Laugh of the Hyenas

by Ivan Roussetzki

“Jesus. Dear God!” he cried.

  They showed him and Helen having sex just hours before. As Belevski rifled through the photos, the man never wiped that repulsive smile from his face. Belevski’s stomach burned as if he had swallowed acid.

  “You lousy bastard, get the hell out of my room!” Belevski moved within a few inches of the man and pointed to the door. The man stood his ground and looked the doctor straight in the eyes.

  “Dr. Belevski, I am a reasonable businessman. I’m sure we can solve this little problem of yours without too much trouble. But, if you are not interested in purchasing these photos, I know a newspaper editor who eagerly buys items such as these. He specializes in stories concerning famous people, if you understand my meaning. Do you still wish for me to leave? It’s up to you.”

  The doctor looked at the grainy photographs again. They had been shot from the same angle and were of poor quality, but they were certainly clear enough to incriminate him. This lowlife scum must have been in the next room photographing them the whole night. Belevski swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple felt like a fist in his throat.

  Then a frightening thought entered his head. Was this the real reason Helen had stopped him from turning off the lights as they made love? She had said that she wanted to remember the joy in his face as they kissed. In one photo, her long limbs wrapped around his hips while he supported himself with locked elbows above her. Another showed the back of her head in his naked lap as he sat on the edge of the bed; his face was in full view, with his eyes closed and mouth hanging blissfully open.

  Belevski slowly turned through all the photographs again. Not one photo showed a clear view of Helen’s face. Up until a few minutes ago, Manol had fondly recalled last night as one of sheer ecstasy; now all he saw was a nightmare. The doctor might have found these pictures titillating had he not been the main subject of this sordid display. Instead, Belevski felt sick to his stomach.

  He stumbled to the back of the room and flopped onto the edge of the bed. He was shocked and angry. Now it was all too clear why Helen was nowhere to be found. Without waiting to be offered a seat, the blackmailer sat on the couch across from the bed, careful to avoid a large wet stain on the fabric that marked the place where Helen and the doctor lay together at some point the night before. The man remained silent, still smiling and waiting for Belevski’s response.

  “So . . . ah . . . how much do you want?”

  “What kind of problems can these pictures cause you, Dr. Belevski?” he asked.

  Like a building collapsing in an earthquake, the doctor’s world crashed down around him. These pictures could cause a scandal that would destroy everything he had worked so hard for and all that he had achieved. They could ruin his reputation, his name, his career—and God knew, his marriage!

  “Oh, how could I have been so stupid?” he silently cried to himself.

  Of course, some of his colleagues at the hospital in Sofia would find his situation quite amusing, the bastards! What could he say in response to their unbearable snickering and rumor-mongering? Moreover, what would he say to his poor Spasia and their two daughters? How in God’s name could he ever explain these pictures to them? How could they walk down the streets of Sofia without their friends and neighbors laughing at them?

  “Dr. Manol Ivanov Belevski, Professor and General Surgeon of the Central Military Hospital, one of Europe’s most famous doctors—you are nothing but a fool!” he said. “You have been caught with a woman who is not your wife in a hotel room. Oh, sweet Jesus!”

  The Turk chose this moment to push his hard bargain.

  “I can get a lot of money from my friend for these pictures, Dr. Belevski, but I will give you the opportunity to buy them from me first. If you do, no one but you and me, and of course, the pretty woman in the photos, will know about your little tryst.”

  “How much do you want for the photos and the negatives? And what guarantee do I have that you won’t sell them to your friend even if I do pay you what you want?” Belevski asked.

  “I think 100,000 lira is not an unreasonable sum of money for pictures such as these, and of course, the negatives, too. Don’t you agree? Dr. Belevski, I’m an honest businessman. I wouldn’t think of keeping any extra copies of the photos or negatives once you pay me.”

  “One hundred-thousand lira! Are you insane? I don’t have that kind of money!”

