*****
THE ETERNAL EMPEROR'S POLITICAL CASSEROLE
It was a beautiful spring day on
Prime World and when Mahoney strolled through the Emperor’s private garden he
was delighted see that it was in full bloom. The colors and perfume of the
exotic flowers and plants teased the eye and excited the senses.
There was a hint of wood smoke on
the air and when Mahoney rounded the lemon tree, branches weighed down with
ripening fruit, he found the Emperor bustling about his outdoor kitchen,
directing several little ‘bots to deposit the ingredients for the meal he was
preparing on a long, rough wood table.
“Ah, Ian,” he said, “you’re just in
time for my daily “those sons of bitches” session. You do the honors with the booze, while I get the Aubergine Politiko in the oven.”
Chuckling, Mahoney made his way to
the portable bar, set up near a beehive-shaped brick oven, a ribbon of mesquite
smoke rising from the chimney.
“So, we’re roasting politicians
today, are we boss?” he said.
The Emperor snorted. “Ian, if I get
much more lip from those scrotes in Parliament don’t be surprised if I have the
whole lot of them drawn and quartered and fed to the pigs.”
“We don’t have any pigs handy,
Sir,” Ian said, “but give me a couple of hours and I’ll have a grav-truck load
ready and waiting at the gates.”
He reached for the Scotch, but the
Emperor stopped him. “Let’s start with ouzo, Ian,” he said. “We’re celebrating
the Greeks today.”
“Any special reason, Your Majesty?”
Mahoney asked.
The Emperor ran his French knife
through a large purple vegetable, cutting it lengthwise into thin slices.
Grabbed another, and did the same.
“I’m trying to remind myself why I
chose democracy back when I set up this whole shebang. Instead of
something sensible, like a dictatorship,” the Emperor said.
“Let’s face it,” he continued,
“strongman rule is lot more efficient. There is no pretense of consulting
anyone. You just do it. If anybody complains you toss them into the slammer.”
He waved the knife. “And if they
didn’t work, my less sensitive brothers and sisters of tyranny just cut out
their tongues.”
He was smiling when he said the
last, so Mahoney chuckled. He wasn’t always sure when his boss was joking, but
at the moment it seemed a safe enough assumption. Even so, his tongue suddenly
felt a little larger in his mouth.
The Emperor held up one of the
purple vegetables. “You see this?”
Mahoney nodded. “I see it, boss,
but I don’t have the faintest idea what it is.”
“Its fancy name is Aubergine,” he
said. “But in reality it’s only a clotting eggplant.”
“Gotcha, boss,” Mahoney said,
pouring a couple of fingers of ouzo into two glasses.
The clear liquid turned cloudy when
he added a couple of ice cubs and a splash of water. He set one before the
Emperor and took a sip of his own. Ouzo tasted like licorice – not one of Ian’s
favorite flavors – but like most booze after a couple of pops it went down just
fine.
“Same with democracy,” the Emperor
said. “Just a fancy word invented by the Greeks for a political system that is
always bordering on chaos and outright anarchy.”
He started the eggplant strips frying
in olive oil, then set to work dicing blood red tomatoes fresh from his garden.
“Of course, it wasn’t a real
democracy,” he said. “Even in Athens there were more slaves than citizens. And
to be fair, it was the rich families who ran things, not your average Joe
Papadopoulos.”
Mahoney thought that it sounded
pretty much like how things were today. Even here on Prime World where the
Emperor took a personal interest in government, it was the rich and
well-connected who had the upper hand.
Elsewhere in the Empire, his boss
maintained a general hands off policy. As long as they paid their AM2 bills on
time and didn’t conspire with his enemies he let them run things pretty much
the way they wanted.
But if they crossed him – well,
that’s when he sent for Mahoney. Which is why, Ian strongly suspected, the
Emperor had invited him to dinner.
The Emperor said, “You know, after
being The Man In Charge for a couple of millennia or so, you’d think I’d get
used to those guys in Parliament. It goes without saying that they are all
greedy backstabbers – that’s the nature of the beast.
“Bet if I commissioned a study from
one of my pet eggheads that they’d find that a whopping majority of the
drakh-heads were abused as children. Which is why they become politicians. To
revenge themselves on an uncaring world.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet, boss,”
Ian said. “Never met a politico whose headbolts weren’t on just finger tight.”
The Emperor laughed. Then, using
his knife, he swept the diced tomatoes into a bowl, then got busy mincing a
half a dozen or so fat garlic bulbs, followed by a palmful of basil. The scent
soon had Mahoney’s mouth watering.
Drakh the politicians. He was
hungry.
“Normally I take everything in
stride,” the Emperor said. “I have my little tricks, you know?”
He paused to polish off his ouzo
and slid the empty glass over to Ian, who downed his own and made a couple of
fresh drinks.
“Like this dish,” the Emperor said.
“Different ingredients that might not always play well together in your belly.
