[Cold War 02.0] Rasputin's Legacy
Page 29
“I will tell you!” Atcho yelled. “Right now, I will tell you! Please don’t hurt me again,” he sobbed into the ground. He turned his head to watch the lieutenant, who waved his hand. The Jeep’s engine cut off. Relief spread through his pain-wracked body. Silence settled heavily over the night. The moon looked down, uncaring.
“All right, coward,” the lieutenant said. “Tell us.”
“OK, I will tell you. But, can’t I at least see the package? Atcho will think I lied to him if I don’t bring it back with me. Then he will kill me, move his headquarters, and you will have nothing.”
At mention of the name Atcho, the lieutenant’s face became grave and hard. His mocking tone ebbed. “How will you know if it’s the right package?”
“Atcho said I would know it when I saw it. Please, can’t I see it? Or he’ll know that I talked to you to keep you from killing me.”
The lieutenant looked thoughtful, then walked over to the captain’s Jeep. More conversation took place. Then Captain Govorov’s tall, lean figure stepped out again with an indistinguishable bundle. Keeping his face in shadows, he strode closer to Atcho, and leaned over. When he straightened, a much smaller figure stood beside him – the shape of a 4-year-old girl.
“Is this it?” the lieutenant demanded.
Eyes shielded from the light by one hand, his voice raspy, Atcho gasped, “I can’t see her face!”
Roughly, Captain Govorov shoved the little girl forward. The lieutenant shone a flashlight in her face. “Is this the right package, José?” he demanded again.
Atcho nodded weakly. The child began to cry. “Yo quiero a mi Papá!”
With one arm, the captain swept her over his shoulder and started back toward the Jeep. The lieutenant leaned toward Atcho. “Now tell us what you know,” he commanded. “Where is Atcho?”
Atcho made no move. The lieutenant prodded him. Atcho still made no reply. The lieutenant kicked him.
Atcho responded. With all his remaining strength, he let loose a furious cry that burned through the passionless, moonlit night. In that instant, he lunged and buried his knife deep in the lieutenant’s chest.
As if on signal, the night exploded with gunfire. Beside the first vehicle, the driver and guard dropped to the pavement, lifeless. The driver of the second Jeep cranked the engine, then slumped as the windshield shattered in his face.
Captain Govorov held the little girl closely. Turning, he walked deliberately back toward Atcho and stared at the lieutenant’s corpse. It lay in a heap in a pool of blood spreading into the dust.
Knife ready to attack again, Atcho crouched next to the dead officer. From the folds of his coat, the captain produced a small pistol and held it next to Isabel’s temple. The firing stopped.
Captain Govorov regarded the ring of men forming around him. With a slight gesture, he indicated the pistol at Isabel’s head. “Atcho,” he called softly, his voice mocking.
Panting heavily, sweat and blood streaming from his tattered clothing, Atcho waited. Hatred burned in his eyes, muscles tensed for the slightest chance to pounce.
“Atcho. It is you, isn’t it?” Govorov’s Spanish was very good. Atcho made no reply. The captain laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, it is you. It occurs to me that I still don’t know what you look like.” He sighed. “The irony is that confirming your looks and the whereabouts of your headquarters was our mission. But tonight, we were too ambitious in modifying your face. I should have given the lieutenant better instructions.”
In a half-crouch, circling slowly, Atcho looked for an opening. Weakness dizzied him and his legs wobbled. Desperately, he shook his head to clear it, and planted his feet more firmly. Through squinting eyes he appraised his position. If he attacked, Isabel would surely die. If he did not, he might never see her again. Almost imperceptibly, he loosened the grip on his knife.
Seeming not to notice, the captain shrugged. “You’re brave,” he said. “For now, you live.” He chuckled. “Anyway, if I were to shoot you, one of your men might put a bullet in my head – your little girl be damned. Besides, you’re far too valuable to discard carelessly.” He sighed. “So you live, Atcho. But we will meet again – I have your daughter!”
With cold laughter, he moved swiftly to his Jeep and yanked aside the dead driver. Pulling Isabel onto his lap, he sat behind the wheel, started the ignition, and with a grind of gears, drove into the night.
With his last vestige of consciousness, Atcho watched the Jeep disappear. Hate welled within him. He slumped to the ground.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank, beginning with my 5th, 6th, and 7th grade teacher, Irene Fisk (RIP), who forced academic excellence on me despite my most grievous attempts to avoid it. Then my beloved wife, Barbara, and our great kids, who suffered through keeping noise down in a cramped apartment while I eked out my first novel writing efforts.
