HOW WE ELECTED THE AMERICAN PRESIDENT: HOW TEENAGERS FROM THE TOWN OF VELES IN MACEDONIA, WITH THE FAKE NEWS, ENABLED DONALD TRUMP TO BECOME THE PRESIDENT OF THE USA

By Aleksandar Kukulev

The novel "How We Elected the American President”, leaves the reader without breath from the first until the last page. Aleksandar Sashko Kukulev with his characteristic narration created sharp minded and in the same time provocative novel, that makes the reader to yearn and see this on a huge movie screen. In the same time, yearns to see a sequel, since the characters that are mentioned in episodes are very powerful and deserve this

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781471021343

Book preview

JURIJ

Good afternoon Sir. Do you have something to declare? – asked the polite passport control one stop spot clerk on the Skopje airport.

No, nothing, except the personal luggage, answered the gentleman with fair hair, who has just got down from the Russian commercial plane Tupoljev that landed 15 minutes ago on the airport. 

The purpose of your stay in the country?, the one stop spot clerk routinely asked.

My visit has a business purpose- replied the blond Russian gentleman.

"Thank you, Sir, have a nice business stay in The Republic of Macedonia – theatrically announced the polite one stop spot clerk, thus gaping in the cute Russian gentleman, who apparently met her peaky aesthetic criteria.

Tall, with neat fair hair, carefully combed with sharp parting, Jurij Sukharov was a handsome young man.

"Thank you, you are very kind – replied Jurij through pleasant grin, thus picking up his luggage and going towards the exit number four of the modern airport building.

The fall in Macedonia, that little country in the heart of the Balkan Peninsula, knows to be extremely boring. Cold in so many different colors and in the same time unpredictably rainy, Macedonia not even from a far is not an ideal destination for a visit in this time of the year. The sharp wind that welcomed Jurij after stepping out from the airport building was not the warmest welcome for someone who comes in totally unknown country for the first time. The unwashed yellow taxi limousine that geometrically precise stopped in front of Jurij, and was ideally fitting in the boring autumn Skopje evening, the Macedonian capital, coldly darkened and tired from the day that has passed by. Jurij opened the car door and comfortably sat on the back seat.

Where to? – was heard more as a threat then as polite question regarding the destination, from the taxi driver' s eyes, that Jurij could only see on the inside car rearview mirror.

Nerezi on the mountain Vodno over Skopje, пожа́луйста pronounced Jurij with a tone that sounded more like a request.

Ha ha ha, you are Russian, bakjushka! – the taxi driver in the yellow dirty limousine cheered up.

Да, ја Руски – murmured Jurij something in a token of confirmation.

Why do not you say so brother! - shouted happily the taxi driver. We are orthodox, we are brothers – tried to speak the taxi driver of the yellow dirty limousine.

Yes, we are Orthodox – said Jurij in a sign of approval.

Russia is big… Putin very good! – exclaimed the taxi driver from the front seat, thus leaving impression as if he was talking to a person with special needs, who needs additional explanation for every single word. Jurij was laughing, trying to overcome the awquard situation created by the local taxi driver, for whom probably this was the first Russian passenger in his long taxi career, transferring passengers from the Skopje airport to the city center. The driver of the yellow dirty limousine was talking about a lot other things, like the monuments in Skopje, then the biggest monument in the world dedicated to the Alexander the Great, about the beauties of Vardar, the night life and the beautiful city girls, yet Jurij was not even listening to him, soaked in the thoughts with which he has already arrived on the place that he was looking forward to it.

Almost after half an hour uniform monotony, the dirty yellow taxi engine stopped. Jurij did not even listen to the amount that was asked from the talkative driver. As if automatically, in the pocket of his short leather jacket, he found his wallet and took out a bill that most probably was more than enough to cover the effort of the talkative taxi driver.

Gorno Nerezi, ten kilometers southwest from Skopje. From here, as if at a glance, the cold city lights can be seen, thus preparing for taking a rest. The autumn wind on Vodno, the mountain that proudly rises above Skopje, penetrates the skin and creates unpleasant cold. With accelerated step, as if wanting to escape from the night that commenced covering the mountain, Jurij directed towards the place of the scheduled meeting, the church of St. Panteleimon, situated hundred meters from the place where Jurij split up from the talkative taxi driver. The grandeur monastery church left him breathless. What a beautiful message from the Orthodox past, he thought, while going down the few stone stairs leading towards the monastery entrance. As if in time capsule, thus enabling exciting walk through centuries, Jurij was touching the bricks out of which the monastery was constructed. The outstretched hand that ran along the rough edges of the dilapidated bricks was kind of a shaking hands with the Prince Alexei, son of Constantin Angel and Theodora, daughter of Alexei I Comnen, who made this monastery 11 centuries ago. The beautiful Orthodox…Jurij was repeating silently, enchanted by the beauty of the temple. All of a sudden, he heard deep male voice that for a moment distracted him from the inspiration of the centuries.

This temple, of the holy and renowned Panteleimon was beautified with funds from Mr. Alexei Comnen, son of the graceful Theodora in September, 1164 when Joanakij the monk was the abbot. Jurij turned around. On his face, a happy, friendly grin started to show.

