I'VE BEEN WORKING IN THE AMERICAN SECTION OF THE AMERICAN EMBASSY FOR THE PAST SEVEN YEARS. WELL, REALLY IT'S MY COVER, I'M ON ASSIGNMENT FOR "THE CORPORATION" OR WHAT YOU MIGHT MORE READILY KNOW AS THE C.I.A. I'M STATIONED IN A SMALL PART OF WHAT USED TO BE AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE FORMER SOVIET UNION. IT WAS A GOOD ASSIGNMENT, BUT, NOW... TO BE HONEST, IT'S A PIECE OF SHIT JOB.

EVEN THE REAL DIPLOMATS ARE BORED TO TEARS, TAKING THEIR FAMILIES ON TOURS OF THE FORMER PLAYGROUNDS TO THE CZARS AND LISTENING TO THE CHARMING FOLK TALES TOLD BY THE LOCAL FOLKS. THEY ARE A COLORFUL PEOPLE AND THE BASIS FOR MOST OF THOSE VAMPIRE AND WEREWOLF TALES. EVEN THE COUNTRYSIDE, LITTERED WITH THE RUINS OF LONG FORGOTTEN CASTLES LENDS ITSELF TO ANYONE'S IMAGINATION AS DUSK BURIES EACH DAY IN THE DARK SOIL OF THE NIGHT. GOD, I HATE THESE ROADS THOUGH. DRIVING TO A TOWNSHIP I CAN HARDLY SPELL, LET ALONE PRONOUNCE (NOT ENOUGH VOWELS), I'VE BEEN ASKED BY OUR SECURITY OFFICER (A PSYCHOTIC MARINE) TO CHECK ON A CAREER DIPLT WHO DISAPPEARED WHILE SIGHTSEEING WITH SOME NATIVE OFFICIAL. HELL, THEY'RE PROBABLY BOTH OUT GETTING LAID. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I'VE CAUGHT OUR DIPLOMATS, ESPECIALLY THE POLITICAL APPOINTEES, JUST OUT FOR A WILD WEEKEND WITH SOME YOUNG NATIVE GIRL AND/ OR GIRLS SPREADING THE WORD.

SHIT, I HATE THESE RUSSIAN SIGNS. AT LEAST THEY HAVE SIGNS NOW, THE OLD REGIME WAS SO PARANOID YOU NEVER KNEW WHERE YOU WERE. NOW, I THINK I JUST PASSED THE ROAD TO TBILISIZK. YEAH, LIKE I SAID, I CAN'T PRONOUNCE IT EITHER! I TRY TO TALK TO A FARMER, THAT'S A JOKE. NEITHER OF US KNOW OUR ASSES FROM A HOLE IN THE GROUND. SCREW IT, I JUST DRIVE ON, HOPING TO FIND A PLACE TO STAY BEFORE I TRY AGAIN TOMORROW. IT'S GETTING DARK AND THE BLASTED FOG IS ROLLING IN. BY THE TIME I PULL INTO THE NAMELESS VILLAGE, I CAN HARDLY SEE. UP AHEAD, THAT'S IT... IF MY RUSSIAN IS HALF AS GOOD AS I THINK IT IS (ABOUT ON A PAR WITH SOME PRE-SCHOOLERS), IT'S AN INN. I PARK. I WALK INTO THE OLD STONE BUILDING AND AN OLD MAN WITH A LONG GREY BEARD WEARILY CHECKS ME IN. THE ROOM IS SPARTAN, BUT CLEAN. I DUMP MY BRIEFCASE AND DUFFELBAG IN MY ROOM AND TAKE OFF, WALKING THE DESERTED STREETS. I COME TO A NOISY PUB AND WALK IN, HOPING TO TAKE A BITE OF THE CHILL. EVERYTHING STOPS, THE MEN FALL SILENT AND A BARMAID DROPS A TRAY FULL OF GLASSES AS THEY STARE AT THE STRANGER WHO DARED INTERRUPT THEIR GLEE. I TURN AROUND, BUT NO-ONE'S IN BACK OF ME. I'M THE STRANGER.

