Choices of Power: A Story of Redemption

By John H Dial

From the murderous bowels of post-communist Bulgaria, Stefon Slavov, an Olympic wrestler turned mafia operative, flees after assassinating and desecrating Bulgarias defense minister and his bodyguards. In the Czech Republic, the culprit changes his identity to Branimir Korda and falls in love with Danica, an Olympic gymnast.

To avoid the reaches of an Interpol warrant, Branimir and Danica flee to the United States. In New Jersey, they become involved with a drug smuggler. Using a fast boat and creative procedures, they establish a smuggling operation with landing points stretching the length of the east coast. Branimir and Danica have a son named Andrei, who is endowed with superior athleticism.

Meanwhile, a barroom brawler, Sammy Borden, emerges in Georgia. In a chance encounter in North Carolina, Sammy and Andrei fight back-to-back against daunting odds. The incident creates a bond of friendship between the two.

Back in Georgia, Sammy engages a motorcycle gang in two savage conflicts. These clashes bring Sammy acclaim and launch him on a new career. In the midst of his career change, he discovers an alternate source of power.

Tragedy strikes the Korda family, and they turn to Sammy Borden for solace. A flurry of concluding incidents have life-changing effects on key characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452519760

John H Dial

John Dial is a former manager and engineer with over eighteen years of schooling. He’s used both life experiences and research to create this fictional novel. The characters and story in this book emerged from a combination of real life and ingenuity occurring over the past half century. In net effect, it is a work of pure fiction. Living in retirement in Georgia, he had the time to conceive and pen this story. It is his sincerest hope that readers will find it entertaining.

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Copyright © 2014 John H Dial.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-1975-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-1977-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-1976-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014913881

Balboa Press rev. date: 09/12/2014

Contents

1 Sofia, Bulgaria

2 Newark, New Jersey

3 Peacott, New Jersey

4 Savannah, Georgia

5 Peacott, New Jersey

6 Brogue, Georgia

7 Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

8 Brogue, Georgia

9 Peacott, New Jersey

For my precious wife Susan

1

Sofia, Bulgaria

1974

S tefon Slavov sat on a sidewalk bench outside the Sheraton Sofia Hotel. The hotel was situated on Maria Luiza Boulevard, midtown in Sofia, Bulgaria. The thoroughfare was busy with both pedestrian and vehicular traffic. The sky was overcast. The time was 11:45 in the morning.

A large beard, mustache, and eyebrows complemented a white wig in Stefon’s carefully applied disguise. He looked three times older than his twenty-six years. He wore an overcoat on his oversized frame.

To Stefon’s left was a gently sloped ramp leading to the entrance of the hotel. Sitting on his right, beside the bench, were two twenty liter containers of gasoline.

Sitting and waiting fostered Stefon’s uneasiness, and occasional furtive glances at the hotel entrance accentuated his anxiety. His subconscious played games with his psyche as he mentally reinforced his resolve. He wondered, "What are people thinking about the gasoline cans? What did they think when I casually walked to the bench with the cans and sat them down?"

One part of his brain answered, "Apparently not much, but the other side said, they read my mind; they know what I’m doing." Stefon focused on the task at hand as he forced his misgivings out of his thinking.

*      *      *

General Rumen Nikolov exited the hotel and strolled down the ramp to the sidewalk. His two bodyguards followed three steps behind. Bulgaria’s defense minister paused at the sidewalk and looked around; his pompous ego exuding an aura of mastery.

Stefon stood up. With one fluid motion, he drew a Russian Makarov pistol from within his overcoat and fired two rounds into the side of the bodyguard nearest him. He stepped forward and pushed the wounded bodyguard to one side. The second bodyguard was drawing his gun when two of Stefon’s bullets struck him in the chest. Stefon swatted the second bodyguard’s gun to the pavement and turned toward General Nikolov, who was attempting to flee. He fired twice into the general’s back. Swinging the gun back to the bodyguards and stepping closer, he shot one in the top of the head and the other in the temple. Stefon swung back to the fallen general, and shot him behind the ear.

Stefon released the gun’s clip and replaced it with a full clip. He worked the action to chamber a fresh round. Looking around, he searched for danger in the scurrying onlookers.

