Laser Curtain

By Igor Ashkinazi

This novel may be one of the most controversial books of the century and for centuries to come. Laser Curtain reveals the real essence of two existing economic systemsthe capitalistic West and communistic East. Through the face-to-face conversations, the book confronts Americans and Soviets, defectors and real communists, patriots and spies. Laser Curtain unveils the inside of the White House and the dark cabinets hidden behind the iron-clad windows of the Kremlin. It brushes through presidential speeches and secret discussions of their aides, and yet it is adventurous, artistic, romantic, frightening and funny futuristic fiction.

This narrative is intended for the poor and the rich, teenagers and adults, communists and capitalists, militants, priests and presidents. It is for every person on this planet because it concerns everyones future. It must be delivered to the people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490827964

Igor Ashkinazi

Born in the USSR, Igor Ashkinazi became a master of sport in acrogymnastics. In 1975, he immigrated to America, where he won the US National Championship four times and was inducted into the hall of fame for American athletes. In 1982, through a spectacular encounter with God, he came to faith in Jesus Christ.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

W.W. III

There as a small pond of light in the middle of the pitch-black desert. It was rather frightening — hundreds of millions of dollars, the richest gambling houses, hotels, the biggest shows in the world, and the best restaurants confined within a little shiny speck called Las Vegas. From an airplane, it seemed that if someone could stoop over, pick up this glistening crumb and put it in their pocket, the night instantly would coat the place with its shroud of darkness, reassuring that no one should ever notice the theft.

Of course, it is only a product of wild imagination; but on the other hand, the center of everything is in the middle of nothing. Funny, but that’s why a thought like this can cross someone’s mind. Although one will change this opinion, after staying in Las Vegas for only one night, the new visitor would realize that a place like Las Vegas cannot disappear, no matter where it is located or how small it is.

And even if such an incident could take place, the entire world would search for it. That’s how special this little place is — Las Vegas.

Jack Lomar, promoter of the MGM shows, was rubbing his hands as soon as he hung up the receiver. The deal was clenched, another major triumph in his life. He would be on the top again. Now he was going to get those big bucks back, pay the losses, and the heck with everything else.

Stupid fools, thought Jack. They almost made me lose my confidence, but now I am going to show them who I am.

He lit the cigar and puffed on it. His small brown eyes instantly watered and bloated cheeks turned red. He started to cough.

Rotten skunks, he growled through coughing, and those cigars are not any better. He stood up and quickly walked toward the closet. Jack threw on half of his jacket, and irritably began to fish for the second sleeve. Finally, after a short barrage of the lukewarm expressions, the French-cut dark gray jacket was on. Jack glanced in the mirror and grimaced. His obesity still gave him that repulsive look.

No big deal, Jack appeased himself. He knew that there were two things he had going strongly — his sharp brain and intuition for money, which was much more important to him than the looks, although the good looks couldn’t have possibly hurt him, but the absence of them…oh, well, there was nothing he could do about it, except grimace every time he looked in the mirror.

He was on his way to present a deal to the people who ran the hotel. The deal that could only cross his mind, the deal that couldn’t lose and would make the MGM show famous this year, and a nationwide hit. Of course, he wouldn’t be forgotten, either.

Jack walked out of his office, adeptly wedged himself across the hall, busy with the commotion of the slot machines and the gambling crowd. He turned around a corner, proudly pushed a small white button on the wall and waited, notoriously glancing at passing individuals. Soon the luxurious elevator split its doors before him and within minutes he stood in front of the executive director of the MGM Hotel operations.

Jack Lomar smiled pleasantly as he addressed the executive. May I propose my plan to you…and if you approve it, he paused, digging into his attaché. Here is my proposal. Although the contract from the Colorado Air Force Technical School will arrive shortly.

From the Colorado Air Force Technical School? questioned the executive.

Yes, that’s why I thought that it would be better if I first explained verbally. He paused again. If you will allow me, of course, it won’t take more than three minutes.