  “Ah, what kind of a fool do you take me for, Dr. Belevski?” the man said. “What about the sizable fee you just received from our Vice President for saving his son’s life? It was all over the papers, so don’t lie to me! You are a rich man, and we both know it. I want 100,000 lira. That is my price. Of course, if you’d rather I contact my newspaper friend …”

  Belevski felt as if he was stuck in quicksand. If he didn’t do something fast, it would swallow him whole.

  “God, I need help!”

  The blackmailer knew it, too, and spoke with hollow compassion.

  “Dr. Belevski, as I said before, and I think you’ll agree, I am a reasonable man. I’ll give you some time to think it over. I will return at noon for your answer—and the money. I’m sure you will make the right decision. After all, just think of what you have to lose if you don’t.”

  That hideous smile remained stitched onto his face as he stood up and walked out of the hotel room. Belevski was alone again, but the man’s nauseating smell and bitter offer remained behind, still lingering in the room. The doctor was confused—he had no idea what to do.

  Belevski was a doctor, and not a particularly religious man. He believed that one’s fate was, for the most part, influenced heavily by one’s behavior. It followed that if he led a relatively good and honest life, he would be happy. He had always tried to live by this credo. Although now, Belevski had to admit that his obsession with Helen Noverman had created a terrible problem for him. Of course, he loved his Spasia—she was a woman without equal and completely devoted. However, Belevski had had sex with a female patient or two, and his wife never knew about his indiscretions. This time, it was different.

  “Oh God, those pictures! What am I going to do?”

  A sharp pain jolted through his head. The situation was a total disaster. “How could this have happened?” he asked. “Who was he? How did he even know my name? Why had Helen chosen this particular hotel, and why had we been given this particular room? Was the man expecting us?”

  Belevski was so confused because nothing made sense. “And where is Helen?” he asked. “On her way to America? I doubt it!”

  The twisting knot in his stomach told Belevski that Helen had planned their tryst from start to finish. The doctor looked about the room, wondering how the blackmailer had taken the photos, when his eyes landed on the large mirror facing the bed. Only hours ago, like a voyeur, he had watched in the mirror’s reflection as he and Helen caressed each other’s bodies in every conceivable place.

  Belevski got up and inspected the glass more closely, only to discover that the bronze frame that held the mirror was attached to the wall with screws. Why would anyone attach a mirror with screws that could just as easily be hung like a picture?

  He reached for the doctor’s bag that he always carried and found a small screwdriver. He removed the screws and loosened the mirror frame enough to reveal what he had already guessed. A small window opened into the next room. Obviously, the Turk or someone took the photos through the mirror and little window.

  “She had planned our affair right down to this very hotel, this very room, and to the last detail.”

  With that revelation, Belevski went to the toilet and vomited.

  As much as it pained him to admit it, the truth was inescapable. Helen knew what went on in the room next door. She brought him here because of it, but why?

  Belevski sat on the couch and thought back to all the circumstances that brought him and Helen Noverman to this horrid place. Like a surgeon preparing himself for a critical operation, he recalled all of the details of their meetings over the last
week, starting from when they met at the Vice President’s party. The doctor searched for clues as to why she had inflicted this curse upon him.

  All he could think of was that she needed money.

  “Why didn’t she ask me? I would have given her as much as she wanted,” he said.

  Of course, she lied to him when she said she was marrying a rich American. She seemed to be well enough off, but now he wondered if her fine clothes were bought with her ill-gotten gains from blackmailing other so-called lovers. But again, why him? Certainly there were richer men for her to sink her claws into. Why would Helen spend over a week with the doctor in Istanbul, securing his trust simply to get pictures of them having sex? She could have led him into her bed in a few days if that was what she wanted. The more Belevski thought about the situation, the more confused and absurd it became.

  Then another thought occurred to him. Had this whole deception started when she visited his clinic in Sofia? Again, questions burned in his mind. For what purpose would someone go to such extremes to blackmail the doctor in Istanbul when Sofia could have easily sufficed? It had to be for reasons other than money. But what were those reasons?

