SAMPLE

i

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Vladimir Putin: Predestination — The man. The Myth. The Legend.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

ii

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

iii

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Vladimir Putin: Predestination — The man. The Myth. The Legend.

Bruce Masters

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

iv

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Copyright information

If you have any issues with the content of this, or any other works by the author Bruce Masters, he politely requests that you inform him or his representatives immediately with a list of concerns or grievances. If you have been referenced, mentioned, parodied, satirised or cited in this work and you have an objection (for any reason), please make it known to the author of the work or his representatives immediately. Bruce Masters’ fictional worlds (it should be made clear) are only in part based upon this world, our world—the real world. It has been theorised that there are an infinite number of parallel universes; and it is in one such universe where the action written within all Bruce Masters’ works of fiction takes place… Please note: The use of names of well-known or celebrity persons in this work of fiction is for parodic, entertainment and/or (occasionally) educational purposes only. It is not implied or claimed that any of the fictional events detailed herein have happened or could ever happen outside of imagination. Any displeasure by any named party will be published by the author in a public fashion (on brucemasters.com) should the party forward a written notice to the author—due to the author wanting everyone to have a right of reply. Copyright 2019 Bruce Masters. All rights reserved. ISBN: 9781091623378

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

v

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Brucemasters.com Please note: No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or non-electronic means, not excluding information storage or retrieval systems, without explicit permission in writing from the publisher. Exceptions: • Journalists can reproduce up to 50% of any Bruce Masters work of fiction or non-fiction in any publication online or in print for any reason not excluding reviews, critiques or general news articles. • If you would never normally purchase a digital book (known as an eBook) due to financial constraints, and you honestly cannot afford my books, I am happy for you to obtain a copy of this book free of charge, if you can find one. However, if you can afford my books, I would much prefer that you pay for them; I will ensure the money is well spent!

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

vi

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Dedications

Dedicated to peace and cooperation between all nations.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

vii

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

viii

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Contents

Copyright information—iv

Dedications—vi

Introduction—ix

Chapter One — Made in the U.S.A. —1

Chapter Two — Putin and the Street Dogs of Moscow—8

Chapter Three — Putin, “Bluey” and Yuliana—13

Chapter Four — Hope Has Returned—17

Chapter Five — Putin, God and the Lord of Purgatory—22

Chapter Six — The President’s Office—28

Chapter Seven — Putin and the Riddle of 36 Lenin Street—31

Chapter Eight — Back in the Presidential Office—35

Chapter Nine — Awakening—39

Chapter Ten — Three Knocks—42

Chapter Eleven — Putin Reawakening—44

Chapter Twelve — Tea for One—47

A Quick Word from the Author—59

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

ix

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Introduction

Vladimir Putin: Predestination tells the fictional account of how and why the current Russian president chose to enter a life of public service and politics.

From a young boy to a teen to an adult, this story documents an imagined past, present and future for one of the most famous men on the planet—and certainly the most famous man in Russia!

The boy and teenage Putins guessed that destiny needed them for something, wanted them, but for what?

The concept of predestination is a recurring theme throughout this novella, which is the prelude to its sequel, the comedy-thriller novel Make the World Great Again.

Unlike that book, however, there are few laughs found within the pages of the book you are currently reading because it is about Russia and Russians and thus a serious book, to be taken seriously. Russians choose tragedy over comedy in the arts as a preference, a mirror of their feelings and national spirit, but maybe that is starting to change; maybe Russia can “come in from the cold”, maybe stereotypes and out-dated thinking can become things of the past.

The fictional Putin certainly believes so and will do all he can to protect his Russia whilst trying to open his mind and heart to new things and concepts, including magic, America and religion—despite every obstacle being placed before him.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

x

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Whether you love or hate Putin, you need to read this book as it is a human story unlike any other, following the most unlikely journey to a presidency imaginable.

The threats against our main player – Vladimir Putin – are very real, and around every corner assassins and mafia enforcers lurk with ill intent.

Putin will need more than one friend and ally to survive this fictional tale set in a world of ever-changing alliances and allegiances where foe can become friend and friend foe.

***

What does a day in the life of President Vladimir Putin of Russia actually look like?

Read on if you would like to know what it is like to walk in the famous leader’s shoes, the man who is as loved as he is hated—depending on who you are, where you are from and which media outlet tells you how to think and what to believe…

Is this a typical day for Vladimir Putin?

