A Sunday visit to the Kremlin

This occurs during the “Transition Years” (First Part-1990s) and Pavlov is beginning to feel the squeeze. He is convinced that he is being double-crossed and that his life may be in danger.

Still in draft:

A Sunday Visit to the Kremlin 

The hearty jogger moved alongside Pavlov; she was wearing expensive jogging equipment; only the best for Valentina, the daughter of the President of the Russian Federation.

“So Viktor, how pleasant to receive your phone call. Have you missed me or is it purely business?”

“A bit of both; but mostly business and it is there where I probably miss your conniving mind. Somebody seems to be determined to cause me embarrassment and or trouble. I can’t put my finger on which camp to find the culprit. That is where I thought I could borrow your ear and that of your father.”

Valentina moved closer to Pavlov; stopped him, licked his earlobe.

“I will make sure that you see my father and I will lend you much more than my ear. Hurry along, seeing you has had the same effect on me as horse riding. You had better be ready, or no visit to my father.”

On the first occasion that Pavlov had been greeted by the President’s daughter in a similar fashion he thought she had been joking; and naturally feared that by accepting the invitation he may have provoked the wrath of her father. He had since learned that she was not talking in jest but rather giving an order. If he did not obey, he would be the subject of her displeasure and bad temper. It was of little consequence that Pavlov had assisted the President in syphoning off billions of dollars from the Russian economy and placing them in various accounts in obscure places around the world in Valentina’s name. If she wanted something she was going to have it. She was in between husbands and demanded Pavlov’s services; not that being married had restrained her in the past. Valentina was also very unorthodox with regard to the where and when she would demand Pavlov’s services. Noting that she was particularly demanding; he was staring in the mirror of one of the lifts in the Kremlin and his question as to the when and how was answered. The lift had stopped between floors. Valentina smiled at Pavlov as she let her tracksuit trousers fall to the floor. She grabbed him. This woman is mad thought Viktor.

“Now my dear Viktor, I want to try something new. It’s a bit like having sex in the toilet of a Tupolev over Siberia; only here we are between the eleventh and twelfth floor of the Kremlin. I am sure it will be just as exhilarating. I have been dreaming of this since your call. Just follow my instructions.”

Viktor watched as Valentina went into action. She completely stripped off, and took hold of the bar on one side of the lift with her arms and placed her feet on the bar on opposite side of the 1.5 metre wide lift. Viktor was amazed at how fit she was and wondered what he would be asked to do. She had spread her legs wide.

“Look Viktor isn’t that just so delicious and tempting! Come, stand in between my legs and take me.”

Valentina horizontal press-ups against the lift wall assisted with the thrusting action. She was obviously already aroused and it did not take her long to climax. Throughout the intercourse she sang K-G-G-B to the tune of the famous pop song YMCA. She became uncontrollable; especially her legs. Unfortunately, in her ecstasy she had inadvertently pressed the lift button with one of her toes; the lift started to move upwards and there was no way of stopping it.

The lift came to an abrupt stop at the last floor; the door opened and Valentina and Viktor Pavlov rolled out of the door; Valentina still naked and Pavlov without trousers.

“Ah Viktor, how good of you to drop by.”

It is was the President who appeared to be quite drunk and was also naked. He turned his back on the unexpected guests and walked back to where he had presumably come from when he had been disturbed; the presidential desk. In his inebriated state he managed to climb on to the desk. He turned towards Viktor.

“Viktor, I need your help.”

“In what way President?”

The President lay on his back and whilst he talked to Pavlov, he pointed to three young women who stood by his desk.

“I want to outdo that damn American President. He had one intern, I want to have three but I can’t manage. Can you get me some Viagra?”

Pavlov surveyed the Presidential Office; it was strewn with vodka bottles. He asked himself how it had been possible for this great country to have been reduced to such a state and to governed by somebody who is generally regarded as a drunken clown. He could only feel disgust and became more resolved to support the line of his ex-KGB colleagues and to bring pride and discipline back to his beloved country. He turned and looked at Valentina, another despicable character; she was busy putting on some clothes.

“Come on. Help me dress your father and take him to the sauna.”

He walked over to the desk and took the President by his hand and helped him dress. He was a pitiful sight. Whilst Pavlov felt disgust, the President had been a friend but had been ruined by the hangers-on and opportunists; such as Brodsky and his ilk. It had been convenient for them to allow the President to wallow in vodka whilst they raped the country. Despite all his wheeling and dealing and contributing to the process; at that particular moment, Pavlov considered himself an innocent bystander and patriot.