  Why she wanted to destroy his life, the doctor couldn’t guess. All he could do now was admit that her entire relationship with him was a lie. Whatever her reasons for this unforgivable act, he was an old fool who fell into her well-executed trap. Belevski sat alone in shock while he waited for the Turk with the photographs to return.

  Ironically, his mind had drifted from the reasons behind this folly to his sexual bliss with Helen only hours before. In spite of her deceit, he was, in a perverse way, still infatuated with this cunning viper. Maybe he had jumped to conclusions about her involvement in this sordid affair. When the knock at the door came, the doctor’s fantasy quickly dissolved. To his surprise, it was Helen.

  CHAPTER 23

  Helen returned to the hotel the morning after she seduced Belevski to find him in a dreadful state, slumped on the couch. The doctor’s face was pale, and his eyes were swollen and red. The room smelled of vomit, sex and cigarette smoke. Before she could utter a word, he stood up.

  “A dirty, disgusting man came here demanding money,” he said, “for photographs showing us having sex—in this very room.”

  She already knew that their man behind the mirror had done his job. Helen remained silent as Manol ranted and raved, accusing her of betraying him. “Helen, if you needed money,” Manol said, “I would have given you any amount you wanted. You must have known that.”

  He paused, and then, as if a light went on in his head, his rant continued.

  “Now I understand everything! This was a plot by Urgen and Knope. My God, will those self-righteous bastards stop at nothing to discredit me? Helen, how could you do this to me?”

  With his fury spent, Belevski held his head in his hands and wept.

  “Why didn’t I listen to Spasia? She warned me, but I didn’t listen. What am I going to do?”

  Helen expected Belevski’s reaction to his predicament; she had seen it before in other blackmail victims. Initially they expressed rage, then regret, and finally resignation. He was furious with her, but who could blame him? The man knew his life had changed forever, but in ways he did not yet fully understand, although the German doctors had nothing to do with it.

  While Helen had no regrets about her role in this matter, she felt a little sorry for him. Dr. Manol Belevski was an intelligent, gracious gentleman on the crest of a great medical career, and he had treated her with the greatest respect. However, like so many other successful men, his philandering led to his downfall. Yet, wasn’t this a common pitfall for most of the men she had lured into bed for the sake of British and French Intelligence?

  A cool, professional demeanor quickly displaced the warmer sympathetic feelings that Helen might normally have felt for her most recent target. Belevski was just another weapon in an ugly conflict destined to engulf all of Europe and forever alter millions of lives, including his and hers.

  “I know someone who can help you, Manol. I have a very rich friend to whom 100,000 lira is a small sum in return for certain favors.”

  “Favors, Helen? What kind of favors cost 100,000 lira?” he asked, his eyes opened wide.

  “Little favors, my dearest Manol. Many special little favors.”

  “Special little favors?” A puzzled look spread over his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Let me explain. You are a famous doctor with a thriving medical practice in Sofia. Your patients include Bulgarian politicians, businessmen, and German officers and their wives, is this not so?”

  Belevski nodded and asked, “But what has that got to do with anything?”

  “Please, just listen. This puts you in a unique position to discover certain pieces of valuable information that otherwise would be difficult or impossible to obtain.”

  Helen paused to let him grasp her meaning.

  “Are you saying that you want me to spy on my patients?” he asked. “For whom? Another blackmailer, I suppose? The German doctors? The answer is absolutely no!”

  “Dr. Urgen and Dr. Knope had nothing to do with this,” she said. “You will work for British and French Intelligence in Bulgaria, Manol. If you agree then no one will see the photographs, and your reputation will continue to flourish. Moreover, you will be helping the Allies to free Europe from the Nazis.”

  She paused to light a cigarette and smoked it silently for a few moments before she continued.

