. Both wanted to say something, but knew better.

  But Ivan, who had followed the three men, didn’t know better and said ‘Marxed for death,’ as he pointed at the still erect penis with the tattoo on it.”

  Mr. Zavert broke out into a hearty laugh and in turn Ivan, the captain and the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons followed suit.

  “That is the best pun I have ever heard. Maybe you should be teaching me,” Mr. Zavert announced.

  Just like that, he stopped laughing and his hearty tone went icy. “The body double for our former leader was circumcised. He didn’t want to have an operation to make himself un-circumcised.”

  Ivan thought about what Mr. Zavert had said.

  Maybe that is why Stalin hated Jews. He was uncircumcised. I know one man who won’t mourn his death, Ivan thought as he pondered about the man who would now be out of a job, not to mention killed, because Stalin wouldn’t be going to the bathroom anymore.

  “I should have known that the double wouldn’t be operated on, when he refused the tattoo of the hammer and sickle on his penis,” Mr. Zavert added.

  “That’s some tattoo,” the captain pointed out.

  “But a very small penis for such a big man,” the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons muttered under his breath.

  “The man who installed that tattoo almost talked our leader into having every boy born in Russia getting the same,” Mr. Zavert said with a sigh as he covered up Stalin’s penis with the scalps hanging from the bedpost. The other three said nothing as they stared down at their ex-leader’s penis, now covered with a few scalps. All three of them wondered why Mr. Zavert just didn’t throw the sheet back over Stalin’s body.

  That’s what I call a real toughski-shitski moment, Ivan thought.

  Changing the subject, the captain asked, “What happened to that tattoo idea?”

  “Comrade Stalin sobered up,” Mr. Zavert said. “Time for us to see what is next for you three. Join me in the kitchen.”

  Soon, the four men found themselves in the kitchen. The man with, and now without, two wooden spoons bustled about and brought food and drink to a table where they all sat. The captain looked up and smiled, because they were sitting under a gigantic picture of the sun. Mr. Zavert motioned for all of them to eat, and they dug in.

  Surprisingly, it was once again Ivan Viznapu who broke the silence.

  “I know that your name is Mr. Zavert,” Ivan said to Mr. Zavert, “but I don’t know the names of these men who have gone well out of their way to make me feel comfortable and very safe.”

  Mr. Zavert nodded his head to the two men to comply with Ivan’s request. The captain went first.

  “My name is Alexei Aleksandra,” Alexei said as he extended his hand to Ivan. “Funny that up until now we hadn’t been properly introduced.”

  Force of habit with such secret people Ivan thought.

  Mr. Zavert nodded to the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons.

  “My name is Boris Gila,” Boris said as he, too, extended his hand to Ivan for a formal handshake. “I don’t tell too many people my name,” he added.

  Probably too dangerous, Ivan thought.

  “On my orders you do,” Mr. Zavert cut in with a laugh. “Boris, this food is delicious. If you weren’t such a good spy, I would consider hiring you to be my permanent chef.”

  Both Boris and Alexei laughed. Ivan joined in, but tentatively.

  “So Comrade Viznapu… what do I do with you?” Mr. Zavert asked.

  Ivan’s insides started to churn.

  “Make him the full-time projectionist,” suggested Alexei. “After all, Alex is sick. We could put Alex on permanent disability.”

  “Not with Stalin now gone,” Mr. Zavert answered. “I have a feeling that movie festivals are going to die as well. By the way ‘permanent disability’ can mean different things when it is uttered by men like us.

  Can you cook, comrade?” Mr. Zavert asked Ivan.

  Ivan shook his head no.

  Mr. Zavert wiped the lenses of his glasses clean with a napkin without taking them off as he pondered the fate of Ivan Viznapu. He finished cleaning the lenses and announced that he had to make a phone call and for the
others to wait for him.

  Alexei could see that by leaving, Mr. Zavert had made Ivan very nervous. The captain pantomimed to Boris to get a bottle and some glasses. Boris obliged.

  “Comrade Viznapu. Mr. Zavert likes you… he really does. You wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t. Furthermore, we like you and I owe you. Don’t worry. Let’s toast the legacy of Joseph Stalin!” Boris said.

  They all downed their drinks. This time Ivan didn’t gag.

  “Looks like he is getting tougher,” Boris said to Alexei.

