Thirteen Months of Orion

By Leo Railroad March

It was the early 1980s. The American hostages had just been released by Iran, the USA men's ice hockey team upset the heavily favored Russians on the way to an improbable Olympic gold medal, and it was clear the United States was winning the Cold War on the world's stage. In a desperate final bid to stir up tensions and hold on to power and relevance, the Orion Group, a rogue guard within the Soviet Union, puts in motion a plan designed to set the Cold War back thirty years. Thirteen Months of Orion is a spy thriller, which details the lengths to which the Orion Group was willing to go, and it has all the classic elements including international intrigue, beguiling espionage, and sex. These are all rolled into this spine-tingling prequel to the soon to be released America: The Year 3000.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647014278

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Coney Island Beach

Wednesday, July 13, 1982

1

8:30 p.m.

Sunset. The sun, slowly setting behind pink-and-purple clouds, stray beams of light illuminating the edges of slow-drifting clouds—tinting them in a mixture of soft pastel shades—trying to prolong the long, hot typical New York summer day. Temperature at 8:00 p.m.—ninety-one degrees—humidity oppressive, as usual. The city in the midst of a long heat wave—its tenements unbearable; its grass—long miles of concrete and asphalt would still be warm to the touch at 5:00 a.m. A city and its people awaiting the arrival of September, needing its cooling breezes to revitalize minds and bodies that still had to face the dog days of August.

Jesus Rodriguez, sitting on the fourth floor fire escape trying to find a cooler spot, turned up the portable radio. WABC Radio news brought to you by the F&M. Schaefer Brewing Company. Hot and humid through tomorrow with a chance of a late afternoon shower. Temperature expected to reach ninety-eight degrees, and— Jesus swore softly to himself, reached over, and shut off the radio. A small slightly built man, Jesus was employed as an assistant short order cook in an Atlantic avenue luncheonette. Working over that hot griddle eight hours a day is no joke, he thought to himself. He was getting to dread the idea of going to work in this heat, especially if he couldn’t get a good night’s rest. Envisioning another hot sleepless night, tossing on the sweat-soaked bed, he suddenly stood up and called, Maria, get the kids dressed in their pajamas. We are going to spend the night on the beach. Maybe I’ll be able to get some sleep. It should be a little cooler down by the water!

Not waiting for an answer, he entered the apartment and began getting things ready to carry down to his car. A six pack, the portable, a blanket, and Kool-Aid for the kids.

2

11:00 p.m.

The sea. Its breezes bringing some comfort to the few inhabitants of the city that it could touch. People lying on blankets, radios softly tuned to music. Spanish-speaking stations, rock stations, some listening to softer music—big band sounds from WNEW—all trying to get a little sleep in the cooler night air so they could face another day of work. Whole families spread out on the sand. Kids, pets, all escaping the heat of the tenements.

Jesus, lying between his wife and the boys, smiled as he remembered the excitement in the house as they got ready to spend the night at Coney Island.

We should do this more often, he thought. The kids love it and enjoy playing with their dog. At least they will be able to sleep.

Stirring, Jesus glanced at his family peacefully asleep. Looking for the children’s pet poodle, he saw the dog playing with something at the water’s edge. Watching for a few moments, he noticed an object in the water being washed ashore with each wave, then the gentle undertow pulling it back out again. The dog was pulling at it as it came ashore and was watching it being pulled back out. Sitting on its haunches, it was patiently waiting for it to come ashore again. It looked like the sea and the dog were enjoying its little game, the surf reluctant to give it up, the dog playing with it before releasing it for the next cycle. Curiosity finally nudging him into full awareness, Jesus quietly made his way to the water for a closer look at what the dog and the ocean were playing with. Taking a close look, Jesus froze, made a sign of the cross, and began running toward the boardwalk.

3

11:30 p.m.

Central Dispatch to Unit 172. Central to 172, do you copy?

172 to Central. Loud and clear. Go ahead.

172, we have a report that a body was discovered washed up on the beach at Coney Island right across from where Angelo’s Pizzeria is located on the boardwalk. Check out a Jesus Rodriguez who found his dog playing with it.

10-4, Central. We’re on our way.

Reaching to the switch on the dashboard, Patrolman Mario Puglini flipped on the emergency siren and lights as his partner, Wilmot Washington, expertly made a sharp U-turn and floored the accelerator. Siren screaming, the blue-and-white patrol car leaped ahead, driving through intersections and around traffic.

Hey, Will, let’s get there in one piece, okay? said Mario. The body ain’t going no place.

Relax, Mario. Traffic is light, and we’ll be there in a couple of minutes.

Yeah. Just don’t wrap us around a pole for Christ’s sake, okay?

Fucking bastard always wanting to show off, thought Puglini. Wait till I drive tomorrow. I’ll scare the shit out of him.