Sensing none, Stefon holstered the Makarov and moved to the bench. He picked up a gasoline can, and poured napalm enhanced gasoline on all three fallen men. When the can was empty he turned the three men over. Picking up the second can, Stefon poured fluid on the dry side of all three. Then he stacked the bodies. Producing a cigarette lighter, he ignited the incendiary liquid.

Flames leapt as the oxidation of fluid accelerated exponentially. The faster it burned, the hotter it got; and the hotter it got, the faster it burned. The bonfire blazed with ever blackening smoke as the putrid stench of burning flesh became pronounced.

Engaged observers, keeping their distance, watched as Stefon drew the Makarov and picked up a bodyguard’s gun. He stood with a gun in each hand … a murderous monster bemocking intervention.

One half block away two Bulgarian policemen stood frozen. They did not know if they were watching a one man execution or a mafia ambush. Risking their lives to apprehend the assassin seemed a reckless option.

The policemen’s decision was judicious, for standing in an alleyway sixty meters from the desecrations were three of Stefon’s mafia confederates. Each was armed with a Russian AK 47 fully automatic assault rifle. They were on dead ready to quell any interference with a barrage of bullets.

The public executions and desecrations were accomplished. Sofia’s reputation of being the murder capital of Europe sickeningly persisted.

Stefon turned and ran through parting spectators to a black Fiat parked a quarter block from the bonfire. The Fiat had no license plates. Getting into the car, he drove away.

No one chose to follow. When Stefon realized that there was no pursuit, his tension eased. He felt neither jubilant nor despondent. He felt depleted and apprehensive about his future.

*      *      *

The fall of Communism left Bulgaria’s government in turmoil. The country’s attempt to establish a free market economic system floundered. Self-serving former communists compounded the disarray as they vied for positions of power.

One highly paid group from the communist system found itself in a vacuum. Under the Communist regime, these men were popular sportsmen, mostly wrestlers, who represented Bulgaria in international competitions. This group considered itself elite, with a developed chauvinism that categorized sportsmen as entitled superiors and others as underlings. They earned high salaries using their muscle.

Now the group was unemployed in a country with a government in transitional chaos. As a consequence, the sportsmen turned to brutality, and created a business protection racket. The name they adopted was the Bulgarian Mafia. They terrorized businesses who did not subscribe, and with the money they accrued, they invested in the activities of drugs, prostitution, extortion and human trafficking. Funds taken in were dirty money. To be spent freely, it required laundering. To facilitate the cleansing, they bought supermarkets, insurance companies, hotels, casinos, and land. The money became legal tender by moving it through the accounts of their legitimate businesses.

The mafia confederates decided early on that they would be dominated by no one or no group, including the government and the army. A series of more than 150 mafia assassinations attested to this doctrine. Most murders took place in downtown Sofia. The mafia fraternity established itself as an image of life and death dominance in Bulgaria.

The public assassination and desecration of General Rumen Nikolov and his bodyguards by a single man was a statement. It portrayed the preponderant power that the mafia fraternity believed it held. The intent in using a single assassin was to place a question in the minds of the populace: If one mafia assassin can conduct the public execution and desecration of three armed men, what could a group of mafia assassins do?

The mob was not interested in doing business with ordinary people. Obviously street dope pushers and pimps were necessary, but these bottom-of-the-barrel underlings were not even considered as members of the mafia. The real mafia restricted their dealings to the big money category. The mob preferred to keep a low profile and to avoid unnecessary hassle with the law; but when it did take action it was emphatic.

*      *      *

Stefon Slavov was an Olympic grade wrestler. His 240 pound frame carried little fat and abounding athleticism. His facial features portrayed stoic good looks, with blue eyes and close cropped brown hair. His features resembled Charlton Heston’s.

Stefon’s mafia fraternity function was to intimidate at the highest levels of the government, the police, and the army. At this, Stefon was superb. He had a knack for hardening his facial expressions and tone of voice just the right amount to assert a menacing authority in confrontations. Sometimes his mafia superiors wished him to be removed from the scene, as they were not always exempted from his sway.

Stefon was unequaled in mortal combat. With weapons and in hand-to-hand engagements, he had unfettered composure and an anticipatory sixth sense. This gave him a decided advantage. He was a valuable tool for the mafia fraternity and a concern to its leadership.

*      *      *

General Rumen Nikolov was a war celebrity, but his present position as defense minister had not endeared him to many. He tended to overstep the boundaries of his authority. He despised the challenge to the government’s authority that the mafia posed, and he wanted to use the Bulgarian army to crush it.

