To Live Again

By Charles DeLuca

During the height of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union, Jeremy Silver, an up and coming New York City councilman and candidate for Congress, meets and is completely smitten by Christine Evans. Her history pulls them both into an intrigue that takes them from NYC and Washington to the heart of Russia. A great appreciation and colorful description of Russian history is leavened by the intertwining of two passionate love stories, that of Jeremy and Chris, and a half century earlier that of Chriss grandparents, Count Yuri and the Countess Natashia. Jeremys adoration of Chris leads him to blindly act for her and her family putting their lives and his career in jeopardy.

To Live Again has many twists and turns that lead to a surprise ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491768709

Charles DeLuca

Charles De Luca, is a self-made businessman and an accomplished martial artist, yachtsman, and horseman. He and his wife live on Long Island, New York and Jupiter, Florida. A life-long interest in Russian history and literature, several research trips to Leningrad/St Petersburg, imagination and an inborn sense of adventure bring this novel, To Live Again, to life. His first published novel was The Sign Of The Server, 1987, New American Library.

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Copyright © 2015 Charles DeLuca.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-6869-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-6870-9 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 07/02/2015

CONTENTS

To Live Again

Prologue

The Committee

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Yuri And Natashia

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

The Committee

For my children

Beauty will save the world

Dostoevsky

TO LIVE AGAIN

How can I accept death when life is so beautiful?

The joys of love are so rewarding.

How can I think of all the joys and tears

One spends in a lifetime are only to be dissolved.

Can it be we were born just to die?

I cannot accept something so definite.

It’s that lust for life that inspires

All the people of the arts.

They all make the same statement.

They want to live again.

PROLOGUE

The poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow summed up the spiritualist philosophy; there is no death, what seems so, is transition. The Hindu’s believe we are spiritual beings, having a human experience. They also believe the ghosts of people who die before their time, are reborn through other souls.

For three centuries Russia was ruled by the tsars but a storm was building on the horizon, a tempest that would blow away a way of life that only rewarded the rich. Thousands of Russians would drown in the blood of revolution and the nobility would cease to exist. The prelude to the revolution was compounded by greed and bigotry. When the revolution came it was no surprise. The world knew a time of reckoning had finally come. To that end, communism was embraced for the good of the people, so they said. It’s 1978 and Russia and the United States are playing cat and mouse in a cold war. Meanwhile there are those just waiting to settle old scores.

THE COMMITTEE

The Soviet Embassy in Washington D. C. during the height of the cold war. A red flag covered the expanse of an entire wall like blood from Stalin’s purge. It was a time when half of Europe was in the grip of communism and the KGB was a nightmare to anyone who opposed them.

A Russian marine in a green uniform carried a large box under his arm. He peeked into the box admiring the charcoal grey Brooks Brothers suit adorned with fine white pinstripes. He shook his head negatively knowing he could never afford such fine clothing. The guard paused in front of a metal door, taking a key from his pocket.

Inside the room, Serge Koblevsky paced back and forth like a caged cat. He took a long drag on his cigarette then put it out by squeezing the lit end with his fingers. His meal sat on the table uneaten. He heard the guard. His eyes went to the door. A metal key turned loudly in the latch. He knew it was the sound of time running out on him. The guard stepped into the room and looked at the full plate on the table.

"You did not touch your food, comrade?

Serge Koblevsky just stared at a meal his countrymen would fight over. He showed fatigue and his craggy face was testament to the hard life that brought him to this place. He lit his last cigarette, pulled in a deep drag then crumpled the pack. There was anger in his eyes and his response was edged with frustration.

How can I eat when I am being treated as a prisoner? I reported the crime! I did not commit it!

The guard became patronizing. You have nothing to fear. Look…State Security has even given you a gift. The guard handed Serge a box. Serge was leery and hesitated. He knew the KGB wasn’t known for its generosity, only their one way trips to Siberia.

What is it?

Look for yourself comrade. Open it.

Serge looked at the guard suspiciously as he opened the box. His eyes glared when he saw the suit.

Now I understand. They think my testimony will be more convincing if I look like one of them…yes?

