Love and Death in Moscow

By Hal Graff

Love And Death in Moscow

A Love and Death Mystery & Political Espionage Novel

Volume 20

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Harold Graff II Publishing
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781962730570

Hal Graff

Dr. Hal Graff holds a doctorate in business administration. He is a native of Gibson City, Illinois. Hal is a proud father and grandfather. To date, he has published 104 books, including 96 novels. He has published over 6 million 900,000, words.

Book preview

Prologue

Gatewood remembered how much he had enjoyed his time with Yua Hayato when she had visited him in Gibson City. The time had gone much too quickly, as it had always done when they together. They loved each other. Their relationship was complicated, yet strong, as they were bonded in many unique ways by their differing lifestyles, and their passion.

He remembered the words she had told him when they had discussed their feelings for one another. When they were done making love, she had gently stroked his face with her left hand and said, Harold, I love you. And, I don’t believe in the Gatewood Sweetheart Curse. I will always be in your life.

Gatewood had looked at her, kissed her passionately, and thought, That’s what they all say. We’ll see what happens. He was haunted by the thought that he would lose her to the Gatewood Sweetheart Curse, as he had lost so many before her. He had then put aside his fears, only to have them reenter his thoughts much too often. He had come to realize that his assessment of the situation had been correct, as only time would provide the answer.

He had accepted the CIO mission to apprehend Salvador Masas, the El Avispon Picante, the Stinging Hornet. Masas’ Mexican cartel had been flooding the Chicago area with drugs and illegal aliens, and he had been sent to help shut down the operation.

He had also planned to include a revenge killing of Masas, the man who he held responsible for the deaths of Jeong Eun, his former lover from North Korea, and Luisa Gaicia, the Venezuelan woman he had loved deeply. That opportunity had been lost when Masas was allowed to escape arrest and flee the country through help of the liberal, corrupt, Chicago political machine.

Gatewood knew that his feud with Masas was not over. He did not know when they would meet again, but he hoped that it would be soon, as he needed to settle the score with his hated enemy. He knew that the solution would be permanent, and one of them would die.

His mission in Chicago had also been complicated by the Solntsevskeya Bratva Pravda Russian mafia, which ran the biggest prostitution ring in Chicago, and the Yakaza, which ran guns from the Windy City to Tokyo, Japan. He had talked with Yua, asking her to be careful.

He knew she would not stop doing her crime family’s business, but he had urged her to remember that Chicago was a dangerous place, filled with corrupt politicians who specialized in evil practices.

Gatewood had lost another friend and lover to the evils in Chicago. A beautiful CIO informant, Adela Igone, fallen in love with him, and romantic sparks had developed as the two had worked together to try to take down the Masas cartel’s illegal activities.

She, her mother, and cousin had disappeared and were still missing. He feared that they were forever gone, and he felt responsible. He had vowed that he would try to find them, and set the record straight with the parties that had been responsible for their disappearance, and their possible deaths.

Interference with his efforts to take down Masas’s operation had come from Riccardo Gennaro, Chicago’s mayor, Desmond Flurry, Illinois’ governor, Karol Kazimierz, Illinois’ Speaker of the House of Representatives, both of its senators from Washington, Ronald Oakwood and Zelda Paxton, and Adam Flex, a federal judge.

All had done their part and also had stood in Gatewood’s way of successfully taking down The Hornet. They were all corrupt and lawless, and needed to be stopped. Their well-oiled political machine had thrived for years, fleecing the taxpayers and citizens of Illinois, and lining the pockets of the greedy politicians who performed the dirty tasks that would make an honest man lose his breakfast.

He had left Chicago after a contentious shouting match in the office of Mayor Gennaro. The mayor had blurted out, in anger, that Gatewood’s accusation that the cogs of the political machine had conspired to free Masas, and get him out of town, to protect the flow of greenbacks into their pockets, was true.

He also knew that his tape recording of the mayor’s confession was the smoking gun that would bring all of the machine minions down in disgrace, and send them packing to the federal pen for many years. The recording, now safely tucked in his lock box in the bank in Gibson City, presented him with two situations.