Two weeks before his death, General Nikolov had ordered a clandestine attack. A choice army unit was ordered to attack attendees of a mafia meeting. A leak thwarted the attack and resulted in a firefight. The army, its surprise advantage gone, lost its resolve and withdrew. Now the general was dead and publicly desecrated.

Bulgarian locals referred to the incident as just settling old grudges. The rest of the world referred to it as a clan of cold blooded murderers plying their craft.

*      *      *

Had the mafia gone too far? The intimidated government, the weak-kneed police force, the compromised judicial system, and the undisciplined army all knew that forceful action must be taken. Bulgaria was already being isolated by the more civilized European countries. As a newspaper article reported, a government response was necessary to forestall economic collapse and/or anarchy but no one wanted to be the next mafia target.

The government issued and advertised a reward for information leading to the assassin’s identification, arrest, and conviction.

The mafia put out the word that an informant would not live to collect the reward, much less to spend it. Few doubted the warning.

*      *      *

Stefon Slavov met with his mafia compatriots. It was an important meeting, and Stefon was concerned. The assassinations had revved up the international press and foreign governments. An international community sanction of Bulgaria was being considered. Such a sanction would stifle many mafia functions.

Chairman Viktor Naumov gaveled for silence and said, "I want to thank Comrade Slavov for the outstanding resolution of our General Nikolov problem. General Nikolov was a power hungry tyrant, seeking to be Bulgaria’s Dictator. He wanted to crush our confederation and establish a military controlled government.

As always, Stefon did as we asked him to do. In our retribution for the army attack on us, we possibly overreacted. We didn’t foresee the magnitude of condemnation by the foreign press and foreign governments. And we didn’t foresee the government’s 100,000 Lev reward for squealing on Stefon. In all honesty, I don’t believe we can keep some snitch from trying to collect. I would like to ask how Stefon sees the situation.

I am thankful that the stint went as well as it did, but I must agree with Chairman Naumov’s assessment. Some sniveling little coward will rat to the government for the reward and a getaway trip to Brazil. I believe that I have become a very hot potato that needs to relocate out of the oven for a while. Any wise words from my confederates will be appreciated.

Vice Chairman Sergei Mateev spoke up, "As we’ve seen before, the heat will cool with time, but the search for the General’s assassin will continue and the reward will remain. Stefon’s success as our top eliminator continues. He has given us a tool for power continuance for years to come. This is especially true if the government can’t catch and punish him. Our weapon of fear is effective even against army commanders. But it is imperative that Stefon is neither found nor arrested. Stefon is a magnificent operative. I do not think we can overestimate the debt we owe him.

None of us want the government to enjoy the prestige of capturing Stefon and prosecuting him in court. I would like to make the following recommendation. I think we should give Stefon a tribute sum of money, plus the name of an identity-change specialist. A new identity will make it difficult for Interpol to find him, and he can go to any country he wishes to live.

Chairman Naumov spoke, "As chairman of our fraternity, I propose that we incorporate our measures to protect Stefon into our culture. We shall take care of our own. Additionally, our fraternity will put a price on the head of any squealer.

I second Chairman Mateev’s recommendation, and propose that the tribute sum be 200,000 German Deutsche Marks. The German Mark is accepted internationally without question. I ask for a show of hands to these proposals.

The proposals passed unanimously.

Chairman Naumov and Vice Chairman Mateev looked at each other knowingly. They had successfully rid themselves of the General Nikolov problem plus the potential problem that Stefon Slavov posed.

*      *      *

The fraternity’s affiliations crossed national borders. Both the mafia’s and the sportsmen’s philosophies were shared by groups in other countries. The identity- change specialist resided in Prague, Czech Republic.

The fraternity gave Stefon the promised money in laundered bills.

*      *      *

Bulgaria is Europe’s poorest country. Stefon had mixed feelings about leaving his homeland. He was highly respected as a wrestler and as a mafia operative. He had been selected to make the Nikolov hit because of the trust his compatriots placed in him. Said differently, if the fraternity wanted a job to be done right, they gave it to Stefon. However, he was not naive. He was aware that he made some of his superiors uncomfortable, and knowing this made him uncomfortable. He loved his country and his stature within the mafia, but he wanted to see more of the world outside Bulgaria’s borders. All things considered, he was relieved to be leaving Bulgaria.