An assassination attempt before morning tea.

Jared Kushner calling to discuss a secret plan.

Putin musing about Queen Elizabeth’s longevity.

Putin discussing denuclearisation.

Putin being an anti-Samaritan.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

xi

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Putin wishing he could clone himself.

Putin being put on hold…

No, maybe this is not a typical day in the life of Vladimir Putin, but these are just some of the events that do indeed occur on the day as described below, albeit in a fictional manner, for your reading pleasure.

This book presents the opening of the Russian president’s chapters, the prelude to his unwilling inclusion in the EPIC comedy-thriller novel Make the World Great Again by Bruce Masters, available worldwide from March, 2019.

—It ALL begins HERE…

***

Vladimir Putin — Predestination is the second book in the Bruce Masters Universe book series.

Each book in the series can be read and enjoyed as a

standalone piece in its own right; however, these works of fiction are all interconnected and should be read (if possible) in this order, to understand all the events that occur in later works and also to be fully introduced to the various characters who find themselves in more than one book in the series (in the Bruce Masters Universe book series).

1. J.K. Rowling in: It’s a Kind of Magic 2. Vladimir Putin — Predestination 3. The Fall and RISE of a Comedy Legend

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

xii

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

4. Unseeable — One Man’s End Becomes His New Beginning

5. Make the World Great Again! Book One in the Make It Great Again Series

6. The Lord of Purgatory 7. Adrian Mackintosh—Agent of Karma 8. Make Jesus Great Again! Book Two in the Make It Great

Again Series 9. Make Great Britain Great Again! Book Three in the

Make It Great Again Series 10. Make Hollywood Great Again! Book Four in the Make It

Great Again Series 11. Operation: Save Talia Shire 12. Make Donald Trump Great Again! Book Five in the

Make It Great Again Series 13. Make the Universe Great Again! Book Six in the Make It

Great Again Series Any other books bearing the name Bruce Masters are not

connected to the 13 in this fictional universe—but they will still, probably, be worth reading.

—Bruce Masters.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

1

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Chapter One — Made in the U.S.A.

(A classroom, somewhere in the Soviet Union, 10th December, 1965)

Of all the birthday presents the boy had received for his 13th birthday, the magic set, which was called, according to the front of the box, ‘The Home Magic Starter Set of Gizmos and Gimmicks’, was Vladimir’s clear favourite.

The box and its contents had been illegally imported by a relative and would be considered contraband if discovered by the authorities, a fact that Vladimir was aware of, which is why he was alone at the back of the classroom, in the dark, the blinds drawn, during his lunch hour, as he knew there would be no witnesses—he knew it was perilous to trust anyone.

The birthday boy sat spellbound as he carefully examined every piece and accessory that he found inside the large, sturdy cardboard box with its colourful front face depicting a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Where’s the rabbit? he thought, thinking the advertising misleading. Not even a synthetic or blow-up rabbit … nothing… and why no Russian instructions, huh?

Despite the box of amateur magic bits and bobs finding their way to Russia, in the middle of the Cold War no less, it was, after all, an American product and Russia back then was the enemy, the big, bad wolf, so creating Russian instructions was just unthinkable, and certainly unpatriotic.

Vladimir tinkered with the objects, musing about their use and function as he fantasised about performing in front of

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

2

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Yulia, a girl from his class, his first love—his Yulia as he thought of her.

In that moment, he heard her cry out. Vladimir panicked for a second before she giggled. She was having fun with some of the other boys, which hurt Vladimir; he didn’t altogether understand his feelings for her, he was a late developer, being smaller than most of the other boys and quieter, far quieter.

He shook his head disapprovingly as he forced his attention back upon his dream present, something he had begged of his uncle (who had connections and was able to procure Levis and the occasional board game, and, it seemed, magic set, for the right price) for over three consecutive years. The boy couldn’t believe his good fortune and luck. I only had to work in his garden for 50 hours. But I would’ve put in 500 for THIS thing. Now she will notice me, maybe.

As Yulia screamed out again, the boys continuing to chase her and the other girls in the playground as they played that day’s instalment of the ‘chase game’, Vladimir withdrew into himself, thinking about wooing his teenage love interest who he thought the most beautiful girl in Russia, perhaps the world, but thereafter he would take his new-found skills (after he had honed them for many years, of course) to Moscow, where he would become famous, an entertainer, and before long would travel with circuses and theatre companies far and wide. One day, everyone will know the name PUTIN, Vladimir Putin thought in the darkness.