Go ahead, Jack, said the executive. Today, you are too polite for me not to allow you to talk. He then emphasized, smiling, Especially when it’s no more than three minutes.

Jack forced a pleasant expression, and then began modestly. It concerns a show about the earthquake destruction — that I promoted last year which, however, was a total financial disaster. Jack stopped, doggishly lifting his eyebrows.

Are you trying to confirm that it is still a financial disaster? asked the executive.

No…no, sir, not so at all. I have an idea how to save the show and, not only that, to make it a nationwide success. Jack’s small eyes began to dart with excitement. "First, we have to change the name from The Earthquake to World War III."

The executive stroked his chin and, for the first time, looked at Jack. Hmm, that is interesting.

Interesting? exclaimed Jack. "Never heard of it! And listen to this — it won’t be difficult to improve the special effects and a stage decor, they are very similar to those of The Earthquake. Also, we would add to the show, computerized miniature airplane dogfights, which could be delivered from Reno. I already spoke with a stage manager there. And the gimmick for attracting everyone’s attention is to open the premiere and the season with a real F-16 dogfight — the air show. They call it the Blue Angels Air Display. I just clinched the deal with the Colorado Air Base, General Martinez. If you approve, of course, he would send nine of his best pilots — and they do it for free!"

Free? exclaimed the executive.

Yes! Jack almost shouted, but restrained his composure. They always do it free, said Jack, calming down. For some reason, their authorities believe that those shows help the Air Force with recruiting. Well, I don’t know about the Air Force, but it surely should help us. All we have to do is to bring in the audience.

"And we will bring the audience, right, Jack?" suddenly smiled the executive.

Absolutely! The hotel is chock full of people, with a little promotion, that’s it. Jack stretched his arms.

You know, Jack, said the director quietly, narrowing his eyes, this is the first bright idea that has come out of your mouth for the past three years. Then he whispered, I can see it! The combination of the real air show and our miniature one with the special effects and explosives, and the idea of the World War Three. Yes, yes — the idea. The idea is going to make it…, the executive opened his eyes wide, …to the top!

Suddenly, he turned away from Jack, deepening in his thoughts. Wait a minute — how much is the show going to cost? he fretfully asked, as if awakening from the dream.

It is all worked up in the proposal — three hundred thousand dollars to put it on, said Jack.

And your fee?

One hundred thousand, and the usual ten percent of the gate, quickly spilled Jack and then added, It’ll be the biggest success ever. Believe me!

The executive turned around and came closer to Jack.

Pausing for a moment, he thought of something and then reached out his hand to shake. Eight percent of the gate this time, he quietly insisted when their hands met.

Jack closed his eyes and nodded approvingly.

The goose formation of nine Blue Angels was barely perceived in the bottomless, bright abyss. In fact, the only thing that one could see from the ground was the white streaks of smoke the F-16’s expelled from their exhaust tubes. But there in the sky, like nine twins perfectly matched in color, build and action, the jets were headed for Vegas. If a person could somehow read the air vibration, he could have heard the planes talking.

How does it feel to be a star of the MGM show? came a voice from the lead Blue Angel.

It feels exactly like a star should feel, right up there in the sky, came the answer from a second plane that was less than a foot from the leader.

It is one of the most exciting days of my life, said another one of the planes.

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be in showbiz, and here it is, retorted the middle plane.

Yes, here is your chance, kid! exclaimed the plane to the left of the leader.

I’m sure glad we don’t have to perform in skimpy outfits, Lieutenant John McFarland said, pilot of the lead Blue Angel.

The rest of the planes burst into laughter.

The tall, blond, brown-eyed officer could fit the description of any movie star. His wide chin and high cheekbones gave him a strong, muscular look without any imposition. He had an animate, witty mind to which a military education gave a quiet confidence with self-discipline and his gentleman’s politeness of a strong man naturally added to his personality.