Careening to a stop, the two patrolmen jumped out of the cruiser and began pushing their way through the crowd that had gathered at the boardwalk.

Okay, okay, let’s quiet down! yelled Puglini. Who’s Jesus Rodriguez?

This way, Officer. Down by the water. Madre Mia, when I saw what it was, I almost had a heart attack, Jesus replied. Making the sign of the cross, he said, The dog. She was playing. Come this way.

172 to Central.

This is Central, 172, go ahead.

Central, we checked on that report. It’s a body all right. Better notify Homicide to get down here right away. Call the coroner’s office too. The body is that of a male, Caucasian, and has two bullet holes in the chest. We will wait for Homicide. Do you read?

Stand by, 172.

Central to 172.

172, go ahead.

Homicide notified and on their way. Medical examiner also notified. Both should be there in a few minutes.

10-4, Central. 172 on standby, waiting for detectives. 172 out.

4

12:15 a.m.

What do you think, Tony?

Detective First Class Anthony Santoro shrugged his shoulders.

I don’t know, John. He bent down over the body and turned it over. Two wounds. Either one could be the probable cause. Looks like both went into the heart. Good size slug, too, from the looks of the exit wounds. Must have blown half his back away. The body seems to have been in the water for a few days, but we will have to let the ME decide that. Check for any ID, John. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

John Tipian started checking pants pockets and removed some loose change and a set of keys.

That’s it, Tony. No wallet. No other ID.

Well, we’ll have to let the coroner’s office take the prints at the morgue and then we can run them through R&I. Maybe we can come up with an identification. When we get back to the office, check missing persons. There’s an off chance they may have something.

Here comes Doc now, Tony.

Okay. Let them do their thing. We can hang around until they are done, maybe pick up some info from Doc right away.

5

1:00 a.m.

Hey, Doc, how much longer are you guys going to be? called Santoro.

Well, I guess about fifteen minutes, Tony. I just want the photographer to get a few more shots and then we can bring the body back to the morgue. Probably be Friday before I can have the autopsy report ready for you. I’ll send the prints over to your office in the morning; maybe you can find a name to go with them.

Good enough, Doc. When you have something definite, give us a call.

All right, Tony. Looks like an easy one, but we’ll check it out. I’ll work out the approximate time of death, as well as cause, and call you right away. The rest will be in the report.

Okay, Doc, we’ll be talking to you.

Detectives John Tipian and Tony Santoro started walking back to their car. Sliding behind the wheel, John started the engine. Glancing over his shoulder, he waited for a break in the traffic and pulled out into the street.

I’ll be glad when this month is over, Tony. This heat is beginning to get to me. These people ain’t stupid getting some shut eye on the beach. Feel the difference already. I wanted to take my vacation in August, but Alice wanted to wait until the kids are back in school. She wants to make a second honeymoon out of it and leave the kids with her mother. It’s been years since we went away without the kids.

That’s great, Johnny, just what you need. Go away again and knock her up. Christ, four kids should be enough for anyone.

Anyone but Alice, I guess. We can’t even afford the kids we have, but she wants another. She’s been crying because when Billy starts school in a few weeks, there won’t be any left home during the day.

Well, better you than me, John. I like mine way better. When I feel like getting laid, I just call up Irma and spend a few days at her place. I have a ball for a few days, then leave. No bullshit, no problems, just sex. Whenever or however I want it!

As they approached the station house, Tony mused, Wonder how long this guy was in the water. It’s going to be a bitch to get a line on the killer unless we get a lucky break.

Maybe once we get an ID, we can come up with a motive and a suspect, replied John.

Let’s see what R&I comes up with once we get the prints, Tony answered.

Sliding the car into the station house parking lot, John Tipian switched off the engine, and the two men got out of the car and walked to the entrance doors.

CHAPTER 2

Since the last American presidential election, which had been held in November of 1980, and the subsequent change in the Administration, the USA and Russia entered a new era of unparalleled peaceful coexistence. Decades of mistrust, Cold War rigidity, and arms buildups were slowly being replaced by reductions in armed forces, nuclear arms inspections by each nation, freer exchanges of goods and services, and a lowering of all traffic restrictions, resulting in a sudden boom of tourists between the two countries. Efforts by the new American President and the successor to the Russian Premier, Breshnev (who had died suddenly in February of 1981), reduced the tensions and the potential areas of conflicts between the two superpowers to the lowest levels in history.

The sudden emergence into power by the doves in the politburo after a short power struggle came as a complete surprise to the vast majority of the Western Bloc’s Kremlinologists. Officially denied by the Russian press, there had been many rumors about a vast purge of former hard liners. Even without definite conformation, however, the absence of many former officials at official party functions was duly noted. The complete lack of public mention, either written or verbal, of these men lent an air of overwhelming evidence that the rumors were true. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the