C.I.A. AGENT OR NOT, I FELT PRETTY DAMNED UNCOMFORTABLE WALKING ACROSS THE SQUEAKING WOOD PANEL FLOOR TOWARDS THE SIMPLE PLANK TABLE SURROUNDED BY RUSTIC WOODEN CHAIRS. IT WASN'T THE CLEANEST JOINT I'VE EVER BEEN IN. SLOWLY, I LOOKED AROUND AS I TOOK MY SEAT WITH MY BACK TO THE WALLS. ALL THE MEN SEEMED TO BE OLD, OLDER THAN OLD WITH THEIR LONG GREY BEARDS. IT WAS A LITTLE WEIRD, I COULDN'T FIND ANYONE THIRTY OR YOUNGER. MAYBE I WAS IN THE WRONG PLACE, BUT, IT WAS MY GUESS THAT THIS WAS THE ONLY PLACE IN THIS ONE HORSE TOWN. I ASKED FOR SOME BEER, I ASKED AGAIN, AND THE WAITRESS BROUGHT ME A BOTTLE OF VODKA. OH YEAH, THIS WAS GOING TO BE A GREAT NIGHT OF MERRIMENT. JUST THE PLACE TO TIE ONE ON, I THOUGHT... EVERYONE LOOKED LIKE AN AXE MURDERER!

THE DISTILLED POTATO JUICE TASTED LIKE CRAP, BUT, AFTER I TOOK A DRINK THE LOCALS STARTED CHATTING AGAIN. A TONE-DEAF GUY WITH A VIOLIN PLAYED A FEW, AHHH, SHOULD I CALL THEM TUNES? WELL, OUT HERE, IT WAS A HELL OF A NIGHT, I GUESS. BY ABOUT EIGHT OR SO, I WAS HEADING BACK TO MY ROOM AT THE WHAT-YA-MICK-CALL-IT HILTON IN GOD-KNOWS-WHERE RUSSIA. IS THIS A GLAMOROUS LIFE, OR WHAT? ANYWAY, IT FELT DAMNED GOOD TO CRAWL UNDER THE THICK FEATHERY COMFORTER. I WAS "OUT FOR THE NIGHT". OUT FOR THE NIGHT? SHIT, NOT WHEN SOME ASSHOLE DOG IS YELPING ITS FREAKIN' HEAD OFF AND SOME DRUNK IDIOT IS YELLING OUT IN THE WOODS! BAD LIQUOR WAS MY FIRST FRUSTRATED THOUGHT. LYING IN MY COMFORTABLE BED, EVEN IF IT DID SMELL A LITTLE BAD, I WAITED FOR THE YELPING AND YELLING TO STOP. I LOOKED OUT MY FROSTED WINDOW, BUT COULDN'T SEE ANYTHING PAST THE FOG BANK BLANKETING THE TOWN AND LAND SURROUNDING IT. THE DRUNK SOUNDED AWFUL, MAYBE HE FELL OR THE DOG BIT HIM. BUT MY RUSSIAN WASN'T THAT GOOD AND IT GOT WORSE WHEN SOMEONE WAS AS EXCITED AS THIS GUY MUST'VE BEEN. THE YELLING STOPPED, BUT THAT DAMNED DOG STARTED HOWLING. HIS HOWLS SENT A COLD CHILL UP MY SPINE. ACCORDING TO MY WATCH, IT WAS MIDNIGHT. I TRIED TO FORCE MYSELF TO SLEEP. STILL MORE HOWLING, BUT IT WAS CLOSER, CLOSER AND FINALLY, IT SOUNDED LIKE A CHORUS OF DOGS IN THE ROAD BELOW, HUNGRY DOGS FROM HELL WITH AN ATTITUDE, FIGHTING OVER RAW MEAT!

SO, AT ABOUT THREE OR FOUR IN THE MORNING, THE COMMOTION STOPPED. FEEDING FRENZY OR WHATEVER... THEY MUST'VE ALL PASSED-OUT, I THOUGHT. GROGGILY, I CLOSED MY HEAVY EYELIDS AND FELL INTO A DEEP SLEEP. IN MY DREAMS, I FOUND THE MISSING DIPLOMAT. IN MY DREAMS, HE WAS THE RABID LEADER OF A PACK OF VICIOUS DOGS, WOLVES REALLY. THEY ALL FOAMED AT THE MOUTH AS THEY TURNED TO LOOK AT ME. THE DIPLOMAT MOUNTED AND COUPLED WITH A BITCH WHILE THE OTHERS CHASED AFTER ME. THEIR SNARLING, MOUTHS NOT FAR BEHIND, I RAN FOR MY VERY LIFE. I COULD HEAR THEIR YELPS AS THEIR RAZOR SHARP CANINE TEETH SLICED THROUGH THE NIGHT AIR.