The three had been in the sauna for almost an hour and had taken several cold dips. The President was beginning to sober up. Valentina romped around naked trying to seduce Pavlov. He politely declined her advances but at the same time needed her advice on the issues he was about to discuss with her father. Pavlov considered the President to have recovered some sobriety and some of the sharpness of mind Pavlov had admired in the first years of his Presidency. The President listened attentively as Pavlov related the events of the previous week and his concern that there were forces determined to at the least embarrass him, at the worst dispose of him. The President had a considerable amount of affection towards Pavlov; he had after all secured a safe haven for his and his family’s pension. He contemplated his reply.

“I think Viktor you have got yourself into a corner. As you know I am basically supporting the presidential candidature of Mikhail Kuznetzov; he is receiving financial support from, among others, Lev Sokoloff. I appreciate that in one way or another, you have helped all of these with financial dealings and of course Brodsky. Lev Sokoloff at this point does not have any political plans; he is as such helping Kuznetzov hoping that he will remain in his good books and be able to add to his own considerable fortune. I am not convinced that it will be such a cosy relationship with the incoming President. Some may be in for a shock; I think there will be some window shopping with heads rolling to keep the electorate happy but it will be business as usual, especially for Kuznetzov’s ex-KGB cronies. That is obviously where you fit in if you want to play your cards right. The problem, as I see it is, your association with Brodsky who is a thorn in his Kuznetzov’s side; and also your association with non-Russians such as Geydar Karayev and Kajik Alahverdian.”

“But that is crazy, I’ve been collaborating with them for ages. I worked with Karayev in the KGB and, as you know, Alahverdian helped pull strings with finances during of Perestroika and the first years of Glasnost.”

“That doesn’t matter; you must be aware of Kuznetzov’s thinking on Russian superiority and bringing the satellite states back into the fold. Until such time as that happens, they will be regarded as enemies.”

Pavlov exchanged looks between the President and Valentina.

“So who do you think is behind the plan to undermine my position and what is your advice?”

“A very simplistic view would be that Kuznetzov was angry about last week’s attacks and the probable association with Brodsky. However, if we look at the issue of a potential role of Fonotov; that would have been planned before the visit of the Centre staff. That would imply that somebody close to Kuznetzov and probably ex-KGB and in the current FSB was involved. That would rule out Sokoloff. My advice would be to try to get to the top and find out if they are involved. What do you think Valentina?”

“I agree, I don’t have much time for Sokoloff; I don’t trust him and I think his days are limited. I think Brodsky is becoming a big problem and embarrassment. Of course he has been a good friend of the family but his regular interviews with the foreign press attacking Kuznetzov are very dangerous. For your own sake Viktor, I would advise you to find a way of distancing yourself from Brodsky; perhaps even within the context of an accommodation with Kuznetzov to keep an eye on him should he, as most likely, be forced to leave the country.”

He contemplated what Valentina had said for some time. She’s not just a sex toy, she  could also be astute. She winked at him accompanied by an inviting smile; Viktor remembered that somebody was waiting for him at his flat.

“Well that was useful advice. I will keep you informed of developments; if I’m forced to leave the country, I will pop by to say good bye.”

“My dearest Viktor, please don’t say such stupid things; I will be devastated if you leave.”

“Don’t exaggerate Valentina. Anyway, I have to leave you now.”

He walked over to the President and gave him a strong hug and then he embraced Valentina.

(c) Roger Short Triple Edge – Decadence -2016

Refreshing and editing

New year determination to “kill the animal”! I am reading through the almost 600 pages, adding where there are gaps, cutting where superfluous. I am also wondering whether I have a trilogy or three separate books in a series. I’ll have to think that through. And follow advice!  I will be adding snippets as I progress.

Selective News

I have no comment to the content of this article that appeared in the Guardian today,  other than  to say that certain Danish newspapers are questioning the logic of the DK Government. This type of headline reporting in the Guardian supports the newspaper’s policy of  continuing to walk on the tight rope of trying to keep both sides of the argument happy. The Guardian did not allow comments  to this article; had there been there would have been a majority in support of the Danish action. This would really have tarnished the image of the newspaper.  Anyone who has taken the time to read the recent comments pages, especially those relating to the German and Austrian so-called welcoming of the refugees, will have been shocked by the racist and inhumane comments by an apparently “enlightened” readership. These comments are often shrouded in anti-EU statements and link the German decision to take the refugees with a German desire to dominate European policies. So, one can only conclude that by having the Danish story as one of today’s headlines, the Guardian is attempting to appease its increasingly isolationist and intolerant readership. One has to ask how is it possible to arrive at this situation? Obviously, it is the content of the newspaper itself that through badly researched and often very subjective “breaking-news” style  reporting has been able to subtly shape the opinions of the once “enlightened and socially aware readership”. One also has to ask whether there are hidden sponsors for this type of journalism.