One, it exposed him to danger, as men had been known to disappear in Illinois for possessing far less information. Two, it was his ace in the hole to oust Gennaro and his band of political hacks from office and place them behind bars.

He was a marked man for the political machine’s violent means of score settling, and he knew he needed to be careful. He would use the recording when the timing was right to make positive changes for the citizens of Illinois. Now, it was his insurance policy against an unfortunate accident befalling him.

Gatewood had been approached by the conservative party of Illinois to run for governor. He had told them that he would think it over. His disdain for the corrupt world of politics was total. He viewed the opportunity to serve as governor as his own private purgatory, one which would shorten his lifespan and his enjoyment of the life he currently loved.

He would wait to make his decision. His life might depend upon it.

For now, he wanted to relax, then see what fate had in store for him. If he stayed on the merry-go-round of the spy business, danger, political espionage, beautiful ladies from exotic places, and the excitement that had become addictive to his personality, were all waiting for him.

As he had realized in the situation concerning his lover Yua Hayato, only time would provide the answer.

Chapter 1

Ice Belongs In A Glass

January 13

THE CELL PHONE RANG AT SIX A.M. AFTER the sixth ring Gatewood turned over and choked out a feeble, and barely audible, hello. While still trying to get his bearings, he heard the voice of Walter Dewey, his hunting outfitter from Northwestern Idaho.

Harold, I am sorry to wake you. I am heading out on the snowmobiles with a client in five minutes but I wanted to let you know that we have had a week of heavy snows. We have spotted four large mountain lions and have been following them. Can you come out here in the next few days? It would be a great opportunity for you to harvest a big cat. I will discount the trip by fifty percent, as two of my hunters had cancelled because of injuries.

Gatewood perked up at the possibility of taking a trophy tom mountain lion, and said he would be up. He had to make sure if he could get a flight, and that he would call back later in the morning to let Dewey know if he could come.

After successfully booking his flight he called his outfitter back to book the trip. Dewey was still on his snowmobile, helping his client in his search for a big tom mountain lion. He spoke with the outfitter’s wife and confirmed his trip for an arrival date of January seventeenth.

He spent the next three days wrapping up duties at his house. He did likewise at his parent’s home, as they had headed to Fort Myers, Florida earlier in the month. They were on the golf course, playing the seventh hole, a long dogleg to the left, when he had called and told them he was heading to Idaho on a hunting trip.

The next day Gatewood packed his bags, headed to the Central Illinois Airport to catch his short flight to Chicago, and then to continue on to Lewiston, Washington, where he would be picked up by his outfitter and driven to the lodge in Idaho.

He boarded his flight in Bloomington, settle into seat 3A, and thought about his awaiting adventure. He looked out the window to watch the snow falling on the runway, and hoped that the storm in Idaho had not made its way across the country to Chicago. The last thing he needed was to be snowed in in the Windy City, as he was ready for an exciting quest for a trophy mountain lion.

Soon, the flight was on its way. In fifty short minutes the plane landed, and he walked to the gate of his next flight and checked the weather. Luckily, his flight would not be delayed. He repeated the boarding process and again sat down in seat 3A. He watched the beautiful white snowflakes fall to the cement by the plane.

He knew there was a layer of ice under the snow as one of the airline workers who were loading the baggage into the cargo area had slipped and fallen, breaking his fall with his right hand and arm. He then closed his eyes, settled into a state of sleep, and thought about the time he had fallen when his dad had taken him ice fishing for the first time.

They were creeping across the ice of the lake near Gibson City, loaded down with an ice auger, and buckets filled with rods and reels, bait, a cushion, and a scoop to dip the ice that would be forming in the many holes they had drilled in the ice, in which they would fish.

He had slipped and fallen, and as he gone down, everything in the bucket went flying into the air in one direction and the ice auger went the other direction. When he had staggered to his feet he had looked at his dad, who was laughing. His dad then said in true fatherly, sage form, Ice belongs in a glass Harold, not under one’s feet. The younger Gatewood had then joined in the laughter and stood up.