I RAN FROM THE VILLAGE INTO THE UNFRIENDLY TREE-LINE OF THE FOREBODING FOREST, GAINING DISTANCE, BUT GROWING HOPELESSLY LOST. TRIPPING IN THE RUTS, SLIDING DOWN EMBANKMENTS AND SLIPPING ON A FROZEN RIVER LYING IN WAIT. BATTERED, BRUISED AND FRIGHTENED, I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO TURN. I CUT MYSELF ON A THORNY BUSH JUST AS I PAUSE AND REALIZE THAT I'M SURROUNDED BY A HUNGRY PACK OF THE SHREWD ANIMALS THAT HAVE BEEN CHASING, NO, HUNTING ME. THEY POUNCE ON ME AT ONCE, RIPPING ME TO SHREDS. THEIR TEETH TEAR INTO MY FLESH, PULLING ME APART WITHOUT MERCY.

I TURN MY BLOODY FACE AND I SEE MY DIPLOMAT PAWING HIS WAY FORWARD. THE PAIN IS GONE, THE TERROR WANES AS I WATCH HIM BURY HIS HEAD IN MY BLOODY INTESTINES. HE YANKS ONCE, HE YANKS TWICE... HE PULLS OUT MY LIVER. I BLACK OUT, ACTUALLY WAKING-UP IN A POOL OF SWEAT. OPENING MY BAG, I SEARCH FOR A CAN OF SODA AND DRINK MY BREAKFAST. LOOKING OUT MY FROSTY WINDOW, I CAN ALMOST WATCH THE SUNRISE. I STARE, I SIT AND I STARE AS ANOTHER DAY GETS STARTED.

MY MEDITATIVE STATE IS DISTURBED BY A MAN ASKING TO CLEAN MY ROOM. LIKE ALL THE OTHERS, HE'S OLD. LIKE ALL THE OTHERS, HE HAS A HELL OF A BEARD. TWO OBSERVATIONS, THREE REALLY. I'VE ONLY SEEN ONE WOMAN (THE BARMAID), EVERYONE SEEMS INCREDIBLY OLD AND THERE ARE NO CHILDREN IN THIS VILLAGE. I MEAN I FIGURE EVERYONE HERE, EXCEPT THE BARMAID, REMEMBERS THE DAYS OF THE CZARS FOR GOD SAKE! THEN THERE WAS ALL THAT NOISE LAST NIGHT. BUT, OL' IVAN, THE GUY MAKING MY BED... SHIT, HE WOULDN'T BE THE ONE TO ASK. I'M PRETTY SURE OF THAT.

I GO TO EAT SOME BREAKFAST IN THE DINING-ROOM. SOME RUSSIAN RYE WITH FRESH BUTTER AND HOMEMADE PRESERVES. I BURN MY TONGUE SLIGHTLY AS I SIP A CUP OF HOT TEA. IT'S BITTER AND I DON'T SEE ANY SUGAR. MUNCHING THE RYE, I CATCH A GLIMPSE OF FOUR OLD MEN SITTING AT A TABLE NEAR THE DOOR. THEY'RE SIPPING THEIR TEA AND WATCHING ME. IT GETS TO ME AND I THINK I'VE GOTTA GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE. GRABBING MY GEAR, I HEAD OUT TO THE EMBASSY SEDAN, AN OUTDATED OVERWORKED RUSSIAN CAR. IT DOESN'T START ON THE FIRST TRY... AS USUAL. ON THE SECOND TRY, IT DOESN'T START EITHER. ON THE THIRD TRY, I GET WORRIED. ON ABOUT MY SIXTH, SEVENTH TRY, I DECIDE TO TRY TO FIND SOME HELP. EASIER SAID THAN DONE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