  “However, if you insist on making the wrong decision, I personally will make sure your name and these photographs are plastered across every major newspaper in Europe, including Sofia.”

  She paused again, this time to put her cigarette out in the ashtray.

  “I don’t need to tell you what that kind of scandal would do to your professional image, not to mention the impact on your wife and children.”

  Belevski glared at Helen with so much hatred that she could barely stand it. She knew that at that moment, in his eyes she was the lowest form of life on earth. Helen was sure he would have killed her right then and there if he thought he could get away with it. She was cold, calculating and professional. Helen liked the good doctor more than most of the men she had seduced, but she was determined not to let her personal feelings get in the way of her mission.

  “Manol, you must understand that this operation concerning you and the photographs was nothing personal.”

  “Nothing personal?” he shot up like a rocket.

  “You’ve destroyed my entire life and career, and you say it’s nothing personal?”

  “We are at war with Germany, Italy, Rumania, Hungary, and now Bulgaria too, in case you haven’t heard. Anyway, didn’t you enjoy last night, Manol? I did.”

  “Helen, please! Of course I enjoyed last night, but I know nothing of spying, and as for the war, I don’t want to be involved.”

  “Manol, we will show you everything you need to know. As far as the war is concerned, I’m afraid everyone is involved. The man with the photos will be back soon, and I need to know your answer before I leave this room. Is it yes or no?”

  Belevski sat with tears in his eyes, quietly considering his dilemma. Helen thought how fate works in mysterious ways. Ironically, just weeks ago, a close brush with the Gestapo in Bulgaria had forced her and Jean Lopié to abandon their plans to subvert the doctor in Sofia, and brought them back to Istanbul. Then the Turkish Vice President’s son sustained a life-threatening injury in a car accident. And here she was with Manol Belevski after a night of sex, under her control.

  Of course, Dr. Belevski had no idea that his invitation to attend to the injured boy was concocted by Jean Lopié and Frank Lavel, another agent at the British consulate in Istanbul. When the British diplomat informed the distressed Vice President that a certain Bulgarian doctor had developed innovative medical procedures for victims with similar injuries, Belevski received the request to come to Istanbul and submit his opinion
.

  From the minute Belevski stepped onto Turkish soil, Jean Lopié had followed him closely, looking for what they hoped would be only a brief opportunity for Helen to seduce him. Like everyone in Istanbul, they were overjoyed when Belevski had saved the boy’s life and became a national hero. His instant popularity in Istanbul played right into their hands, and with a meeting at the celebration party, the trap was set. Now Helen stood before Istanbul’s most famous doctor and saw a broken man who was unable to totally comprehend what had happened to him in the last twelve hours.

  Helen was neither happy nor sad that her mission to secure Belevski as a mole in Sofia was about to succeed. It gave her little pleasure to deceive and threaten Manol, whom she believed was a good man. But these tragic times took victims daily, and this had been the case for the past several years. Had she not been a victim as well? Did she not lose her father to the Gestapo and her mother to a miserable death in a cold Paris flat? If it were not for this war, perhaps Helen, too, would have been married and had children. Unfortunately, today everyone suffered. They all had to make sacrifices. Even the great doctor, Manol Belevski.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Oh God, please forgive me for what I am about to do,” Belevski said after he heard a knock at the door. Helen had returned with her friend, his potential savior.

  “Dr. Manol Belevski, this is Jean Lopié.” Then she left them alone in the room. The doctor’s eyes met his, and they looked each other over. To Belevski’s surprise and relief, the man was European and looked friendly. This fellow’s mannered gestures, soft-spoken voice, and intelligent eyes gave the doctor hope that he would help him.

  “We know, Dr. Belevski, that you disapprove of Bulgaria’s alliance with Germany. Am I not correct?”

  Belevski shrugged his shoulders, as Bulgarian politics had always been a mystery to him.

  “The Nazis are already working in Bulgaria,” Lopié said, “but you can help us stop it before it consumes your country and the rest of Europe.”