With but a flick of a light switch, he was violently torn out of his daydreaming. ‘PUTIN! What is all this?’ asked Mr Volkov, his elderly teacher. The man’s eyes widened in his head as he hungrily surveyed the mass of American-made items, gadgets, gizmos and tricks all about Vladimir’s person and desk.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

3

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

There was nothing he could say to the man who claimed to have been there on the “day of the Russian Revolution”—when the tsars were killed by communistic revolutionaries. Why he ever boasted about that always confused Vladimir.

He would have to be at least 80, if he was there, Putin thought critically. If the story went the way he tells it…

‘Boy! I’m talking to you, and anyway,’ the man said as he returned a small bottle of imported whiskey to the inner breast pocket of his jacket, a fact not lost on Vladimir who had already heard the rumours about his teacher’s lunchtime drinking sessions, ‘where did you get that propaganda from, eh?’

‘It’s just magic. It’s just a bit of fun, really sir, really.’

With his own contraband safely stowed away, next to his heart, Vladimir’s teacher began to smile, which caused the boy to follow suit, he was just pretending to be angry. Maybe he likes magic after all. Maybe he can help me to understand the instructions.

‘Putin, why are you smiling, boy?’

No reply came, just a small bow of Vladimir’s head. He prayed that she wouldn’t enter the room in that moment, it would destroy him. Stay away, Yulia, I can’t let you see me like this!

‘That’s better!’ Mr Volkov announced, seeing Putin’s face redden and head dip as in supplication. ‘I bet this is your uncle, isn’t it? Yes, I think I will have to pay him a visit, you know, with the police and a high-ranking party official also, of course.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘You know that he broke the law, right?’

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

4

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

‘Of course, sir.’

‘And you know what the punishment will be?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘So why did you bring that thing here and take the risk of exposing yourself and him also?’

‘I don’t understand the instructions, sir. So I have to spend any spare time I have trying to translate the words, you see.’

‘But why, boy? Why?’

From outside, Yulia screamed once more, but a giggle did not follow. In a single jolting movement, Vladimir stood, knocking his desk and chair over at the same time, his eyes fixed on Yulia, who he could see through a small gap in the blinds. She was lying on the ground, nursing a twisted ankle as teachers rushed to her aid and children panicked.

‘Ah, I see. It’s about a girl, is it?’

All Vladimir could do was retake his seat, after picking it up and his desk also, his face even redder now than before. He felt a surge of emotions inside him, he wanted to leave that place, be free, with his magic set and Yulia, but the teacher was still there, which meant he had to remain. Are they going to send me to prison? he mused.

‘Stop, don’t bother picking up the pieces, boy, the cleaner will tidy that up, I will call her now.’

‘Cleaner … sir? Can no one buy items from America, I mean legally?’

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

5

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

‘Yes. Cleaner … she will put your “magic” toys in the incinerator. You can’t keep all of this, can you? It’s illegal. Contraband,’ said Mr Volkov, although failing to tell Vladimir that he had no intention of causing trouble for the boy’s uncle, as both he and half of the faculty relied on him for the food and drink items and clothes and records that were available nowhere else.

‘And can no one, I mean other than me, keep the set without it going to—’

‘The incinerator? Is that what you were going to say? Well, I guess if you were, say, I don’t know, the president of Russia, Vladimir, then I guess you could keep it—but you are not the president and not likely to be anytime soon.’

‘President’ Putin? thought Vladimir. That sounds pretty good! ‘Is there no way, sir, for me to keep it? I mean I do cut people’s grass and tend to their gardens and chop wood and such like.’

‘A bribe, boy?’ Volkov asked, an eyebrow raised as he eased himself slowly down onto another pupil’s unforgiving wooden chair.

‘No sir. I would never. An exchange,’ Vladimir quipped, altogether too confidently for his teacher.

‘Methinks not, boy, as, like all good leaders of the Communist cause, I don’t have a garden, I live in an apartment in the city! But if you … if you can bend that spoon with your magic, then maybe you can keep your contraband.’

‘Sir, but … that is just a normal spoon; it is my spoon, for eating,’ Vladimir said, and he wasn’t lying, it was just a regular

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

6

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Russian spoon, still with traces of the porridge just eaten by the boy upon it and a soup stain from the previous evening.

‘I will fetch the cleaner then.’

‘No, OK … OK. How do you … how do you do it?’