The guard was annoyed. You are ungrateful. Now dress quickly. Two of our people are waiting for you.

Serge smirked with a suspicious smile as he lifted the suit from the box. He felt the fine material as he mumbled to himself, America, what a wonderful country. The government told us Americans were a deprived people. What a lie that is, but then again it’s not the first time they lied to us. I must compose myself, I still need their trust.

After Serge changed his clothes the guard took him to the other end of the hallway where two KGB agents stood coldly, bringing a chill to the passageway. The agents fell in step on either side of Serge as they marched him down the stairs. The three men moved forward as one, keeping in step to a silent tune only they could hear. As they approached the lobby a well-dressed woman, the first Serge had seen in several weeks, passed them. She smiled at the three men but didn’t say a word.

Serge peered at her thinking of his beloved Tattiana. How he missed the warmth of her touch and the promises they made to each other. The first time he saw her was at the ballet in Leningrad. He was a trainee with state security and his job was to keep an eye on the long legged ballerina. He was in awe at how she could leap like a gazelle and float like a falcon in flight. Her taunt body was every woman’s envy. In the weeks that followed Serge and Tattiana became good friends. Several months later they were lovers. They would meet in the most innocuous places. The prop room at the theatre was one of their rendezvous. Tattiana was a passionate lover. As time went by her love became his addiction, making him realize he would do anything to be with this special love. Then, one-day, Serge’s world was shattered. Tattiana and the ballet had to leave for an extended tour in the United States. Don’t forget me were her parting words. As she gazed at him he felt her love completely. She had a luminescence that went to his very core. The last letter he received from her described America as a place where dreams came true. That was the last he heard from her. Serge became concerned and made inquiries. His sources told him Tattiana defected while performing in New York. Now he wondered if he would ever see her again.

The KGB agents kept Serge sandwiched between them as they took him out the front door. Serge loosened his tie. He felt good walking on the outside and breathing fresh air. His eyes focused on the people he saw along the wide thoroughfare. They all looked content. Serge was amazed how they took their freedom for granted. He thought about Tattiana’s last letter and understood what she meant when she said there is no place like America.

So, this is Washington, D. C. Serge remarked, as he paused for a moment. The buildings, they are so white!

One of the agents took Serge by the arm. Come, we did not bring you to admire the architecture. Do what is expected of you and when this is over, we will send you on holiday to Leningrad. There you can see all the beautiful buildings you want.

The agent was right about Leningrad. It was second to none for beautiful buildings. Because of its vast network of canals, Leningrad was called the Venice of the North but only the upper classes enjoyed the city. The working people couldn’t afford the lifestyle. Lenin’s promise of equality for all the people was a farce. Only Communist Party members were offered first class status.

As they entered a waiting car, the driver handed a newspaper to one of the agents. The headline read, CONGRESSMAN INPLICATED IN THEFT OF RUSSIAN ARTIFACTS. The agent turned to Serge Koblevsky. This is good, now you must do your part.

Serge swallowed hard as he looked at the bold print. His hands trembled because he knew he was part of the headlines. He looked away from the newspaper and out the window at the passing scenery, wondering if all his problems would go away after he’d finished with the day’s events. Then he remembered what his father told him. ‘Have faith in yourself and maybe you can take control of your future.’ Serge had faith in himself but knew his future was in the hands of the KGB. And there was no future in that!

When they reached their destination, the KGB Agents led Serge out of the car, holding each arm and guiding his every step, as if he was a blind man. Serge never felt more like a prisoner.

Cherry blossoms dominated the scenery as the three men walked up the steps of the Congressional Building.

Meanwhile the investigating committee waited impatiently behind a long polished conference table, surrounded by reporters and spectators. Franklin Updike, the Chairman of this Congressional Committee, shifted nervously in his chair. He had witnessed some of the more pressing issues flowing through Congress. Now he had the task of investigating Jeremy Silvers, a fellow representative.

Updike placed his hand over the microphone, while leaning toward Congressman Ned Dayton of Ohio.

Your friend, Jeremy Silvers, is late. No one keeps the Congress of the United States waiting.