Bayern Munich’s contribution to the humanitarian crisis

We hear so much in the news of the scale of the human tragedy facing the many refugees trying to come to Europe. There many organisations, small and large, many voluntary trying their best to help; often against a background of public intolerance and even aggression. The initiative on the part of Bayern Munich football club  to provide food, German lessons and football equipment for children has to be praised. This type of action raises the level of awareness of the problems amongst the broader population , bravo Bayern Munich. It seems that other football fan groups across Germany have taken a pro-refugee stance rather than the right-wing intolerance that was often associated with the typical football hooliganism of the past. Let’s hope other countries/clubs will follow suit.

More editing work – Vergani meets Rosella

West Virginia USA – Male Drinking Club Three Years Ago

It was not the first time he had visited this type of club; a number of years previously, he had been a reluctant visitor to similar establishments in St Petersburg and Moscow in the company of Pavlov and his entourage. Nevertheless, having entered this club alone, to have said that he felt very uncomfortable and out of place would have been an understatement; he was deeply embarrassed. He hoped he would not have to endure the torture for too long; the person he had to meet had insisted that the club would be the first point of contact. It was not difficult to recognise her; he had been informed she was extremely popular among the regular customers. The men whistled and shouted when she arrived on stage for her solo performance. The above medium height slim woman; light overall tan; flowing black curly hair; shining green brown eyes; and clad in a bikini top that barely covered her breasts and a discrete thong that hinted but did not expose too much of her waxed area, calmly took up her position. She started by sliding up and down the pole performing a number of set pieces; arched her back; reached forward to expose the tips of her nipples; and performed summersaults. When she performed a series of variations of banana splits, the men went wild, urging her on in the hope that they would get a glimpse of the treasure concealed behind the thong. Each time she approached the barrier that divided her from the customers, dollar bills in large denominations would be  thrust at her. Men tried to reach over to place them in the top of her bikini or ideally in her flimsy thong with the hope of touching her waxed crotch and possibly more; something her professionalism would never allow. As she entered her final manoeuvres, she indicated with the agreed signal that she had seen Vergani. Relieved the ordeal was over, he left the club and drove two blocks down the road to the diner where they had agreed to meet.

Ten minutes later the woman he had watched in the club entered the diner dressed in jeans and a white sweat shirt walked over to the table where Vergani was seated. They had agreed to speak English to avoid drawing attention.

“Francesco Vergani? Rosella Lombardi, pleased to meet you. Did you enjoy the performance?”

“Very sensuous; I see you are very popular Lieutenant Lombardi.”

“Apart from my performances, they appreciate that I haven’t had operations to enhance my looks or shape; I’m a natural. I have been going there for quite some time. I started for kicks to earn money whilst I was studying. When I joined the FBI as a special agent in the Mafia surveillance unit I thought it was a good place to pick up information. I find it useful; we have been able to monitor the gradual takeover by the Ruskies; the areas where they collaborate with the Pizzaiolos and where they are in conflict.”

“Interesting, we can talk about those connections when you come on board. How often do you perform there?”

Rosella didn’t like this guy’s attitude; he seemed to be quietly sneering at her. She decided to fuel his prejudices.

“Now I only appear a couple of times a week; there is other work to do; the two hour journey is a hassle; and its hard on my body.”

“It must be very strenuous, you are obviously very fit.”

Rosella was determined to test this slightly stiff gentleman,

“It’s not that; it’s difficult to get the proper kind of protection for the kind of throng they insist I use; I hope you were watching enough to notice that I didn’t rub my crotch along the pole too much; I have to avoid excess pressure on my little pearl and getting my peach too sore; detrimental to my sex life; you know what I mean?”

Francesco considered himself broadminded but; he did not want to pursue the line of conversation. He was beginning to reconsider the wisdom of having contacted this woman; he avoided answering her question.

“I must admit it is a very untraditional approach. Sorry, can I offer something to eat or drink?”

She knew he was trying to skirt around the question,

“Untraditional? Not really, I have to protect the part of my body from which I derive so much pleasure, don’t you agree? I’ll just take a Pepsi thanks.”