  “Another toast. To the new head of Mother Russia… whoever that will be!” Ivan suddenly yelled out.

  “And bolder too,” Alexei pointed out, as he poured another round.

  “Events like he just witnessed can have that affect,” Boris said. He was about to suggest another toast, when the imposing figure of Mr. Zavert appeared.

  Mr. Zavert looked around and said “What, no glass for me?”

  Boris quickly found and filled a glass for his boss.

  “Go on, comrades,” Mr. Zavert said to the three men.

  “To Mr. Zavert!” Boris yelled out.

  “I like that toast,” a grinning Mr. Zavert announced.

  And the four men downed their shots and slowly placed their now-empty glasses on the table in front of them, three of them waiting to hear what Ivan’s future would be; one of them knowing it.

  “Comrade Gila,” please shut the doors and make sure no one is in easy listening distance,” Mr. Zavert ordered Boris.

  Boris shut the doors and informed his boss that the coast was clear for their privacy.

  “I have good news for us all, comrades,” Mr. Zavert announced.

  Ivan’s heart jumped up into his throat and fell just as quickly into his stomach.

  “First and foremost… none of you are ever to speak about the events leading up to comrade Stalin’s death. If any of you utter one syllable — it will be the last such sound your body will make other than a thud. Remember, I have someone watching you all at all times. Secondly, comrade Stalin will be given a funeral that will go down in history as the greatest funeral ever staged for anyone in the history of the world. Thirdly, the new regime plans on carrying out all of Stalin’s reforms, philosophies and other government initiatives to rival anything that our counterparts in the West can. Mother Russia will be greater because of the foundation that Stalin laid down, and the others after him will build on. Next, you are all being promoted and will have the great honor of carrying out the last request of the greatest leader in Russia’s history,” Mr. Zavert announced.

  Boris, Alexei and Ivan broke into smiles and started hugging each other.

  Mr. Zavert poured them each a glass of vodka and held up his glass. The other three made sure they held their glasses up, but not higher than Mr. Zavert’s.

  “To kill the Duke!” Mr. Zavert yelled out.

  “What?” questioned Alexei.

  “Who?” asked Boris.

  “The Duke of who and what?” Ivan said.

  “Alexei, Boris and Ivan,” Mr. Zavert began in a fatherly tone, “I am disappointed in all of you. Ivan, you have shown his movies tonight. I’m sure you watched while you ran the projector. Both Alexei and Boris have been at hundreds of film festivals where the Duke’s movies have been shown — all in this building.”

  Then it dawned on the three men who were sitting at the kitchen table with the most powerful man in Russia. The Duke was John Wayne! The American movie star who was known throughout the world. The Hollywood colossus. Surely Mr. Zavert was joking.

  “You’re joking, Mr. Zavert?” Alexei asked his boss.

  “Trying to cheer us up — take our minds off what we have seen tonight?” Boris asked his boss.

  “Trying to be as funny as me?” asked Ivan.

  “Comrades…gentlemen, I’m as serious as comrade Stalin’s heart failure was,” Mr. Zavert responded.

  Alexei, Boris and Ivan all started to look at each in total bewilderment.

  How do you kill a movie star? was Alexei’s first thought.

  Why kill a movie star? pondered Boris.

  Why me? thought Ivan.

  “It was our fearless leader’s most desired idea — killing John Wayne. Comrades, if this is done right, the shock wave throughout the West will be enormously bad for them and wonderful news for us. The new powers want to reward the legacy of Stalin by acting on this prized request. This is an honor! Stalin’s legacy is at stake! It will be a final testimonial to Stalin’s clout as the greatest leader in the history of Russia. The Duke’s death will be a huge blow to Hollywood and all it stands for. A game-changer for us,” lectured Mr. Zavert.

  “And our parts in it?” Alexei asked.

  “Comrade Gila…you are to be my point man upstairs. No more kitchens for you. First and foremost you will be in charge of this operation. There will be other things to do, too,” said Mr. Zavert.

  “Congratulations, Boris,” Alexei said to his longtime colleague.

  “Yes comrade, congratulations,” Ivan piped in.

  “Thank you for this, Mr. Zavert. I will begin immediately,” Boris said as he started to go through the drawers in the kitchen, gathering his personal items.

