Alek Popov - Mission London

Varadin dialled the number carefully. He was phoning on his own for the first time, without telling his secretary to put him through. He felt awkward, as though sneaking into someone else’s office.

“Welcome to Famous Connections,” sang a tender voice, “Experience the magic of informal meetings. Your idols await you. If you are interested in our services or wish to become our client, say one. If you are already our client and are experiencing problems, say two. If you wish to speak with our administrators, say three.”

The words hung emptily in the cables like frozen starlings. The voice recited them once again. Varadin persisted in his silence. He imagined how the cables disappeared into the darkness: one led to Ziebling’s office, the others lost themselves in the maze of the agency. He knew which road he should take but did not dare. Not yet.

A minute later he dialled the agency’s number once more and the same greeting message answered. This time he did not put the phone down. He made sure to change his voice slightly, although there was no danger of his being recognised. “One,” he announced clearly.

For a while he was subjected to some crackly muzak, then a recorded voice answered, “Welcome to Famous Connections! You will shortly be put through to one of our staff. At this stage we require no details concerning your identity. For your own comfort, we suggest that you use a pseudonym. If you do not have one ready, take a few seconds to think of one. Thank you for your attention.”

“Hello, thank you for calling, my name is Hal,” a friendly male voice said. “I’ll be helping you become acquainted with the rules of the game. You’re about to realise your most treasured dream. Don’t stop now! Everyone has the right to touch their idol, to feel their aura, to play with them a little. The stars would be nothing without us ordinary people. We make them what they are, which means that some part of them is ours. We just have to ask for it! Isn’t that so, Mr…?”

“Victor,” said Varadin without thinking. He had always wanted to be called that.

“Great, Victor!” enthused the voice. “Let me just tell you how it all works. We don’t want to sell you anything so don’t worry on that front. Famous Connections just helps you to get what is yours by right. D’you understand, we are merely the go-betweens, everything else is up to you!”

“Not quite,” mumbled Varadin.

“Doesn’t matter! You just need to know one more thing,” Continued Hal, “We’re not thieves, so we can’t deliver anything that doesn’t belong to you. Don’t expect miracles. If you’re entitled to only one percent, then there is no way you can get one hundred percent without stealing from others, and we, as I just said, don’t do that. Still there?”

“Yes,” said Varadin. “I’m listening carefully.”

“That was the bad news,” said Hal. “But there’s good news too, which is far more important: the fact that this seemingly insignificant percentage, to which you are entitled, will give you one hundred percent satisfaction. Don’t believe it, eh? Experience demonstrates that that is entirely possible. Because, believe me, that little percentage is all that you need. It’s got the necessary essence for you to change your vague, dreamy image into hard fantasy. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

There was a brief pause.

“I’m not certain,” replied Varadin.

“I’m talking about the grain of sand in the oyster, Victor,” said Hal, like a Baptist preacher. “The grain of sand that turns into a pearl. We’ll give you the grain, and you’ll stay with it in the oyster. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” Varadin mumbled, understanding exactly nothing. What exactly were they offering? Ziebling had never put things that way.

“If it isn’t totally clear, it soon will be,” concluded Hal philosophically. “Now let’s get to the heart of the matter. Tell me who you’re after, which member of high society you dream of touching.”

“Lady Di,” he replied, after summoning all his courage.

“Excellent, there’ll be no problem!” exclaimed Hal.

“But she’s dead!”

“Dreams never die, my friend.”

“So you’ll arrange a meeting for me, with her?”

“Of course!”

“But it won’t really be her, right? It’s not possible what with her being dead.” He raised his voice unintentionally, “You’ll send me some sort of actress! A copy! A double!’

“We’re giving you the grain of sand,” said Hal without blinking, “and whether it’ll turn into a pearl relies entirely on you. Do you have a scenario?”

He typed something on his keyboard.

“Pardon?”

“Do you have an idea of what you want to do with her?”

“Well…”

“I’m sure that deep down you know perfectly well what you really want,” Hal cut in. “Maybe you’re a bit ashamed of talking about it right now, but there’s no rush. Besides, her program is fully booked at the moment. We won’t be able to fit you in before next month, unless someone cancels. But I don’t think they will. People are crazy about her, especially the Near-Easterners.”

“Hal, I’ve already got an idea,” said Varadin unexpectedly; his tone had gone dead. “I just thought of it.”

“Brilliant! That will make things easier,” said Hal cautiously.

It cost him a great deal of effort to put his idea into English. “I’m going to shred her whoring arse!” hissed Varadin quietly.

“What?” Hal jumped.

“I’m going to shred her whoring arse!” repeated Varadin, in a voice that was breaking up, “and yours too, you bastard!”

He squeezed his mobile furiously and threw it onto his desk, as if he wanted to ram it into Hal’s invisible ear, deep into his chicken-shit brain.

“!!100!!” he shouted so loudly that the windows of the glass cabinet shook, “100!!200!!300!!400!!1000!!!FuckyouPepolen!!! You’llnotstopmenow!!!2000!!!3000!!!4000!!!10000!!!!12000!!!! 100000!!!!1000000!!!!!” All the numbers he had ever stored in his head came pouring out like a stream of wasps, forming a vast swarm of ever-larger numbers that buzzed lightning-fast.

Eventually he reached numbers that were too long to pronounce before its successor appeared and he sat silently, his lips moving spasmodically, as number after number buzzed by. It was beautiful and frightening all at the same time.

To The Minister’s Office

To The Office of The Spokesman of MFA

To The Department of ENA

To The Department of Information

British Press Review:

The British Press is paying considerable attention to the exhibition “Hygiene in Bulgarian Lands”, which opens today at the prestigious British Museum. There is an article in every Cultural Section of the major National papers.

“Bulgarian WC Challenge” by Matt Goswell, The Tribune :

The widely accepted fact that the first Water Closet was built in Elizabethan times will undergo correction today with the first unveiling of its Bulgarian Predecessor. The apparatus, found in Bulgaria, dates from between 980AD and 982AD and consists of a functional model of a Water Closet, an idea that only cropped up in Western Europe some thousand years later. There are still arguments relating to its origin: Thracian, Bulgar or Byzantine? Or possibly Celtic?

Until now, such things have not been found in either Thracian burial sites, or Roman/Byzantine archaeological sites in the territory of Bulgaria. That is the reason for which Peter Panchev, an expert from the Bulgarian Historical Society in London, holds that this is part of an ancient tradition of hygiene, form the Ancient Greater Bulgaria, spreading through the territories of the Ukraine and Southern Russia. The Bulgarians claim to be one of the oldest peoples on earth, stemming from settlements in the fertile Ferganska Valley, in the foothills of Pamir.