Come on Franklin, give Jeremy some slack. He’s got enough problems. He doesn’t need you pressuring him.

Do you think I like being his judge? I’m just doing my job and if you don’t do yours, it’s going to cost you.

Ned Dayton was Congressman Silvers’ closest friend in Washington. Now, he wondered if their friendship might jeopardize his own career. The hearing room was jammed to capacity with media people adjusting their cameras. The paparazzi were like hyenas waiting to take a carcass apart.

Bill Conners, Congressman Silvers’ attorney, kept glancing at his watch. Each ticking minute meant the committee investigating this matter was growing more impatient. Meanwhile a reporter addressed Chairman Updike.

Mr. Chairman, someone once said prominence and respectability can be the greatest cover in executing a crime.

Updike became annoyed. Mr. Cooper, I think your innuendoes are uncalled for. Let me remind you members of the media this is only a preliminary inquiry and at this point we don’t know if there are any improprieties.

The reporter snapped back. And what about the trips Congressman Silvers took at taxpayer’s expense?

Chairman Updike lashed out. You know Cooper you’re like an old pit bull, once you latch on you never let go. Even though you’re out of order, I’ll give you an answer to that remark. From what I’m told the trip was arranged and paid for by the Soviet Cultural Exchange Commission.

The reporter shot back, but what about the artifacts in question?

Updike’s frustration was obvious. That’s it! No more questions until I get some answers, myself.

Chairman Updike turned to Congressman Dayton, his hand still over the microphone. When those Russians get here, maybe we can shed some light on this whole situation.

Updike looked at his watch. In fact they should be walking through the door any minute.

Ned Dayton couldn’t contain himself. The thought of seeing his best friend brought before this committee was upsetting to him. Damn, Jeremy has only been in Congress six months and already he’s in deep shit with the angry Russian bear! I think the Soviets are setting him up to make us look bad.

Maybe so…but he’s the one who got himself in this mess in the first place and if Silvers doesn’t walk through that door within the next five minutes, I’m going to serve him with a contempt of Congress citation.

Before Dayton could respond the suspense was broken. Both politicians gazed across the room as three men entered. Their clothing was American but their faces were definitely Slavic. They looked like throw backs from the forties. Dayton covered his microphone then whispered to Updike. So these are the guys trying to nail Jeremy: Larry, Curly and Moe.

Updike was annoyed. That’s not funny.

Not funny! I’ll tell you what’s not funny. We saved Russia’s ass during the Second World War. We gave them half of Europe and now they’re challenging us with a cold war. That’s not funny!

Don’t get carried away Dayton. That was then. We’ve got a problem to resolve now.

But every time I think about it, I get crazy.

Well, try to contain yourself.

I guess you’re right…so who’s the guy in the middle?

Serge Koblevsky, he’s the witness I told you about. They brought him all the way from Russia to substantiate their charges.

Witness, look at this guy! Dayton choked back a laugh. Poor bastard looks like the guest of honor at a lynching! I’ll bet his family will end up in a concentration camp if he doesn’t do what he is told. You know how they keep their people in fear. What a way to live.

That’s not our concern. Remember the world is watching what we do here today.

Yea, I know but they’re still a bunch of bastards.

As the Russians make their way down the aisle, tension filled the Congressional Hearing room. Everyone wondered if the outcome of this inquiry would end the career of Congressman Jeremy Silvers, a political rising star. The Russians sneered at the members of the Committee as they made eye contact. Then they took their seats up front, opposite Chairman Updike. The members of the Committee stared back at the Russians with equal contempt.

Just then the doors opened and Congressman Silvers entered. Camera men aimed their cameras at Silvers as he took his first steps into the hearing room. There was a cathedral-like quietness as he made his way down the aisle. The silence was broken, as newspaper reporters swamped Jeremy with questions. Flashbulbs recorded the moment for the American public. He was photographed from every angle, for every newspaper in the country. Jeremy was a charismatic man with boyish good looks reminiscent of the Kennedys and the dimple in his chin made you think of Kirk Douglas. His dark hair and deep-set eyes complimented the relaxed expression radiating from his face. He appeared very much in control, even though his world was about to be scrutinized by a Congressional Committee of his peers.