In his sleep, Harold had seen and relived the fall, and had laughed. He then continued to dream as the plane sped toward his destination and his date with a mountain lion.

He dreamed about his first trip to Idaho, to fish with his outfitter for steelhead on the Clearwater River, the Koos-Koos-Kai-Kai.

The timeframe of the trip was after his trips to North and South Korea, his baseball season with the Seoul Cranes, his return to the major leagues with the Miami Raiders and his coach Pat Sullivan, the death of his North Korean lover Yeong Hyeon, and before his second arm surgery with Doctor Doug Washington, who had also fished the Koos-Koos-Kai-Kai.

The decision to have Washington do the surgery on his arm again had opened the skies and allowed a feeling of calm to enter Harold’s thinking, and served to uplift his spirits.

He had been excited to walk through the doors of the commuter airport, say hello to the familiar faces working in various capacities for the airlines and the TSA, and board the flight to the main hub in Chicago.

Once on board his non-stop flight to Idaho, Harold had checked the in-flight entertainment menu. His voice had burst forth in a loud laugh, one which had caused the passengers in the aisle across from him to shower him with dirty looks. He had not cared, as he was starting to feel good, and was happy to see that he would have the opportunity to listen to Big Band music.

The plane had landed in Idaho and he had complimented himself on being in his forty-ninth state of the union. Only Vermont was left to complete his goal of seeing all fifty states of America. He would have promised to check the last state off his list in the near future. He had remained in his seat until the rest of the passengers made the mad scramble of the plane to head to the close connections of their next flight, and casually walked off the plane into the terminal. There had been no need to hurry, and his life had seemed very calm and orderly at the moment.

He had smiled back at the man waving to him in the reception area, had walked to him, and then said, Hi Roger, how are you? It was his outfitter, and his guide for his four-day fishing trip for B-run steelhead. He had sent customers here and had promised Roger that he would fish with him as soon as he could. That comment was made seven years ago. Now, he had kept his word, and was looking forward to the trip.

He and Roger had talked on the hour and twenty minute trip to the lodge. The topics of conversation had been the fishing, the timing of the run of the steelhead up the river, and the current water flow, which was 35,000 cubic feet per second, ideal for steelhead fishing. As the seven-year-old, black-colored pickup truck, sporting a dent on the front driver’s side wheel well, had rounded the corner of the lane which led to the lodge, Harold had caught his first glimpse of the Koos-Koos-Kai-Kai.

The Niimiipuutimi native people of the area had named the river many years ago. In their language it meant clear water. The name had stuck and the river had become the Clearwater River. The Indian tribal people became known as the Nez Perce, the ‘pierced nose" people.

Years after naming the river the tribe was ruled by Chief Joseph, who resisted settlement on government reservations and led the United Sates military on an extended chase to an area in Montana near the Canadian border. They had fought, had been defeated, and had been forced to give up their flight to freedom. Chief Joseph had then spoken the famous words of surrender that he would fight no more forever.

As Gatewood had listened to Roger describe the history of the Nez Perce, he knew that he would never quit, never surrender. He would try to make another baseball comeback. If he failed, he would vow to fight on in another area of his life, and be successful in that battle. Surrender was not in Gatewood’s DNA.

After supper and more conversation Gatewood retired for the evening. He was up early the next morning, and dove into his breakfast of oatmeal, strawberries, blueberries, hot chocolate, and water. The drift boat, with its high front and back ends pointing upward above the middle of the boat, was moored at the dock a short walk from his cabin. The structural design of the boat created better balance, allowed the guide to more easily row, and maneuver the watercraft in the fast current and rapids areas of the river.

The Clearwater River was almost eighty miles in length. Its directional flow was West from the Washington and Idaho border to the East in North Central Idaho. The river spit off into several forks, the Little North, the North, the Middle, and the South Fork.

River tributaries included in the forks were Little North Fork, the Pollach, and the Little Clearwater. Roger had said the temperature of the green and dark blue water was forty degrees, ideal for steelhead fishing.

As the drift boat had eased from the dock into the slow, meandering current near the lodge, Gatewood had taken