SO, THE MECHANIC GIVES ME THIS LOOK... THE OL' YOU'RE SPEAKING GREEK TO ME LOOK. WHICH, WITH MY RUSSIAN, I GUESS I WAS. WHEN I PULLED OUT THE AMERICAN GREENBACKS THOUGH, THE LANGUAGE BARRIER WAS BROKEN. ANOTHER OLD MAN WITHOUT A RAZOR, HE TELLS ME THAT IT'LL BE TWO DAYS BEFORE HE CAN FIX MY CAR. WELL, I THINK THAT'S WHAT HE'S TELLING ME. THERE AREN'T ANY PHONES AROUND, SO, I'M STUCK. WALKING BACK TO THE INN, I FIGURE THE DIPLOMAT, MY LOST DIPLOMAT, WILL PROBABLY HAVE WOKEN FROM HIS DRUNK ORGY, HIS SIXTEEN YEAR OLD NYMPH WILL DRESS HIM AND SEND HIM ON HIS WAY. HE'LL MAKE-UP SOME STORY, THE PRESS AND STATE DEPARTMENT WILL MAKE HIM A HERO, AND I'LL BE SCREWED! GOD, I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE.

THE GUY AT THE INN DOESN'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THAT I'M CHECKING BACK IN, AGAIN, UNTIL I PULL OUT SOME GREENBACKS. IF YOU EVER COME TO RUSSIA, LEAVE YOUR DICTIONARIES AND ELECTRONIC TRANSLATORS... JUST BRING PLENTY OF CASH. ANYWAY, IT'S A GREY DAY OUT, REALLY OVERCAST, A LOT LIKE MY DAYS IN THE ARMY, WHEN I WAS STATIONED IN MAINZ, GERMANY; I THINK. THE ROAD I'M WALKING ON IS ACTUALLY COBBLE-STONED, THE SIDE STREETS ARE DIRT. BUT, IT'S STILL ALL WEIRD. NOBODY'S OUT WORKING, SHOPPING, OR ANYTHING. THE FIELDS AROUND THE VILLAGE ARE BARE AND WILD. I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW THESE PEOPLE LIVE! SEVEN YEARS HERE, AND I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND THESE PEOPLE. WHAT MAKES IT MORE FRUSTRATING IS I HAVE A LITTLE RUSSIAN BLOOD IN MY VEINS. SO, IT'S LIKE I DON'T UNDERSTAND MY OWN PEOPLE. LOOKING AT THE OLD BUILDINGS AND THE COUNTRYSIDE, I FORGET ABOUT MY MISSION FOR A BIT. I REMEMBER MY "BUSSIA" AND HER STORIES ABOUT OUR "ROYAL" ROOTS. FOR A WORKING-CLASS KID IN THE POOR PART OF THE SOUTH-SIDE OF CHICAGO THEY WERE POWERFUL STORIES. BUT, AS I GREW OLDER, I GUESS I STOPPED BELIEVING THE ROYALTY PARTS AND THE STORIES SHE TOLD OF OUR FAMILIES RESPONSIBILITIES TO PROTECT OUR FELLOW RUSSIANS FROM THE EVILS OF THE NIGHT. APPARENTLY, SOME PRINCE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY MADE THIS VOW, AND EVERY HUNDRED OR SO YEARS, HIS DECENDENTS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE TESTED BY THE POWERS OF EVIL. YEAH, RIGHT.

LUNCH AT THE PUB WASN'T TOO BAD. SOME DARK, ALMOST CHOCOLATE LOOKING DUCK SOUP. THE BARMAID CALLED IT "CZARNINA" OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. OKAY, SO YOU READ THAT I'M BACK IN THE BAR, WITH THE ONLY WOMAN IN TOWN, AND I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING... BUT, SHE'S NOT THAT MUCH TO LOOK AT. SHE DOESN'T HAVE A BEARD, BUT, SHE MIGHT LOOK BETTER WITH ONE! SO, GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, AND LET'S MOVE RIGHT ALONG? I WALK ALONG THE COBBLESTONES, STARTING TO GET A LITTLE LONELY, AND CHECK ON MY CAR. THE OLD MAN (WHICH ONE?), THE MECHANIC, HAS THE MOTOR OUT OF THE CAR, AND HE LOOKS LIKE A KID PLAYING WITH A NEW SET OF TINKER TOYS. IT'S NOT ENCOURAGING AND I DON'T BOTHER TO ASK, I JUST GO BACK TO MY ROOM.