But if I assemble them just so…”
He grabbed the pan of sizzling
eggplant and layered it in a baking dish. Then he quickly spooned the mixture
of tomatoes, garlic and basil on the eggplant and blessed the contents with a
few twists of sea salt and a couple of cranks of black pepper.
The Emperor displayed the contents
to Ian. “Looks a mess, doesn’t it?” he said. “Just a jumble of veggies that’ll
slop off your plate. But then I do this…”
He got out a big bowl of what Ian
took to be some sort of crumbled white cheese.
“Feta,” the Emperor said. “Goat’s
cheese.”
Mahoney frowned. He’d tried goat
before. It was during a barely remembered foray against a nomadic desert tribe.
The ripe smell of old goat meat roasting over a dried dung fire brought the
memory back and he wrinkled his nose.
The Emperor caught his reaction.
Laughed. Shoved the bowl at Ian. “Give it a try,” he said.
Ian hesitated. “Go on,” the Emperor
pressed. “You’ll be surprised.”
Mahoney took a pinch of cheese and
popped it into mouth. To his delight, the flavor was neither strong, or mild.
But smooth and mellow with just a little bite at the back of the tongue.
The Emperor smiled at Mahoney’s
pleased expression.
“Most folks think there are only
four flavors,” the Emperor said. Sweet, bitter, sour and salty. But my daddy
taught me that there was a fifth. He called it Umami. Said it made your taste
buds complete.”
He tapped the bowl. “Like this feta
cheese,” he said.
With that, the Emperor grabbed up a
double handful of feta and distributed it over the eggplant mixture. He
repeated the action until the baking dish wore a snow white cap of cheese.
Then he washed his hands, donned
some fireproof gloves and moved to the oven. He slid the dish onto a metal rack
on one side.
“Now, when that’s done,” the
Emperor said, “I’ll have turned an unruly mess into something not only
manageable, but delicious. All because I played dictator and imposed my
culinary will on chaos.”
Although his boss was speaking in
vague generalities, Ian was starting to get the feeling that he had it in for
somebody in particular and he started running down a mental list of potential
candidates for the high jump.
But he forgot all that when the
Emperor reached back into the oven and pulled out a sizzling roasting tray and
the tantalizing odor of chicken and lemon and spices filled the air.
His boss placed the tray on the
table, revealing a large chicken that was turning a golden brown. It was
surrounded by quarter cut, unpeeled potatoes, which had also turned a rich
brown.
He flipped the chicken over –
breast side down - and stirred the potatoes, exposing the underdone white
surfaces. He spooned chicken gravy over the whole thing.
Mahoney had enjoyed this dish once
before. It was Greek lemon chicken and potatoes. He knew the Emperor had rubbed
the chicken inside and out with mixture of lemon – fresh from the tree in his
garden – extra virgin olive oil, Greek oregano, and minced garlic. The potatoes
got a similar bath.
He put the pan back in the oven and
turned to Ian, stripping off the gloves. Ian dutifully started to pour a couple
of more ouzos, but the Emperor raised a hand.
“We’re going to need something
stronger about now, Ian,” he said. “Metaxa should do the trick.”
Mahoney smiled. “Metaxa, it is,
boss.”
This was a drink that went straight
to Ian’s Irish heart. It was an ancient Greek liqueur – a mixture of brandy and
wine - the Emperor had spent decades recreating. It had a flavor like no other
and had a way of boosting your energy and mental faculties. Very much like
Irish whiskey, but without the resultant hangover.
They both downed a couple of shots,
then Mahoney refilled their glasses. They would sip these while the Emperor
made a Greek salad – mainly greens from his garden with a goat cheese, lemon
and olive oil dressing.
While he worked his knife, he said
“I assume you heard that Lord Wichman is considering a run for president.”
Mahoney’s eyes narrowed. So that’s
what this was about.
“He formed one of those phony
exploratory committees,” the Emperor continued. “You know, where they get a
group of people together to discuss a decision that’s already been made.”
Mahoney grimaced. “When it comes to
politics, Wichman’s a joke,” he said. “He bought his seat Parliament I don’t
know how many years ago. From what I’ve heard, after he was sworn in nobody has
seen him on the floor of the Parliament since.”
“Well, he’s been a busy boy since
his son got himself taken hostage,” the Emperor said. “Seems he’s greased
enough palms to buy a seat on the Special Select Intelligence Committee.”
Ian’s eyebrows rose. The few beings
who knew anything about the mutiny were on that panel. Mahoney had dealt with
the members on and off over the years – usually around budget time.
Normally, they were all handpicked
by the Emperor for their ability to keep their mouths shut and increase Mercury
Corps funding whenever the Emperor – at Ian’s behest - deemed it necessary.
Apparently Wichman had managed to
bypass the Emperor’s control of the panel.
Mahoney said, “Let me take a wild
guess, Your Highness. He’s threatening to leak news about the mutiny to force
us to take immediate action to free his son.”
The Emperor sighed. “Not to my
face,” he said. “Or to any of my representatives. Otherwise we wouldn’t be
having this conversation over a nice Greek dinner.”