Meanwhile Serge Koblevsky who was seated between the two KGB agents looked around the room as if he expected someone to deliver him from his predicament. He didn’t move a muscle but his eyes shifted from left to right. He watched as the KGB agents concentrated on Jeremy. For the first time no one was watching him. Serge realized all the waiting came down to this unguarded moment. He seized the opportunity by driving his elbow into the jaw of one of the KGB agents. A split second later Serge was in the aisle running toward Jeremy.

Jeremy saw Serge Koblevsky barreling toward him. He quickly stepped to the side allowing the Russian to pass then deliberately stepped back into the aisle. The Soviets in hot pursuit collided with Jeremy, knocking him to the floor. Koblevsky’s instinct told him to keep on going. All he could see was the massive mahogany door and freedom. The two KGB agents, disregarding Jeremy, climbed over him and continued to chase Koblevsky out the door. The reporters jumped at the chance to record the incident.

Chairman Updike leaned toward Dayton with his hand still covering the microphone. Did you see what I saw? Silvers deliberately blocked those two, so Koblevsky could make a run for it. That Ruskie’s defecting!

Congressman Dayton answered, while covering his microphone. This doesn’t make sense. Why would Jeremy help that Russian?

Updike was flustered. You’re asking me? I’m starting to wonder. Maybe there’s some truth in what the Russians have to say about him.

I hope not. I hate giving their leader Krushchev, another excuse to bang his shoes on the table.

With the wind knocked out of him, Jeremy brushed himself off before getting up. He took a seat next to his attorney, Bill Conners, a man whose serious demeanor was exceeded only by his logic. His face adorned Time Magazine and was recognized for his ability to champion unpopular causes.

Meanwhile the hearing room was buzzing over the strange turn of events. The truth of the matter was everyone saw Jeremy help the Russian make a run for it.

Order…Order… Chairman Updike shouted while slamming the gavel. This is a Congressional hearing—not a media circus! Updike turned to Jeremy. Congressman Silvers are you okay?

I’m fine, Mr. Chairman, just give me a moment.

At this point, Chairman Updike realized an international incident was brewing and addressed the spectators.

I’d like to remind all of you, this committee is not being conducted for the nightly news. This is an inquiry concerning allegations made by the Soviet Union implicating Congressman Silvers. Updike turned to the stenographer, Let the record show Congressman Silvers is being represented by counsel. Now that I’ve said my piece—can we get on with the hearing?

Jeremy’s attorney Bill Conners stood up. Mr. Chairman in light of the circumstances, I move for a dismissal!

Updike was quick to respond, Denied, Counselor!

Conners became frustrated as if a terrible injustice was being done to his client. He pointed to the chair that only a moment ago was occupied by Serge Koblevsky. But Mr. Chairman, even their own people refuse to testify. That man was their major witness and we all saw what he did.

Yes Counselor, we all saw what happened and it looked like your client was instrumental in the defection of that Russian. And that disturbs me.

Mr. Chairman the mere fact my client found himself in Koblevsky path doesn’t mean he was in league with the witness. This inquiry is rapidly becoming a farce and I think you know it.

I know no such thing but you’re entitled to your opinion, Counselor. As for this committee, we intend to expedite this farce, as you call it, to a meaningful end.

Updike made eye contact with Jeremy. Are we in agreement, Congressman Silvers?

We are, Mr. Chairman.

Good. Then, consider yourself sworn in and under oath. I’m going to dispense with the preliminaries and come to the point. Did you remove priceless artifacts from the Soviet Union?

Bill Conners leaned forward practically swallowing the microphone. His voice boomed out. Mr. Chairman! My client wants to cooperate but PLEASE don’t ask him to incriminate himself in the process.

Jeremy stood up then placed his hand on his lawyer’s shoulders. Bill, it’s okay. I owe this Committee an explanation. Besides, the truth is my strongest argument.

Jeremy, as your counsel, I must advise you against this.