OH GREAT! I JUST LOOKED-UP CZARNINA. IT'S MADE FROM DUCK'S BLOOD... I DON'T FEEL SO GOOD. I RUN OUTSIDE FOR SOME AIR AND THROW-UP IN THE STREET. WELL, THE GOOD THING HERE IS THAT WITH DESERTED STREETS NOBODY'S GOING TO SEE ME! WIPING THE GOOEY SALIVA FROM MY MOUTH, I LOOK AROUND, AND AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT... THERE ARE ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE PEOPLE WATCHING ME. FAMILIES! THIS TOWN ISN'T DEAD LIKE I THOUGHT. I DON'T KNOW WHERE ALL THE PEOPLE, THE CHILDREN AND GIRLS ESPECIALLY HAVE BEEN KEEPING THEMSELVES, BUT, THEY POLITELY LOOK AWAY AND AS THEY WALK OFF, I FOLLOW.

THE NUMBERS GROW, ABOUT FIFTY PEOPLE WALK DOWN THE DIRT ROAD. I STAY BEHIND, BUT, I CAN ALREADY SEE THAT WE'RE GOING TO AN OLD RUSSIAN ORTHODOX CHURCH. IT DOESN'T LOOK TOO IMPRESSIVE, MORE LIKE A CHAPEL, OR A HOUSE CONVERTED TO A CHURCH. ANYWAY, I JUST WANT TO SEE "NORMAL" PEOPLE AGAIN. AND, IT WOULDN'T HURT FOR ME TO PAY MY RESPECTS EITHER. EVEN THOUGH I'M A ROMAN CATHOLIC, WE HAVE A STRONG LINK TO THE EASTERN RITE AND I FEEL COMFORTABLE AS I WALK IN. THE CHURCH IS BEAUTIFUL INSIDE. VERY ORNATE. LOST IN THE ART WORK OF ANCIENT ICONS AND HAND CARVED WOOD, SMELLING THE CANDLE WAX AND INCENSE, AND LISTENING TO THE RUSSIAN HYMNS I FEEL TRANSPORTED TO ANOTHER GENERATION. I FEEL CLOSER TO MY "BUSSIA". I CAN HEAR HER VOICE, HEAR HER STORIES AND BELIEVE IN HER "PRINCE". BEING HONEST, MAYBE THAT'S WHY I SIGNED-ON WITH THE AGENCY EVEN...DEEP DOWN, I LIKED THE IDEA OF "PROTECTING" OUR PEOPLE. ALTHOUGH NOW, OUR PEOPLE WERE MY FELLOW AMERICANS. I FELT AT PEACE IN THE SERVICE.

ALONE AGAIN FOR DINNER, I HAD SOME BOILED POTATOES, SAUSAGES AND A KIND OF SAUERKRAUT. PRETTY BASIC STUFF, BUT, NOTHING I'D HAVE TO LOOK UP. THIS WAS SUCH A WEIRD PLACE, I THOUGHT. I WAS WONDERING WHERE ALL THE PEOPLE VANISHED TO, LOOKING AT NOTHING BUT OLD MEN IN THE PUB. EH, MAYBE I'D GET OUT OF HERE TOMORROW, GET BACK TO THE REAL WORLD. BACK AT THE EMBASSY, I'D GET THE MARINE MESS SGT. TO COOK ME A STEAK, OH... YEAH, THAT THICK. Mmmm... MY MOUTH WAS WATERING AT THE THOUGHT.