For Rasputin’s Legacy, Carmine Zozzora has a special place in my heart. He did what a true friend should do: told me what was wrong with the book as written, and how to fix it. That began with, “Get and read The Elements of Style, and then apply it.” I was taken aback a bit, because I was sure I already knew how to write. I quickly learned that I had a lot still to learn. Carmine patiently mentored me through a year’s worth of structuring the story for better, more enjoyable reading. It is far superior than it would have been without him. I was smart enough to listen; he had been the producer of Die Hard with a Vengeance and Color of Night. Not listening would have been foolhardy.
When finally, I had passed Carmine’s muster, he sent me to editor Bill Thompson of Carrie and The Firm fame (by Stephen King and John Grisham, respectively). Bill was always so upbeat and encouraging, and he coaxed me through the final polish on the story. I have to thank Charles Brandt, author of I Heard You Paint Houses (soon to be a major Martin Scorsese/Robert De Niro motion picture) for making the call to Bill. Then proofreader Stephanie Parent buffed it to a high gloss.
Along the way, many good family members and friends provided moral support and/or read and re-read the manuscript versions, and offered exceptional advice. My brother, Bob called often to check on progress, offer encouragement, and express his confidence in the quality of the final product. My two sisters, Anita and Margee, caught details I had missed, and provided perceptions of reactions to characters and events in the book. John Shephard gave firsthand insights into the personality and character of our late, great president, Ronald Reagan which led directly to how various elements of the story were told. Another friend (who must remain anonymous) kept me on the credible side of CIA involvement and pointed me toward crucial information regarding Chinese history; NYT best-selling author Joe Galloway, Benghazi hero Kris “Tanto” Paronto, Lieutenant General (Retired) Rick Lynch, and West Virginia Secretary of State Mac Warner took time to read my manuscript and offer valuable comments and encouragement.
A guess is that no manuscript is ever written without its own sets of mishaps, and in this case, it was almost catastrophic. Good friend Bob Cymbalski recovered my manuscript from the nether regions of lost digital files after I thought it was gone in its entirety, for good.
Then there was a host of friends who read the manuscript and provided valuable insights: my son Christian (who advised that I review my dialogue); Tom Mitchell, Angela Beck, Barbara Hall, Bobby Hall (a jet pilot who sanity checked my description of landing procedures), Rich Trotter, Larry Acker, Rand Ballard, Sam Stolzoff, Jim Vaughn, Candy Silcott, Ralph Masi, John Dinnell, Lance Gatling, and Stuart Stirrat. Each contributed in a way that gave me an objective, three-dimensional view of my own work, and/or encouraged me to press on.
I also have to thank my wonderful Advance Reader team. They sent back great comments and corrections. In particular, I must mention Mandy Walkden-Brown, who caught a grievous inconsistency between Curse The Moon and Rasputin’s Legacy.
Special mention must also go to Stuart Bache. He designed the spectacular cover for Rasputin’s Legacy. Stuart designed
for some of the most notable authors, including Stephen King and John le Carré. He caught me at a particularly discouraging point, walked me through the elements of a good cover design, and then produced magnificent designs for me.
Also, special thanks must go to Mark Dawson, author and instructor extraordinaire; one who cares deeply for his fellow authors. He made a suggestion that brought life back into marketing for Curse The Moon, which is Book 1 of the series; and, he made the introductions to Stuart Bache.
Finally, my appreciation would not be complete without extending it to my great Egyptian friend, Dr. Osama Shams. He knows why.
My sincere gratitude goes out to these wonderful people who participated in one form or another to bringing Rasputin’s Legacy into publication.
About the Author
Lee Jackson is a bestselling, award-winning suspense author. He was an Infantry Officer in the US Army. His first book, Curse The Moon: Cold War Series Book 1, was sold in more than 5 countries. Rasputin’s Legacy: Cold War Series Book 2, was released on July 28, 2017. Lee lives and works with his wife in Texas.
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Copyright ©2016 by Lee Jackson.
Rasputin’s Legacy is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictionally. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
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Stonewall Publishers, LLC
Austin, Texas
ISBN: 978-0-9898025-0-5
LCCN: 2017906942
First Edition, July 2017
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ISBN: 978-1-936587-02-5