The Soviet Way: The Hunter Series, #0.5

By Aaron Michael Ricossa

High school is hard enough…but for Travis Hunter, surviving the captain of the football team wanting to knock his teeth out and the school's feared principal breathing down his neck, is nothing compared to trying to stop a soviet spy from stealing NATO secrets…all while on a field trip to Washington D.C.

1983 – Michael Jackson is at his prime, Star Wars is filling the big screen, and all the while the cold war is bubbling below the surface. Any moment that bubble could burst, leaving nothing but a nuclear holocaust behind. The best spies in the world work tirelessly to give their country the advantage and keep the world in one piece, and yet it's a boy, a mere teenager who doesn't even have his driver's license yet, who will decide the fate of billions.

Trust and mistrust blur as Hunter stumbles his way through the day. His only hope is that the feeling can guide him down the right path. The fate of the world may rest on a feeling that Hunter has yet to master or even fully understand. A feeling, it turns out, he may not be alone in having.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Ricossa
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9788797276587

Book preview

Chapter 1

An indentation. That’s it. Not a note. Not a message to be seen, but still something to be found. A note written and torn away, the remnants left behind, unknown to their creator. It could have been anything, but it wasn’t. It was exactly the kind of thing he was looking for. It was exactly why he broke in.

With the light touch of the side of a pencil’s tip rubbed back and forth, the message is revealed. A date and time, tomorrow at 11…that’s no coincidence. It can’t be. It’s a cover. And the location, at the blue whale, leaves little to the imagination. The small message below, however, is exactly what he feared and is exactly why he’s here. NATO War Games.

Chapter 2

1983 – Washington D.C.

A flash of red swipes past the small window, catching his eye, but by the time he turns, it’s gone. He squints, waiting to see if it passes again. With no movement, no flash of red, he’s forced to return his attention to his class. The students stare at him expectantly, waiting patiently for the second half of his sentence.

…and that is why many believe that Achilles’ relationship with his cousin Patroclus, was more than that of just friendship or family.

His eyes dart back to the window and his distraction causes him to miss the confused looks and snickers of his students.

Wait, Mr. O, you tellin’ me Achilles was a fruitcake?

The laughter pulls his attention back to the students at hand.

I didn’t even know there were gay people back then, another student comments.

Yes, in fact, at that time in Greece it would not have been looked upon as strange or uncommon for a man to lie with another man. It was quite normal actually. Only later with the blossoming of Christianity did such things become taboo.

Well being a fairy sure as shit ain’t normal now.

Most of the guys in the class laugh, with many of the girls joining in as well. Though as times are changing, you can see that these terms don’t sit well with all the students. The teacher, however, being from an older generation, does nothing to stop this kind of talk, and in fact, chuckles along with his class.

The door to the hallway opens and Principal McKinley steps in. The class instantly stops laughing, the smiles wiped from their faces. Her sour complexion scans the room. She’s old, not just old for a principal, but old for a human. Most adults can remember exactly where they were when Kennedy was assassinated. She’s so old, she can probably remember where she was when Lincoln was assassinated.

Her hair, shorter than most women’s, shoots out in all directions as if she came to school today by skydiving onto campus. The dark mascara around her eyes, giving a raccoon effect, only makes her gaze more piercing. But her most noticeable feature is her crooked nose, jutting left, then right, and bending down at the tip, making her look like some sort of ancient vulture ready to pick off whichever student steps out of line first.

You’ve got a new student joining your class.

Another newbie? the young man in the letterman jacket who made the fruitcake comment accidentally blurts out. Instantly he realizes his mistake. McKinley’s eyes pierce his own and the only sound in the room is his audible gulp.

Thank you Mr. Davis for volunteering to show our new student around, she says without breaking eye contact, as she grabs a fistful of the new student’s shirt and yanks him into the classroom. Mr. Olsen, see to it that Mr. Davis carries out his duty.

The teacher nods quickly and signals the student sitting next to the jock in the letterman jacket to move.

Absolutely Ma’am, Johnny will be nothing but—

His sentence is cut off by the sound of the door to his classroom slamming as Principal McKinley leaves.

—helpful.

A collective sigh escapes from the class and from Johnny Davis. The large captain of the football team ignores the small bead of sweat on his forehead. With McKinley gone, his muscles relax and his cocky grin returns.

Well then, you can take a seat by Johnny. I assume you’ve read the Iliad, which is what we are covering today. So tell me… the teacher’s voice trails expectantly, but only silence responds.

Say your name dipshit, the kid who moved back one seat to make way for the new student says, kicking his chair in the process.

The other students laugh again as the scrawny pint of a kid nearly falls trying to take his seat beside the man sized football player next to him. He has dark hair that flops over his forehead, and clothes that clearly don’t fit in. The class is made up of girls in skirts and blouses, while the boys wear blue jeans and button-ups. The new kid sits in clothes two sizes too big and two generations too old.

László, the new kid says, looking up at the teacher rather than beside him at Johnny, who stares threateningly.

László… the teacher says it like a toddler trying to sound out a word he doesn’t know. Where are you from?

He debates his answer but decides to simply tell the truth. Hungary.

The class laughs. Yeah I’m sure you are hungry, you little runt, a football player says from the back of the class.

Say what country you’re from, the kid behind him says as he kicks the chair, slamming László into the desk in front of him.

Now, now, the teacher interrupts, he gave a real answer. Hungary is a socialist country in Eastern Europe, believed to be controlled by the Soviet Union.

The extra bit of information is exactly what László didn’t want the others to know.

So László, tell me what you think about Prince Hector’s agreeing to dual Achilles. Was it a smart decision, given Achilles’ superior skill in combat?

László looks from side to side, all eyes staring at him. He knows the smart thing to do is to simply shrug, claim he doesn’t know Homer’s epic poem or the story at all. He knows he should simply fade from the spotlight and try to not cause a scene, but he also knows that he’s never been able to shut his mouth before the words start spilling out.

Of course, the fight had to happen either way. He might as well embrace it with honor. But that’s not the real question here, is it? László can feel goosebumps prickle his arms. He knows what he’s about to say and knows what’s coming, but he can’t help himself, he can’t stop. You’re wanting to know if I’m an idiot or not. If I can read a book and answer a question. Or if like the tub of lard next to me, I can only stare blankly waiting for the moment when I get to kick the new kids face in.

László finishes his comment just as the bell rings and Johnny dives at him. Caught up in his desk, it tips, and he pulls László’s desk down to the floor with him. The class erupts into a frenzy as the other football players crash through the desks like wolves after their prey. The light flicks off and a moment later when Mr. Olsen flips it back on, László’s gone.

Okay, okay, before you go, can you just put the desks back—

No one listens to the teacher as the five letterman jackets are already rushing toward the door, the rest of the students hot on their heels. Whether you like them or not, no one wants to miss the football team pulverizing the new kid. It’s the only thing the school will be talking about for days.

Just before the students tumble through the door and out into the hall, László is yanked backward, disappearing from view. On the other side of