IN MY ROOM, LYING NAKED, I READ A BOOK CALLED "FRIGHTENED WHISPERS" BY A GUY NAMED RILEY. IT'S ONE OF THOSE SUPERNATURAL FANTASY STORIES THAT MAKES YOU FEEL GOOD IN THE END. MY HOPES FOR A QUIET NIGHT ARE SHATTERED WHEN I HEAR THE FIRST HOWL. THEY'RE BACK, MY HOUNDS FROM HELL ARE BACK. I LOOK AT MY WATCH, MIDNIGHT AGAIN. I CAN BARELY MAKE OUT A FULL MOON THROUGH MY FROSTED WINDOW. GETTING BACK TO MY NOVEL, I FIND I CAN'T CONCENTRATE. I KNOW IT'S USELESS, BUT I TRY TO OPEN MY WINDOW SO I CAN YELL: "SHUT-UP"!

THE WINDOW JERKS OPEN AND I'M STARING DOWN THE THROAT OF A CARNIVOROUS BEAST, A DOG GONE MAD, NO... IT'S TOO BIG TO BE A DOG, IT'S A WOLF! IT'S A HUNGRY WOLF WHO STARES ME DOWN AS HE GROWLS, THE HOUND SNARLS, REVEALING HIS RAZOR SHARP, SNOW-WHITE, ICY TEETH. SALIVA DRIPS TO THE SILL AS HE CHANGES HIS POSTURE. SLOWLY, I SCAN THE ROOM FOR AN EXIT, FOR A WEAPON, FOR ANYTHING THAT MIGHT PROLONG MY LIFE. I SPY A LETTER OPENER, A MEMENTO FROM MY "BUSSIA". IT'S TOO FAR, I KNOW I'LL NEVER MAKE IT. HE LUNGES AT MY THROAT FOR A QUICK KILL, BUT, BITES MY SHOULDER INSTEAD. PULLING AWAY IN A SPASM OF PAIN MIXED WITH FEAR WE ROLL ALONG THE FLOOR. MY DREADED NIGHTMARE COMES TO MIND IN A FLASH OF HORROR. I TRY TO GRAB HIS SNOUT, HE BITES MY HAND AND I SCREAM AS THE BLOOD FLOWS FROM MY GAPING WOUND.

I KNOW THAT I'M IN A STRUGGLE FOR MY VERY LIFE, IN A PANIC I THROW THE FIERCEST PUNCHES I CAN MANAGE AT THE BEAST. HE CONTINUES BITING AT ME. HE'S COATED IN THICK, COAGULATING RED BLOOD, I REALIZE IT'S MY BLOOD! TERROR GRIPS MY HEART, I FEEL SOMETHING IN MY HAND... THE LETTER OPENER, IT'S MY "BUSSIA'S" MEMENTO! I STAB AT THE WOLF, I STAB AGAIN AND AGAIN. THE BEAST YELPS, BUT THE BEAST DOESN'T STOP HIS ATTACK. I STAB AGAIN, I THRUST THE LETTER OPENER IN THE BEAST'S BODY, ITS HEAD, ITS PAWS, ANYTHING I CAN REACH. I KEEP STABBING LIKE A BUTCHER GONE MAD, I CAN'T STOP. I CAN'T STOP EVEN AS I SEE THE WOLF DIE, EVEN AS I WATCH BLOOD DRAIN ONTO THE FLOOR, EVEN AS I WATCH IT, WATCH IT TRANSFORM. THE ANIMAL BECOMING A MAN, THE MAN BECOMING A DIPLOMAT, MY DIPLOMAT! MY DREAM, SOMEHOW IT WAS TRUE, SOMEHOW... BUT THAT'S MADNESS, THAT'S INSANE.

THE HOWLING STOPPED THAT NIGHT, IT'S QUIET NOW. OH, IT'S BEEN QUIET FOR A LONG TIME, EVER SINCE THEY FOUND ME WANDERING THE DIRT STREETS OF THAT NO-NAME TOWN, BLOODY WITH "ITS" LIFE FLUID, HOLDING MY "BUSSIA'S" LETTER OPENER. I PROTECTED THEM, I DID... NOW, I ROT IN THIS DAMNED CELL, THIS K.G.B. PRISON. I'M A PRINCE, I TELL THEM, THEY SHOULD PAY THEIR RESPECTS. THEY LAUGH, THEY CALL ME CRAZY EVEN. BUT, I'M NOT, I'M NOT MAD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I'M NOT MAD! AND BESIDES, I HAVE DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY!

Created: October 29, 1999r.
Last Updated: May 23, 2005r.