Contrary to his movie star looks, Lieutenant McFarland never thought much of show business. Throughout his teenage years, he was engulfed in studies about the Air Force opportunities, later realizing that his real goal, as well as dream, was the space odysseys. Eighteen-year-old John, seeing the space shuttle on the television screen, declared that that was exactly what he wanted to fly: An airplane in space!

He finished the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and was awarded a Bachelor of Science degree in Sciences. He then received his commission for five years’ service obligation as an Air Force lieutenant.

His incredible ability to fly the most advanced aircraft, along with his knowledge and precision, made him a leader of flying team formations. Only few could match his facility in the high air.

The previous summer, John submitted an application to Houston for acceptance into NASA. There was only six months left until his obligatory service would be over and John impatiently waited for the answer. Coming from an impoverished background, the American boy was making it good. He was young and ambitious, his whole life and career lay ahead of him.

The sky was clear and there were no clouds whatsoever. The sun shone brightly and tiny gray patches of Las Vegas hotels lurked in the distance.

It is time for make-up, John said jokingly. Take the powder out of your purses, boys.

Oh, my gosh! Are we on yet? one of the pilots shrieked, purposely raising his voice.

Just about, John said as he tilted his jet downward.

The rest followed without breaking their perfect geometrical configuration.

There! There! Look, they are coming! a group of teenagers screamed, pointing at the eye-burning bright blue sky.

Jack Lomar lifted a hand to shadow his eyes. Oh, yes, they are coming and so will the money!

That morning, Jack appeared very busy, very important, and extremely excited. First of all, his totally white outfit and white-brimmed hat made him look like he owned the place. He stood in the glass booth in front of three microphones, reaching his hands out and moving his fingers up and down. He said, Come on, come on! More…let’s make a record!

The Las Vegas crowd acted as if they had heard the little fat man. They poured in from everywhere, residents, frequent visitors, the new tourists and passersby in their campers merged into a big field near the airport. Some even flew to Las Vegas just to be a part of the excitement.

The roofs of each hotel were filled with people. Even seasoned gambling moguls left their secret, luxurious suites and were on their way to the field. Sitting in their limousines, squinting from the needling brightness of the sun which they hadn’t seen for days, those tycoons of poker gave up their first love, just to be a part of the excitement.

Finally, the Angels landed to thunderous applause. An estimated 400,000 people filled the field and almost the entire town greeted the pilots from the roofs of their houses and hotels.

It was a unique moment. For the first time since the beginning of Las Vegas gambling was pushed into second place. The owner and executives of the MGM Hotel, producers, directors and stage managers of the World War III show were proudly standing in the glassy booth, reveling like Roman Caesars before the fighting of the gladiators.

Jack Lomar triumphantly smiled. He straightened up, his posture erect, sucked in his stomach as much as he could, and moved toward the microphones.

The transparent roofs of the F-16’s rolled back and nine pilots descended from their cockpits.

Ladies and gentlemen, shouted Jack Lomar, this is a revolutionary moment in Las Vegas history. First, on behalf of every one of you, let me greet these magnificent nine men.

The pilots raised their right arms and the crowd cheered with a deafening Hurrah!

Today and tonight, Jack continued, "we are going to combine the stage fantasy with the real sights and sounds of a new electronic, supersonic world. This afternoon, you will see the maneuvers of the best airplanes guided by the best pilots, led by a recipient of the Silver Wing insignia, Lieutenant John McFarland. And later this evening, the MGM Hotel for the first time will present the greatest show on Earth — World War III. Those of you who attend will experience the incomparable fantasy of human minds and will see an exact miniature replica of today’s air show in action, enhanced by special effects, dancers, and the best actors and actresses in the nation. All of the Blue Angel pilots are honorary guests of our premiere tonight. Make sure you see it, and get a breathtaking ride on the biggest roller coaster ever to be built — the World War III premiere. Now, let’s continue with the air show."

Jack turned his head back and looked at the director who approvingly closed his eyes and nodded. Nine station wagons rolled by the planes and boxes filled with colorful brochures were handed to the pilots.