He ordered the drink and again avoided making a comment.

“I suppose your unit has explained why I am here?”

“Sort of.”

“Where do I start?”

“From the beginning?” Rosella smiled.

Francesco smiled back and thought that Special Agent Lombardi would turn out to be a tough person to deal with.

“Our unit operates outside the mainstream anti-Mafia operations. Apart from obtaining evidence to prosecute, we aim to permanently plug a number of serious leaks and eliminate the politically motivated moles that hamper our work. This is a matter of urgency for us. We are a very small, autonomous and, I would like to think, effective group. Over the past few months we have decided we need resources from the outside to penetrate the various Mafia-political circles using untraditional methods. Your name was suggested to us.”

“By whom?”

“Somebody who has been providing significant financial support to the work of our unit and who has had members of his family killed by the Mafia.”

Although there were probably many such candidates, Rosella suspected who that person may be but did not pursue the matter.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“To develop an intimate relationship with a member of the New Wave Party who is the main link to the Mafia; and ordered the murder of members of the family of our financial sponsor.”

“What do you mean by intimate? Spread my legs and allow him to penetrate me?”

Vergani had been warned of this woman’s use of language.

“Possibly but not necessarily; we also want you to report on his contacts in the political, business and Mafia spheres; and methods such as orgies to blackmail people who can be of use to him and his associates.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you asking me to become a whore? Pole dancing is one thing; allowing any Tom, Dick or Harry screw me at their will is another matter.”

“We are not expecting you to do that. We just need you to get enough information so we can nail him good and hard.”

“And in the process he can give a slip-a-dick-to-me at the drop of his trousers?”

“No, you are free to opt out at any moment and we will fly you back home. There could be personal rewards if you succeed in what we are proposing.”

“Which kind of rewards?”

“This man ordered the killing of your parents.”

Rosella went silent,

“Jes, I hope you are telling the truth because if not, I will first bust your nuts; then every single bone in your body.”

“Does this mean you agree?”

“Yes, how do you propose to go from here? I will need protection guarantees.”

“You will have a 24/7 surveillance team and a new identity. You have a law degree and a PhD in technology, I presume dealing with surveillance?”

Rosella nodded in agreement.

“Once you have the new identity, you will be invited to the Italian Embassy in Washington; the USA-Italian Cultural and Higher Education Cooperation Forum. your target is the Italian National Coordinator. With our support, you will casually meet him; and use your charm to tantalise his macho ego; he will then move heaven and earth to invite you to Italy as a visiting professor as part of the joint exchange programme. Whilst this is happening you will remain in the US and help the FBI follow-up on the other contacts he makes here. Does that make sense?”

“Before I say yes, is this guy violent? I know he may order killings but does he every carry out executions?”

“No, he is basically a coward but he has been known to drug women to get his own way.”

“Sounds like the kind of dick head I can work on. When do I start? I’m gonna metaphorically stick this guys balls down his throat; that is what he ordered to have done to my uncle’s cousin. Right?”

“Yes, by the way how is your Italian?”

She spoke a number of sentences in perfect Sicilian.

“You are going to have to take lessons; your new identity card will state that you are from Bologna; so start learning.”

“Do I also have to learn what the girls reputedly do in Bologna? It may be popular amongst White House interns but for me that kind of stuff is out of bounds. ”

He knew what she was referring to but did not answer. He stood up.

“Let me escort you to your car; I think we can work together. I’ll be in touch very soon.”

(c) Roger Short Triple Edge – Decadence 2013 – 

Some Triple Edge – Decadence work I edited yesterday

The atmosphere of British pubs had always fascinated Franco; the melting pot of classes, and particularly in London, of cultures; above all he enjoyed the beer. He studied the early customers: office workers; young women and a small group of elderly people whom he assumed were locals. At the end of the bar a raucous group of building workers were obviously telling jokes to each other; he then spotted his contact; slightly detached from the builders but by the way he was dressed could have been a member of the group. Franco had timed his early arrival to consume one beer and then go to the bar for a refill once he had spotted his contact.

His contact was reading the Gazzetta dello Sport; Franco walked over to him; whilst waiting for his empty glass to be refilled, he turned to the apparent sports enthusiast.

“So which Italian team do you support?”

“I don’t support no f…ing foreign team, I support Charlton Athletic.” Franco was more surprised by the strong Cockney accent than the choice of team which had anyway been part of the contact code.

“I understand that you fit kitchens; I have some work that needs to be done, would you be interested?”