Mahoney nodded. An open threat by
Wichman would have brought the Emperor’s wrath down upon him.
“Doesn’t he know that if we move on
the mutineers the first casualty will be his son?” Mahoney said.
The Emperor snorted. “He doesn’t
give a drakh about his son,” he said. “Probably worth more to him martyred than
alive. He’d be a shoo in for the presidency of the Parliament.”
The light suddenly dawned for
Mahoney. “And the presidency would give him a seat at table in any negotiations
with the Tahn,” he said. “He’s got visions of trading up from casinos and
resorts to some serious war profiteering.”
The Emperor roared laughter and
clapped him on the back. “Give that man a cee-gar,” he said. Patted his breast
pocket. “Fresh out,” he said. “Filthy habit, anyway.” So he poured them both
two more Metaxas instead.
“What do you want to do about him,
boss?” Mahoney said.
“Right now, nothing,” the Emperor
replied. “In fact, I’m going to buddy up to him as if I don’t suspect a thing.
We’re even going to grant him a favor. Which I need you for.”
“Yes, sir?”
“He wants a way to communicate with
his son without the mutineers knowing about it,” the Emperor said.
Ian thought a minute, then nodded.
“I can have Lieutenant Sten try to slip Gregor something when he’s aboard the Flame, negotiating with the mutineers.”
“Will we be able to monitor what is
said?” the Emperor wanted to know.
“No problem, boss.”
“Then, do it,” the Emperor said.
“Uh… boss… One other thing?”
“Yes?”
“Do we still want to keep Gregor
alive, sir? I mean, now that we know his daddy doesn’t really care all that
much.”
“Nothing’s changed, Ian,” the
Emperor said. “In fact, tell young Sten that if something bad happens to Gregor
you’ll bust him down to whatever is lower than a buck private.”
“Yessir.”
“Good. Now let’s eat.”
And he went to oven and started
hauling out sizzling platters of Greek chicken, potatoes and the Emperor’s dish
of the day: Aubergine Politiko.
A minute later, and Mahoney was
digging in with gusto. But at the back of his mind he couldn’t help but wonder
what special kind of Hell the Emperor had in mind for Lord Wichman.
NEXT: THE NAVIGATOR
THE TIMURA TRILOGY: When The Gods Slept, Wolves Of The Gods and The Gods Awaken. This best selling fantasy series now available as trade paperbacks, e-books (in all varieties) and as audiobooks. Visit The Timura Trilogy page for links to all the editions.
NEWLY REVISED KINDLE EDITIONS OF THE TIMURA TRILOGY NOW AVAILABLE. (1) When The Gods Slept;(2) Wolves Of The Gods; (3) The Gods Awaken.
*****
Tales Sometimes Tall, but always true, of Allan Cole's years in Hollywood with his late partner, Chris Bunch. How a naked lady almost became our first agent. How we survived La-La Land with only the loss of half our brain cells. How Bunch & Cole became the ultimate Fix-It Boys. How an alleged Mafia Don was very, very good to us. The guy who cornered the market on movie rocks. Andy Warhol's Fire Extinguisher. The Real Stars Of Hollywood. Why they don't make million dollar movies. See The Seven Pi$$ing Dwarfs. Learn: how to kill a "difficult" actor… And much, much more.
Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
*****
A NATION AT WAR WITH ITSELF: In Book Three Of The Shannon Trilogy, young Patrick Shannon is the heir-apparent to the Shannon fortune, but murder and betrayal at a family gathering send him fleeing into the American frontier, with only the last words of a wise old woman to arm him against what would come. And when the outbreak of the Civil War comes he finds himself fighting on the opposite side of those he loves the most. In The Wars Of The Shannons we see the conflict, both on the battlefield and the homefront, through the eyes of Patrick and the members of his extended Irish-American family as they struggle to survive the conflict that ripped the new nation apart, and yet, offered a dim beacon of hope.
A True Story About A Boy,
A Teacher, And Earthquake,
Some Terrorists And The CIA
LUCKY IN CYPRUS is a coming-of-age story set in the Middle East during the height of the Cold War. An American teenager – son of a CIA operative – is inspired by grand events and a Greek Cypriot teacher.
He witnesses earthquakes and riots and terrorist attacks, but in the end it is his teacher’s gentle lessons that keep him whole.
Here's where to get the paperback & Kindle editions worldwide:
Here's what readers say about Lucky In Cyprus:
- "Bravo, Allan! When I finished Lucky In Cyprus I wept." - Julie Mitchell, Hot Springs, Texas
- "Lucky In Cyprus brought back many memories... A wonderful book. So many shadows blown away!" - Freddy & Maureen Smart, Episkopi,Cyprus.
- "... (Reading) Lucky In Cyprus has been a humbling, haunting, sobering and enlightening experience..." - J.A. Locke, Bookloons.com
*****
NEW: THE AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF
THE HATE PARALLAX
THE HATE PARALLAX: What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan
After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm ravaged night.
BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization.
*****
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
 |
Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
|
In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is "The Blue Meanie," a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself.