"Father Sofronij! I am very happy to see you.

Welcome Jurij, welcome son - replied the old priest.

How long it has been? –asked the old man with a happy smile.

If I remember correctly, fifteen years have passed from our last meeting in Kiev, replied Jurij, thus spreading his arms for a sincere hug with the old friend.

Welcome son… –the old priest was repeating. Let’s go inside. They both passed under the monastery entrance door and got inside.

Listen to me father – Jurij commenced. My time is very short, is it all right here? – he asked.

Yes, everything is ready, you know the assignment very well and if you need something, you can ask our monastery protector... Now, pardon me, I have to prepare for tonight’s liturgy – said the old man calmly and with slow, yet secure steps got out of the monastery. Jurij understood the message. The monastery protector whom the old priest was talking about, was the icon of St. Panteleimon. Jurij came close to it, crossing his hands and immediately putting his hand in the free space behind the icon. Swiftly, he took out the leather small bag that was left there for him. He crossed his arms once again in front of the icon of the monastery protector and with fast pace through the entrance door he got far away from the meeting point. After he passed around fifty meters, he stopped for a moment under the street monastery parking light. He unzipped the leather bag skillfully, there was everything: false passport on the name of Navalni, laptop, cell phone with local network, his favorite weapon, APB 6P13 gun Stechkin 9/18 with laser sight and gun silencer, two plastic figures Misha loaded with plastic explosive, built in detonator and remote control activator, the allocated funds for this action in amount of 40.000 € and electronic car keys from a Mercedes C-300, that with a touch and a peak sound lit the milky white lights of the limousine that was parked on the monastery parking. The narrow and crooked road, which from the mountain Vodno leads to Skopje, was lit only by the Mercedes headlights in which was Jurij. The autumn silence and cold from the glow, coming from Skopje in October, from minute into minute was becoming closer and closer, were distorted from the latest news coming from the mahogany car radio: "The Democrats candidate for Presidential Elections in the USA, Hilary Clinton, scores compared to her opponent Donald Trump with 12%, show the published survey today. According to the ABC News Agency and Washington Post public opinion research, Hilary Clinton is supported by 50% compared to 38% won by the Republicans candidate, Donald Trump. Trump has bigger support among the white (55-35), informs the agency AFP. Hilary Clinton double increased the advantage among 32% of educated white women and the survey shows for the first time that she has bigger support among male population that currently amounts 44% versus 41%.

THE CRAZY TURKISH GUY

The hotel building in which Jurij was accommodated is situated near the very Stone Bridge itself, in the center of Skopje. The polite elevator boy offered his services at the hotel main entrance, even though Jurij’s luggage consisted of only one leather shoulder bag and nothing more. On the reception desk he checked in with a false passport on the name of Constantin Navalni, born on 1968 in Odessa. From the room 218, the Macedonian capital is seen at its best at night. The pastel neon lights with their full glow illuminated the strange buildings on the both sides of the river Vardar.

Only here, in the hearth of Skopje and in no other place of the world are the huge statues of the father and the son, the antique king Philip with his gorged fist welcoming Alexander the Great, who mounted the grandeur Bucephalus embarks on new conquer. This autumn composition of illuminated monuments, reminds of Budapest or Warsaw, yet in the same time it is unique and outstanding, Juruj thought, while watching through the window in wonder. From the mini bar in his room, in a big crystal glass he poured his favorite drink, vodka Imperial. He felt how his body became warmer and warmer, thus being overwhelmed by pleasant calmness. The sound of the mobile application Signal from his cell phone notified an incoming message. It was what he expected: @Anja2311. It was written: I confirm, our D-r Mustafa Artimogly is in Skopje. The end of John Kennedy street. The galenic laboratory Osman Pharmacy LTD is a legitimate target. Three photographs with pictures from D-r Artimogly arrived.   здравствуй, Doctor, murmured silently Jurij, while he was checking out the photographs. Doctor Artimogly, without a doubt was the person that was intensively looked for all Balkan intelligence services. With exceptional knowledge in the pharmaceutical technology achieved in Great Britain, he was a long-time generic drugs key supplier to several Balkan countries. The antidepressant Eldon, an efficient medicament against posttraumatic stress disorder, became very famous for a short time in treating these conditions among ex Balkan soldiers. After the crises in Turkey, as a close friend to the Imam Gjulen, the problems started for D-r Artimogly. Being afraid from Erdogan’s rage, he first escaped to Albania, where he continued to produce Eldon, yet being unable to use the same technology, some deliveries occurred that brought alarmed mortality rate among the users of this medicament. One of the major Balkan secrets that the Serbian and Croatian government were hiding from the public is that in the last 6 months from 2016, the mortality rate among Eldon users amounted more than 76%. Unfortunately, the shipment of Eldon for ethnic Russians in the region of Crimea and Donbass that took part in the war conflicts with the Ukraine army, were devastating. The mortality percentage among the Russian soldiers who used the D-r Antimogly’s antidepressant Eldon with the intermediary of the black market, amounted more than 80%. That