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There is Something Going On

Ashton Stevens | Daniele Murtas

This is a work of fiction. Any events or persons depicted do not reflect reality. Please note that neither The Story Shack as a publication nor any of the editors and illustrators representing it have any professional interest in the political discussions surrounding this theme. The story is presented as it is: an enjoyable work of fiction. Thank you.

Agent VP waited by the door of the train, his Makarov pistol wedged under his right arm in its shoulder holster. The train sighed to a stop and he stepped smartly onto the platform and strode to the waiting black car. Villagers stared at the military bearing so out of place in this Eastern European backwater. He ignored them while he gave the address to the KGB driver.

They pulled up to the apartment house. Two adolescent girls giggled in the courtyard at his approach. Their father Viktor took stock of his visitor’s short frame as he opened the door.

“Can I help you, Comrade?” Viktor asked.

He gave Viktor a tight smile. “I am sure you can,” he said and walked in without invitation.

The agent outlined the deal. The family would move to a big house in the Beverly Hills of the region. He could expect a promotion at the car factory where he worked. The local Communist party would take of the girls’ schooling and he would rise in its ranks. All he needed from Viktor was his family’s cooperation and discretion. The two men drank vodka to seal the deal.

VP walked back to the courtyard. He sat down next to the girls. The younger one, he thought, was more beautiful, a Slavic stunner with copper hair, high cheekbones and long legs.

“Hello,” he said. “I have a present for you. But we must talk just the two of us.” The older one looked jealous, but walked back toward the apartment.

“I must ask Papa.” She turned to the window. Through it they both saw Viktor nodding, all jowls and grins.

They got in the back seat of the limousine, protected from prying eyes by the tinted glass and the sound proof barrier between them and the driver. He took off his jacket. He noticed the girl staring at his gun, and saw the suspicion in her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear.” He thought, perhaps later, when she was a bit older, as long as it did not interfere with the mission. Now, though, he handed her small wrapped package. He told her that she was a very beautiful girl, and that now she was an important one too, with an important job.

The girl unwrapped the present. A ring with a huge crystal in a square setting was inside. Her eyes widened. She put it on her slender finger.

“Tremendous, no?” He narrowed his eyes and took a small portable two way radio. “Now hold it to your ear.” She did. “Can you hear me?” A tiny echo of his voice came from the crystal in the ring.

“You’ll always remember this when you look at this ring, I think” he said. “And when you hear the voices, even if they are not mine, I hope you will remember me.” He told her that the voices would tell her things about decisions that she might make, people she should meet. And even if those voices did not sound like him, she should always know that he was the one talking. From this moment on, she was a secret agent, just like he was. She was agent MK.

VP often thought of that liaison in the backseat of the ZIL. Through the years of setbacks and reversals, this was always his secret victory. He thought of that moment when he opened the doors to her acting and modeling career. When he saw her pictures in the magazines, he thought that the rest of her body had certainly caught up with those long legs once crossed on the black leather limo upholstery. So, he was a bit wistful when agent MK followed her ring’s orders and seduced the American politician, knowing that his own seduction would now be forever purely political.

Still after all these years, he thought, maybe it should be my voice again that comes from that ring. Vladimir Putin left the Presidential palace and went to the secret communications room that so few even in the old days knew about. He picked up the headset.

“Melania, my dear,” he said echoing their conversation so many years ago. “I could not ask more of you. Plagiarizing that speech to make everyone think you are an empty headed fool was genius.” A broad smile erupted across his usually tight face. “But it would be so amusing if he said that he would not defend NATO countries if we attacked.”

About Ashton Stevens

The author is a professor and political junkie. He thinks there is more going on than you think.

Visit the author's page >

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