The sound of engines interrupted the commotion of the crowd. Two Angels pulled ahead and, easily defying gravity, within seconds were soaring in the sky. It was a beautiful and a disturbing sight. Their perfect synchronization in the air was absolutely stunning. Precisely at the same time, only inches away from each other, the two jets rose perpendicularly up, then switched the engines off and dove silently. At an extremely critical point near the ground, they suddenly assumed a horizontal position with complete control of their planes.

As they landed, the astonished crowd applauded.

A moment later, two other Angels appeared in the sky. Displaying a skillful dogfight, they approached each other head-to-head and only seconds apart, made a quarter twist passing one another side-by-side.

Right after them, a formation of four jets took off. The four airplanes began to draw various geometrical figures, gracefully gliding over one another.

The final single performance was left for Lieutenant John McFarland. His tricks in the air were absolutely mind-boggling. He began with a spiral, flying chillingly low —barely above the crowd. Then abruptly directed his Angel perfectly upward, piercing the sky. He flew as high as the eye could see. He made several death loops and at the speed of sound began his descent. Suddenly, he turned the plane upside-down and flew above the crowd’s heads, only feet away from the booth.

The owner and executives froze. Jack Lomar closed his eyes in terror. When he opened them again, all nine jets had already joined the leader, regrouping in a goose formation. Then one more time they descended above the crowd and thousands of advertisement brochures with the MGM Hotel’s picture and the World War III show information were jettisoned down on the spectators. The amused crowd cheered. Frenzy continued as Lear jets descended. Hands grabbed immediately for the falling papers. Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead then pulled out a cigar and lit it.

And this is only the beginning, he smiled.

The F-16 expelled white smoke and drew huge letters against the blue sky — U.S. AIR FORCE. All nine of the Angels landed simultaneously. The public came to their feet and an incessant applause filled the desert’s stadium.

Congratulations! You made me proud this time, said a large, handsome gentleman with silver-gray hair neatly brushed back.

Jack turned around as quickly as he could, express his doggishly loyal smile, but just as quickly changed it into a jealous smirk. The key-owner’s remark was addressed to the executive director who was beaming with pride.

He didn’t even mention my name, thought Lomar, grinding his teeth, revealing the pulsating muscles of his jaw.

That evening, the entire attention was on the MGM. Neon lights, shining billboards, together with billions of flickering lamplets, completely covered the building, immersing it into a living body of shimmering light. The fountains were glowing, lavishly casting in the air countless diamonds of their water droplets.

Soaked in the luminescent ocean of energy, thousands of people surrounded the one and only MGM Hotel. It was virtually impossible to buy a ticket for the event. The show had been sold out weeks in advance. Reservations were made from out-of-town, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles and, of course, Washington D.C.

Las Vegas lived in anticipation of the premiere of the best and newest show on Earth, World War III. Word of the spectacular event spread as far as the Oval Office and the President and First Lady were expected.

Nine pilots were ushered into the central row of tables. The wine menus were offered and an array of the best Italian and French beverages were slipped in a large tray filled with snow. Later, a waiter steadily rolled them near the guests’ table. The lights dimmed.

Ladies and gentlemen, boomed the voice behind the stage curtain. The President of the United States and the First Lady.

Everyone turned around and looked up at the balcony.

A distinguished-looking middle-aged man rose up and nodded, his intelligent face revealing a vague but pleasant smile. His wife nodded without rising. The crowd quietly applauded.

The same voice continued, And the stars of the Blue Angels’ air display, our honorary guests, the pilots of the United States Air Force.

The announcer read the names. The team of nine evenly stood, turned around and bowed first to the President and First Lady, and then to the spectators.

Lights went out and the sound ceased.

A low, velvet baritone voice entered, People of the earth, the forthcoming production is only a fantasy of human minds. But maybe from the madness of events that will be displayed here on stage, reason across the globe will prevail and a definite halt will be put on current arms races. The show is our cry out against any possibility of the World War.