“Yea, buy me a pint and we can chat about it.”

Franco ordered another pint and with the two glasses in his hand indicated the table where he was sitting.

“So do you really speak Italian?”

“Yes, I do, I had a stint of two years at the Embassy in Rome, by the way call me Charles.”

“Can we talk here and how much time do you have?”

“I understand that you are a bit of an Anglophile so I think we should enjoy our beers and a ploughman’s lunch and then move on to my workshop.”

The two men chatted about Italian politics, restaurants and football. Occasionally, Charles would indicate customers who were under surveillance, in particular a suspected pimp of some Eastern European females whom, he claimed, were plying their trade in the ‘establishment’, a term he used with sarcasm. Franco immediately took a liking to Charles. Forty-five minutes later Franco and his British Intelligence counterpart were sitting in a converted sea container office at the corner of a building site two blocks away from the pub.

“This is an unusual location for an office.”

“I have borrowed it; a colleague of mine is monitoring certain Ukrainian and Bulgarian subcontractors who work here. His cover as a quantity surveyor comes in useful; he as to authorise their monthly accounts. Anyway, where do we start?”

“You have seen the dossier; there are two Russians we are particularly interested in; Brodsky and Pavlov; where do they fit into the UK scene?”

“I think before we go there, I ought to outline some of our broader concerns about the presence of Russian and ex-Soviets in this country; in particular the so-called oligarchs.”

Franco nodded in agreement.

“The Service is working on a number of theories of how to categorise these people. The first consists of a group of gangsters who have robbed their countries of most of their assets and brought their ill-gotten gains to this country.  When the first wave arrived, we welcomed their money with open arms; the UK economy was in a mess; the gangsters enjoyed our lack of control over the financial sector. The problem was though, that much of the money was in transit; our wonderful financial experts in the City and elsewhere provided all the necessary vehicles to launder the money to havens around the world. At the moment we tend to take at face value the claims of the second group; those who profess to be persecuted by the regimes in Russia and other ex-Soviet countries. However, our main thrust at the moment is to understand the linkages between the ‘dissident groups’ and the third group; those who apparently have the blessing of Moscow and its close allies in other former Republics and of course Israel. The majority of this group are former KGB or Communist Party hardliners; many are still linked with the FSB.  We consider this group to be the most dangerous.”

“Why?”

“We believe that the current regime in Moscow wants to control the world and return to a new brand of Communism.”

“What! That sound like Cold War rhetoric; how can they manage such a goal without a major conflict with the United States?”

“The chess theory is back in vogue.” Charles smiled as he winked.

“What do you mean?”

“There has always been the theory of the Soviets and now the Russians being strategists; they are not holster and gun swinging like the Americans. They have no intention of creating an armed conflict with the United States and other Western nations; they intend to use economic means to achieve their goal of world domination.”

“But they are no match for American economic power.” Franco was beginning to think this was some crazy English idea from the past.

“That is where you are wrong. We maintain, and have evidence to support the theory, that the third group, who are closely entwined with Moscow and other resource rich allies such as Kazakstan, are under instructions to buy into and eventually own the majority of western technology and energy companies.”

“That seems absurd; in Italy we accuse the Chinese of doing that with the fashion industry but I can’t see how the Russians can do the same in the sectors you mention.”

Charles returned to his Cockney accent.

“The difference is mate; that the population of Russia is less than a fifth of the bleeding Chinese and they are wallowing in natural resources; oil, gas, gold whatever, you name it; and we reckon they are in cahoots anyway, bloody commies.”

Franco smiled, it would be unwise to inform Charles of his own past. However, he was getting worried about the line of discussion. Charles continued.

“You should read Soviet history; Lenin’s New Economic Plan was a major con run by the Cheka, otherwise known as the Peoples Commissariat for Internal Affairs, NKVD, the original post-Revolution KGB. Similar to the 1990s, Communist Party officials became phoney businessmen who created partnerships with Westerners; they started to accumulate wealth; gold; foreign currencies and adopted extravagant lifestyles. It seemed like capitalism would return to the Soviet Union with a vengeance; the Party cronies started to put their money in foreign bank accounts, especially Switzerland; sounds familiar eh? Suddenly, Stalin twigged the scam; he ordered a certain Genrikh Grigoryevich Yagoda, the head of the NKVD to locate the accumulated wealth the Party phoney businessmen had stashed abroad. In good all Stalin style he executed them all. The biggest laugh of all was Yogada’s forgetting that he also had money in a safe Swiss bank account. He should have put aside some for a bullet proof vest; when Stalin found out, Yogada also had to face the firing squad. So you see dear Franco; it has all happened before; it’s in the Ruskie’s blood and we are watching it pan out again in front of our very noses: a new wave of mysterious assassinations; bandit businessmen, the so-called oligarchs jailed; assets brought back under the wing of government; you name it. The only difference is that with the progress in communication and globalisation, there are more options for these crooks to place their money; London is full of goons whizzing funny money around the globe and becoming very rich in the process; it’s a major industry, you’ve heard the Mayor of London defending them and saying we can’t live without these jumped-up bean counters and slot machine operators.”