Stefon loaded his Fiat and left early the next day. License plates had been reinstalled on the car. He didn’t know if some snitch had fingered him yet, but he wanted to leave the country as quickly as he could.

Two hours later, Stefon crossed the border into Serbia. The border crossing brought him a sense of well being. He was relaxed as he crossed Serbia, Hungary, and Slovakia. Four days after leaving he crossed into the Czech Republic.

*      *      *

Stefon drove to Prague. There he met Ivan Pokomy, the identity-change specialist. Their meeting was at Ivan’s photography shop. Stefon explained that he needed a total new identity as soon as possible. Ivan had already received a telephone call from mafia Chairman Viktor Naumov, who told him that he would be contacted shortly by an operative with a need.

There was no discussion on the reason for a new identity, but Ivan had read the newspaper and had a good idea.

After an hour of research on possible new identities, Ivan suggested the name Branimir Korda, with a birthplace of Brno, Czechoslovakia in year 1957. He would give Stefon a list of information on the real Branimir Korda, who died in 1948. Ivan had the means to remove the death certificate from government files.

That evening, Stefon joined Ivan for an evening meal. Ivan’s wife, Baruna was present. More importantly, Ivan’s sister Danica was visiting from midtown. At their introduction, Stefon found her to be drop-dead-gorgeous. Instantaneously, he felt the strongest attraction he had ever felt.

Ivan and Danica Pokomy were from a sportsman family. Ivan specialized in track events, and Danica was a gymnast and ballerina. At age 21 and weighing 105 pounds, Danica was too large and too old to compete internationally in gymnastics; a sport where the cutting edge was age 16, and the weight about 85 pounds. That did not mean that she was not stunning on the bars and the dance floor.

Of late, Stefon’s romantic relationships were with mafia courtesans. He made it a point to avoid involvement with a woman being shared by others.

Danica had high cheek bones, a wide forehead, hazel eyes, a shapely figure, and light brunette hair. To Stefon, she was captivating. She wore no makeup, and her fresh beauty spawned emptiness in the pit of his stomach, accompanied by a shortness of breath. He was smitten. He could not take his eyes off her.

To Danica, Stefon was awesome. His size more than doubled hers, and he dwarfed the men she associated with. His normally stoic expression softened as he caressed her with his eyes.

Danica could feel his gaze and sense his infatuation. She was flattered … and attracted. After all, this wasn’t a teenager gawking at her; it was the most impressive male specimen she had ever seen.

Stefon asked, What’s the chance of me coming to your gymnasium and watching you work out?

Sure. Do you want to come tomorrow?

I do, and I need for you to recommend a good place for me to spend the night?

The Eder Hostel on Rumunska is good. I’ll pass it on the way home. You can follow me.

Can you give me an address and time so I can watch your work out?

Yes, the address is 453 Korunni. Come about 9 o’clock.

Do you know of a gym where I can work out?

Sure, I’ll show it to you tomorrow.

*      *      *

Stefon lay in his bed at the Eder Hostel. He was deep in thought. His world was decidedly changed. As a wrestler, he was known throughout Europe. Even with a new ID, he could be recognized and arrested on an Interpol warrant at any time. If he was to have a normal life, he needed a country outside of Europe where he was not known. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he must leave Europe.

The realization of the complexity of his situation spawned loneliness. He wasn’t a hermit, and he needed companionship to replace his mafia buddies.

He finally fell sleep thinking about Danica.

*      *      *

Stefon met Danica the next morning at her gym. After her stretching and warm-up exercises, she performed a routine on the bars. Later, she performed a floor dance. Stefon was elated. No female had ever put on a show just for him. Her allure intensified.

They went to a men’s gymnasium. He worked out with weights and wrestling calisthenics. She was amazed by his ability to support and maneuver his large body effortlessly. And she couldn’t help but gasp at his imposing physique. Her fascination with this Bulgarian strongman was gaining momentum.

At lunch, Danica asked, Would you tell me why you’re getting a new ID?

Yes, I had a conflict with a government official in Sofia, and he died. He had ordered an army attack on a group of my fraternity. We got wind of it and ambushed the attackers. I retaliated as we Bulgarians do. Now I’m a hero to some and a criminal to others. l need to leave Europe in case Interpol gets involved. I would like a new start the United States. He added, Not only that, I would like for you to come with me as my woman.