The music score shook the air and, after a short pause, the same baritone persevered: "World War Three!"

A picture of Earth was projected on the stage curtain and the blue fog began to creep around it. The music grew forebodingly in proportion to the enlarging image of the earth. The image crept outwards, covering the entire screen. But then abruptly a splashing sound of cymbals burst and the heavy cloth opened, splitting the picture of the earth in half. Subtly gliding apart, the stage curtain slowly began to unveil the bright and lively stage with its colorful décor. The idea was to first show the beauty of this, God’s place, artistically but truthfully portray the life of its feasting, happy-go-lucky inhabitants, and then counteract it all with the war and nuclear nightmare.

The eve before the upheaval. Green gardens grew on the stage, multiple waterfalls murmured down from the mountains meandering between canyons.

Electrifying fashionable music broke the quiet beauty of nature and hundreds of scantily dressed female dancers in full-fledged Las Vegas style poured out onto the stage.

Action whisked the audience to various continents and countries. Within minutes, it took them through historic times and conflicts, making the viewers relive the rich history of their unique planet. Just when everyone was enchanted with the abundance of their land, the roaring sound of airplane engines violently cut into the harmony of the event. The public twitched.

Three computerized miniature jets passed right above John’s head, causing him to unintentionally duck. He quickly regained a proper posture and, somewhat embarrassed, looked around. Of course, every pilot of his air team noticed, but purposely concealed their smiles. Red-faced, John continued to watch the show.

An airplane dogfight began. The shot-down planes were descending behind the backdrop and exploding there.

Two helicopters landed on stage and girls dressed as nurses poured out of them. They portrayed the rescuers of the wounded soldiers in an eerie dance. Finally, nuclear explosions were produced. The newest creation of computerized stage effects made it look almost real.

The earth caught on fire and was momentarily scorched before the spectators’ very eyes. Then the stage floor was covered with dark fog, leaving motionless the ash-brown bodies of actors.

This is only fiction. Reality could be worse, finished the voice as the curtain closed.

Silence filled the showroom. The mesmerized crowd was slowly digesting the lurid spectacle. It was the kind of a show that made one forget about a drink or meal and commanded complete attention.

If only all the warmongers of the world had come together that evening and seen the show, it probably would have done more good than all the peace symposiums and treaties. Many couldn’t help but think that way.

The curtain again opened and spotlights focused on bowing actors. The crowd stood. No applause followed, just the silence of the standing audience.

Tired and nearly soaking wet in sweat, Jack Lomar walked out through a backstage door into a deserted backyard. He blotted the sweat from his neck and, closing his eyes, greedily sniffed the air, but quickly let it out. Disdainfully grimacing, he spit as he found himself surrounded by poignant garbage cans.

Well, thought Jack out loud, at least I made my money.

CHAPTER TWO

The Mysterious Blonde

As soon as the front drop descended, the showroom quickly converted into a restaurant. Servants, busboys and photographers, along with the keno girls, became visible when the house lights were turned on. They filled the empty passages between the tables.

Some turned back, trying to see the President, but his chair was already vacant. Several waiters rolled in a huge two-story tray with crisp duck, steaks, and lobster tails covering the upper deck. Nine baked potatoes were wrapped in silver foil and topped with cheese, sliced pineapple, cantaloupe, and several bottles of Heineken filled the lower deck of the dinner tray — meal for the pilots.

Gee! exclaimed one of the officers. If all of this is for us, then I am afraid that our Angels won’t be able to take off tomorrow!

In that case, I’ll have to order nine laxatives! exclaimed John.

For us? questioned the officer.

No, for the Angels, answered John, holding back a smile.

Shortly after the meal, John pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

I didn’t think you’d smoke, came an intriguing feminine voice from behind.

McFarland turned his head over his shoulder. His eyes grew wide as they encountered the sexy figure of a tall, beautiful blonde