Charles paused again to allow Franco to think about what he just said.

“Do you want to know why this theory could stand up? It’s because of our stupid politicians; they are only interested in backhanders and favours from the pricks in the City who are helping this process along; and I mean big time.” He raised his voice “Do you know how they earn their large bonuses? I’ll tell you; the big money laundering scam. They help large UK, US and European corporations register offshore to avoid tax; at the same time they advise the Russians and ex-Soviets to do the same; we suspect that there is a flow of funds from the illicit Russian to legitimate companies who have registered offshore but not only that; our City goons have advised them on how to set up shell companies in the UK and elsewhere that are fronts to buy shares in our strategic technology and energy businesses; and bingo!”

“Bingo what?”

“Bingo, suddenly all these strategic businesses; aviation, telecoms, medicine and other high-tech operations; are the property of our dear friends in the FSB.  Just like the Stalin purge of Lenin’s scam all these assets will ultimately be handed over to the Russian State; including private property, Great eh? In a few years time there will be Russian and Kazhak school kids having access to fantastic free education and enjoying holidays on the former Oligarchs’ yachts or in their mansions in the Mediterranean; a bit different from a crappy Black Sea resort of the old Soviet times. In the meantime my pension benefits are being cut because our government doesn’t have any money left.”

Franco laughed out loud.

“OK, I may have added a bit of colour but this is one of our theories; the extreme case but maybe not that extreme. Our problem is that we can’t fully comprehend the relationship between the dissident group and those supported by the current regimes. The Service suspects that the litigation in the British courts between members of the two groups is a ploy; a distraction that enables the dissident group to maintain good relations with the inner-circle of decision makers in this country; and for the media to focus on human rights issues, rather than the fact that these bastards are trying to take over our businesses and eventually our country. Our politicians of all colours are gullible or are being blackmailed; I’ll touch on that subject later. The other theory, and I believe that is why you are here, is that there is fighting between and within the groups as they manoeuvre for positions of advantage and power as the new scenario evolves.”

(c) Roger Short Triple Edge – Decadence 2013 – 

The special relationship

I don’t know if the heat is getting at me, I’ve cut down on the G&Ts as there are not so many mosquitos; and I’m sure the Spritz and Pimms can’t be the cause. But, in the light of the incredible cover-up by the Tin Lady in the 1980s, I’ve been thinking about the so-called special relationship between Britain and the USA. This is a routine excuse for Britain doing stupid things to support the US. So, if the MI5 helped to “hide” the evidence of a massive paedophile ring in government circles, isn’t it possible that the CIA knew about this? If so, how did the USA take advantage of this information – pushing the neoliberal policies? Smashing the unions? Delaying democracy in South Africa? (If the CIA knew I’m pretty sure Mossad and their buddies in the Apartheid government knew). Could it be possible that the squeeze was put on the Tin Lady and successive governments to tow the USA line; or they would expose the bunch of murdering perverts in the higher echelons of British society?  What else has been covered up in the name of pursuing the interests of the stronger partner in the so-called special relationship?

Now of course, we mustn’t forget the chums in the KGB of the Former USSR. This happened at the height of the Cold War (placing missiles all over Europe to please the USA) but, also, at a time when many predicted Perestroika would be just around the corner. As we all know from the Hollywood propaganda films, the Ruskies are chess players and strategic thinkers. It seems to me quite likely that the good old KGB kept this information to themselves for use when, a few years later, the Commie chums wanted to launder money in the UK, buy up property, break planning laws; and above all ask for (fake) asylum and citizenship.

I don’t even want to mention the Arabs (arms corruption cases pushed under the carpet) or let alone the Chinese. I’m going back to a G&T (it’s getting a bit hot outside!)

All fiction of course. How would the Americans have know that Britain was being governed by a bunch of perverts?

(c) Roger Short 2015

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