So noted, then Jeremy turned his attention to Updike. Mr. Chairman, it’s a long story.

I’m sure it is Congressman but we have the time. Please continue.

Jeremy cleared his throat before he spoke. Everyone in the room settled back to listen. The silence was eerie.

Actually, my mother is responsible for the Byzantine events that brought me here today.

Updike looked at Dayton with a surprised look on his face. He turned to Jeremy with his voice faltering as he boomed out, your mother?

Yes, Mr. Chairman, my mother. It all started eight months ago to the day. I remember as if it was yesterday. I was running for Congress and…

CHAPTER ONE

September had been a hot month and the cool breezes of October were a welcome relief. My penthouse apartment was littered with posters proclaiming, Councilman Jeremy Silvers for Congress. I awoke with the ringing of the phone. This pivotal day began with an ordinary wakeup call no different than any other morning. With one hand reaching toward the nightstand, I looked through the large picture windows encircling my bedroom. Outside Manhattan was awakening to a beautiful October morning and, soon, the streets would be bustling with people feeling the excitement of the city. I enjoyed these first days of autumn, when the trees in Central Park turned every shade of crimson and orange.

The phone rang again and again.

I picked up the receiver.

Good morning, Councilman Silvers, a soft feminine voice said cheerfully. It’s 6:45.

Thank you, I yawned into the receiver. You’ve been my wake up operator for quite some time. Tell me, do you look as good as you sound?

The operator was seated with a headset straining from her bouffant hairdo. She was pleasantly plump, with a moon face, dunking a large, chocolate donut into a glass of diet coke. She laughed to herself knowing her beauty was in the melody of her voice. She softly responded. Beauty is my middle name Councilman. Have a nice day.

I laughed as I pushed myself from the bed. Women, you never can tell.

I began my daily routine of sit-ups, followed by a cold shower. I took a serious look at myself, while drying off in front of a full-length mirror. My few gray hairs were in dignified contrast to my tight rippled stomach. I felt good about myself and wondered if I could look this good for the next twenty years.

After pouring a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, I set out my vitamins, while waiting patiently for the whole-wheat toast to pop.

Always eat something before taking vitamins. I could still hear the echo of my mother’s words.

Mom, my eyes darted to the calendar.

October sixth.

I almost forgot my mother’s birthday! It was her sacrifices that put me through Wharton Business School.

I frowned like an ungrateful child, while trying to recall the name of her favorite perfume. I decided to stop at Bloomingdale’s on the way to the office. I was running for Congress and time was at a premium. Jack Gerber, my campaign manager, wouldn’t like the idea of my detour because he’d taken such pain in organizing my day. He was a definite plus, and I probably couldn’t get elected without him.

My penthouse was the zenith of luxury, complete with a panoramic view. I was heavily invested in real estate because sky scrapers are structures that do nothing but make money, and the higher you go, the more you can charge. I wasn’t always into high-risers. I got into real estate in the late fifties taking advantage of a depressed real estate market. Many of the owners of brownstones were senior citizens with depleted incomes. Times changed for them and not to their advantage. Some were forced to sell while others were repossessed by banks. I put together a group of investors knowing it was just a matter of time and the city would rebound, stronger than ever. We bought all the brownstones we could get our hands on, three hundred to be exact. When the market came back several years later we realized a million plus per unit after refurbishing costs. After that windfall everyone wanted to invest in my group. I was a lawyer by profession but an entrepreneur at heart.

As I entered my private elevator, I felt like one of the select few. My neighbors were Hollywood moguls and captains of industry. The elevator dropped like gravity never existed, stirring butterflies in my stomach. It was a feeling I could never get used to but it was a small price to pay to be a member of the new aristocracy. There was a time when the kings and queens ruled the world. Now it’s the chairmen of the great corporations that are the nobles and the purchasing public their subjects. A hundred years ago the crown heads of Europe intermarried to keep the power in the family. Today it’s the intermarrying of the corporations. Now you buy German and Japanese cars built in the U. S. and Chevrolets put together in Canada. It’s funny how the world has changed.

Stepping from the elevator, I nodded