  “Comrade Aleksandra… you will be our man in America. As they say in American gangster-speak, you are to be our hit-man,” Mr. Zavert told Alexei. “You’re going because I know you can tolerate the Jews. Jews run Hollywood, don’t ever forget that.”

  Congratulations went around the room again.

  Now, Ivan wondered how he was going to be involved.

  “Comrade Viznapu… you will be comrade Aleksandra’s second,” Mr. Zavert announced.

  “Second?” questioned Ivan.

  “You know… the second the captain asks you to do anything, you will do it!” Zavert ordered.

  And all four men started to laugh (Ivan’s was forced).

  Mr. Zavert then got up from the table and excused himself.

  “Where do I start, Boris?” Alexei asked his friend.

  “Hollywood,” guessed Boris. “Go home… the both of you, and get some rest. Be in my office in two days and together we’ll get a fresh start on this project,” he added as he left with a box full of his personal belongings.

  “How do you kill a movie star?” Ivan asked his new boss.

  “It’s easy. We go to Hollywood, America and kill him,” answered Alexei.

  “This is the epitome of toughski shitski,” replied Ivan.

  “What?” asked Alexi.

  “It’s something I say a lot when I’m overwhelmed.

  “Toughski shitski,” repeated Alexi.

  It was March of 1953 when Alexei, Boris and Ivan received their orders from Mr. Zavert. The three men wouldn’t get their first attempt off the ground until more than a year later, and it would be many more years than that before the Duke ever felt threatened.

  chapter four

  LIGHTS...CAMERA...ACTION

  “In dealing with the communists, remember that in their minds what is secret is serious, and what is public is propaganda.”

  — Charles Bohlen

  “The creditor has a better memory than the debtor.”

  — William Davis

  “No debate, sir; no questions.”

  — John Wayne as Captain Yorke in “Fort Apache”

  The Cold War didn’t start out very cold. It was a hot, sizzling war when both Russia and the United States started obsessing over which society would rule the world after the surviving society had annihilated the other via nuclear bombs.

  Long before Stalin was coming up with film festivals and decadent viewers, Hughes was thinking about cornering the market in metal dinner trays; Powell was appeasing Oscar Millard; Mr. Zavert was gathering information on his opponents; Viznapu was standing in cold lines; Gila was learning to become a chef; Aleksandra was learning to kill; Wayne was thinking of playing a barbarian; the United States was actively detonating nuclear bombs at its top-secret Nev
ada test site.

  A lot of bombs.

  Sure, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was doing it as well. Somewhere between the time Stalin started his debauchery-filled film festivals at the end of World War II, right up to the present.

  But there was a difference.

  A big difference.

  The Russians were not detonating their bombs near populated areas.

  The Americans were.

  St. George, Utah is exactly 137 miles northwest of the Nevada test site. This is the area where The Conqueror would be filmed.

  The Cold War warriors, who came into prominence after World War II when the Iron Curtain fell across Eastern Europe, were now in charge of Washington, D.C. They were obsessed with destroying Communism. They went down many avenues to achieve this goal. Although ruining the reputations and careers of some Americans proved popular, the bigger goal of mass producing weapons to scare the shit out of the Communists proved more profitable. These Cold War warriors reached their nadir when the bully-pulpit investigative unit known as the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) decided to ‘clean up’ America. While they were getting out their brooms and dust pans, they found a spy named Alger Hiss and even managed to execute two people named Rosenberg. They also succeeded in installing their ‘boys’ — Richard Nixon as a leader in the House of Representatives and Joe McCarthy in the Senate. These warriors were the bad asses of American domestic policy. Worse, they knew it. But worse of all, Americans of every stripe were very afraid of them.

  Our weapons had to be bigger and more dangerous than anything the Communists could ever develop. Setting off nuclear explosions within our own country would prove to the Communists that Russia could well be next. These self-proclaimed defenders of Capitalism and America could only see with their blinders on. After all, if the Cold War warriors would allow radioactive bombs to be detonated over their own citizens, would bombing Russia be such a big deal?

  Scaring the Communists and their allies was something that had to be maintained at all times. And what better scare tactics than detonating one nuclear device after another? Surely the Russians had spies watching every single move made by these cold warriors? Why not impress these spies by scaring the shit out of them with good old American know-how in the form of above-ground nuclear detonations? By being aggressive, they would drive home the point that America would not hesitate to strike first. After all, America had already dropped two nuclear bombs on Japan, and that was only a few years ago.