1. Eighteen Hours of Rain


    Date: 8/26/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: flytoomuch, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    Everyone knows the name Kim Philby. You all know the notorious Cambridge Five spy ring. Unlike that famous quintet you have never heard this tale before. You have never heard the name, “Jean de Langham,” unless perhaps you are a massive fifties film fan. So sit down, pour a scotch, grab a cigarette if you’re so inclined, and listen up. The Soviet Cheka was more professional than most people realise. Often in Western capitalist made movies their agents are portrayed as brutal, inelegant thugs. Not accurate at all. Soviet spy-craft of the forties and fifties had style. They had at least as much panache as James Bond. Beijing Hotel, August 2015 I am staring at the blinking cursor. I'm upset. Somehow we had a connection. What can I say to him? What does he know about his mother, or about his father? The email I’d received was from Jean Vampilov, her son. Svetlana is dead. The story you are about to hear was told to me in the summer of 1995. I will try my best to recount it accurately. A few years have passed so allow me some poetic licence. The story was delivered across a white pine table in a dreary restaurant turned bar in Kyzyl, southern Siberia. The wooden planks of the restaurant floor were dusted with cedar shavings. The whole dank place reeked of cedar and vodka. A typical Siberian shit hole. Her name was Svetlana. We started talking by mistake--serendipity? Svetlana’s once lush brunette locks had turned grey. Her incredible account of history was rambling. The tale was ...
    recounted over more than one bottle of cheap vodka. What you choose to believe is entirely up to you. What can I say? I looked directly into Svetlana’s dark pools—bottomless black pools passing for eyes—and I believed her. Her story was so haunting I can still smell the cedar shavings and taste the vodka. In 1995 the former Russian beauty I met in the backwaters of Siberia was sixty-three years old. The Soviet Union of her youth had undergone cataclysmic changes. Yeltsin was in charge. Relations with the USA had warmed. In 1992 the first Bush had loaned Russia $24 Billion dollars of aid. Svetlana’s original employer the Cheka had been supplanted in 1954 by the “KGB”. In 1991 the KGB itself was disbanded. Old conflicts and suspicions were being swept up into the dustbin of history. Well that’s what we thought. Putin wasn’t even a glimmer in anyone’s eye. What was I doing in such a godforsaken place? Funny you should ask. Well it’s in my nature. I sniff around the worst shit holes of the world looking for easy money. Tuva has gold. I was mucking about looking at an old gold mine we wanted to drill and revive. Capital was flowing into Russia. Carpetbaggers like me were scrounging around every corner of the former red state. Just my luck to run into an old lady with the story of a lifetime to tell, a kind of fool’s gold I guess. Serves me right. What was Svetlana like? Even then at sixty-three years of age subtle hints of her former beauty lingered. Enough hints of beauty to give ...
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