A shiver ran up her spine. What are you saying? Are you asking me to marry you or what?

I’m asking you to marry me. But if that’s too fast or too serious for you, I’m asking you to go with me as a travel companion. I want you to be my woman, anyway I can get you.

Disconcerted, Danica thought silently that this giant was an enigma. He could obviously be very dangerous. That was both alarming and intriguing. He reeked of constrained power unlike any man she had ever known. His courtship approach was klutzy, but straightforward. She did not believe he could be faking the genuineness that his words and tone conveyed.

That’s the weirdest wedding proposal I’ve ever heard of. I’m going to have to think on it for a while. I like you and appreciate your candor. When do you think you will go to the States?

I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Ivan about possibilities.

When they stood up, Stefon took her in his arms and kissed her gently … adoringly. Both felt ripples of emotion. Danica wasn’t accustomed to being treated as if she was exquisite, and Stefon wasn’t accustomed to being romantic with a woman that he revered.

She said, You are putting me between a rock and a hard place. Will I see you tonight?

His heart leapt and he caught his breath, Yes. If it’s OK, I’ll be at your apartment at about 6:30.

I’ll be waiting.

*      *      *

Stefon and Danica met at her apartment. The tension was high for both.

Stefon asked, Have you thought about going to the States with me?

I’ve thought about it. I guess I’ll have to turn your offer down. We barely know each other. There is no real plan. What will we do for a living? Do you speak English? Where will we go? Do you want to have children? How much planning did you do before you asked me?

Dismayed, he said, Wow! I guess I was carried away. I can’t answer all those questions. All I know is two things. I’ve got to go to the US, and I want you to go with me. If you will say you’ll go, I believe we can figure out how. Say you’ll go with me.

His convincing disappointment made Danica feel teary. She didn’t have any plans herself, either short term or long term. Her future as a gymnast or dancer was not promising. Now she was presented with a marriage proposal from a magnificent male. He treated her with more esteem than any man ever had, and he excited her. She would like to go to the States too. She needed time; but he didn’t have much time.

She had found a newspaper that described the assassinations in Bulgaria. Danica wasn’t a weak-kneed person, and was not overly intimidated by the killings. She knew that Bulgarian politics were brutal since the fall of Communism. She believed Stefon’s version of the story and wanted to believe in Stefon.

Danica said, I will consider going to the States with you as a travel companion. Why don’t we use what time we have to research what options we have. Let’s meet with Ivan tomorrow when we pick up your new ID documents. Let’s tell him that we plan to go to the States together, but I may return in a month or so. We’ll ask him what he can do for us. What do you think?

Stefon exclaimed, That’s a wonderful plan. I love it. I love you.

They fell into each others arms, embracing and kissing. Their petting led to arousal, impassioned intimacy, awesome climaxes, and a dreamy intermission as they snuggled.

Forty-five minutes later their passion rekindled and they repeated the sequence. It was four hours before hunger penetrated their bliss and they got around to eating.

*      *      *

The next day Stefon was decidedly in love. His heart was aglow, and his demeanor radiated his feelings. Nothing seemed to matter to him except Danica.

Danica was experiencing the emotions of fascination, excitement and foreboding. She was infatuated with Stefon, and felt an electric tingle when their eyes met. She was excited by the prospect of going to the states with him as her lover. The trip might prove to be the experience of a lifetime.

Her apprehensions came from skepticism of Stefon as a person. Just who was he? And more importantly, what was he? Her uncertainty was stressful.

*      *      *

They told Ivan of their plans to go to the States as travel companions. Ivan was surprised, but not upset. It was obvious that Stefon was quite taken with her. He wanted his sister removed from the sphere of Hrabak Palacky, the Gymnastics Master. Palacky had an inordinate influence over the young female protégés on the gymnastic team.

He gave Stefon his new ID documents, and they agreed that from that point in time onward, Stefon Slavov existed no more; he was now Branimir Korda. Stefon’s original documents were burned.

With that matter resolved, Ivan began researching avenues of getting the two of them to the United States. Together, he and Branimir searched their memories for sportsmen and mafia confederates who had ties to the US. Ivan remembered a sportsman confederate who worked in the US consulate in Frankfurt, Germany. He was a Czechoslovakian named Justin Verba.

It was 6 o’clock when Ivan called Justin at home. He gave a brief explanation of the plight of a fellow sportsman in Europe, and the need for him