The old teacher knew he was being mean, cruel even, but thought it a life-lesson worth learning. Any year we will be at war, a hot war, with America, England and all the rest of the anti-Communist nations and boys like this will be at the front, fighting for Lenin, Trotsky and Marx! What a useless fighter he will make with top hats and wands and magic tricks to distract him from the cause of our times! No, he needs this lesson!

‘It’s simple, young Putin. Take the spoon—no, from the bottom there … yes, the bottom of the handle,’ the man told Vladimir, the boy taking his stout, thick and heavy spoon and holding it tightly between his fingers.

‘Like this, sir?’ Vladimir asked, holding the object, which he used several times a day, washed several times a day and thus knew its measure and quality—it was a solid object, built to last generations, Russian-made, the boy held out no hope whatsoever.

‘And now you simply stare at the end of the spoon, the big end, with both eyes and you imagine it bending, and if the magic works, the spoon will bend, OK? Got it?’

Putin briefly closed his eyes before reopening them and grimacing. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted that stupid spoon to bend to his will. To get to keep the magic set. To then get the girl. To get respect. To get recognition. To become the man he thought himself destined to become.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

7

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

‘Come now, are you ready? Vladimir … Mr Putin … are you ready?’

The boy heard his teacher, including the malice in his words that could not be hidden, but he heard something else also, as if a second person was in the room with him, and a word lingered on the wind, the sound of which gently passed by his left ear. It was Predestination, a word that Vladimir didn’t fully understand the meaning of at the time, which caused his pupils to dilate in a millisecond and his heart to pound, the boy thoroughly shocked at the word being spoken to him by such a powerful, yet also gentle and unseen voice, which reverberated—the word being heard again and again a dozen times or more in his mind before he refocused his attention on the spoon due to his teacher invoking his surname once more.

As hard as he stared – and he stared harder than perhaps any other boy or man could have stared at a metal object in an attempt to bend it – nothing happened.

No bend, movement, crack, creek or sound or anything—I can’t do it, I can’t bend the spoon. I have failed.

Mr Volkov was satisfied that Vladimir would grow up to be a useful facet of the state. Maybe he’ll even be a teacher himself one day, he assumed, judging by the boy’s passion, drive and zeal. Standing, Vladimir’s new nemesis let out a shout that sent chills down the hopeful magician’s spine. ‘Cleaner!’

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

8

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Chapter Two — Putin and the Street Dogs of Moscow

(Number 36 Lenin Street, 10th December, 2018)

Putin’s clearly agitated bodyguard asked the same question again, which caused the Russian president’s eye to twitch.

‘Mr President, please. Can we leave? This is a bad part of town, you are not safe here!’

Not safe? Putin thought humorously. If he only knew of the trials I went through in my former life.

‘Like I said, I just want to sit here for a little while longer.’ The word ‘Predestination’ rang in his head like a bell as he looked at the fading number 36 on the front door; so many years had passed but the events of those days somehow felt so recent to the leader of the Russian people. ‘Did you find out who owns Number 36 Lenin Street today?’ he asked of his assistant, who sat across from Putin in the presidential armoured limousine. ‘Because I have decided I want it to disappear, I have only heard bad things about it!’

As his assistant began to reply, he thought about his dream the night before, about Lenin Street, the Peace Plan, denuclearisation—all of it.

Yes, it makes sense, he thought, remembering his vision, force those with a few nukes to disarm, then those with more, until the U.S. and Russia oversee one another’s disarmament. The thought pleased Putin. Maybe this is what I was born to do? he mused, his mind wandering again.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

9

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

It was almost too much for him to absorb, almost. He remembered how, just a week earlier, a once famous boxer known as Mikhail the Terrible died penniless on the streets on Moscow, with only the street dogs that he fed attending his small funeral, before word reached Putin’s ear. He had thought the man had moved abroad or died many years earlier. Mikhail, it seemed, was making amends until his dying day and never asked for a handout. Some said he fell into the path of the taxi, others said he pushed a street dog out of the way, taking the hit himself.

‘Yes, Mr President. It is a ... Yuliana Petrov.’

Not MY Yulia, Putin thought.

‘She is an animal rights campaigner and helps to rehabilitate bears that have been abused.’

How ironic, the Russian leader thought.

‘So, do you still want to place a destruction order on the property?’

‘No, send some flowers instead. In the note, write that… No, just send her flowers every day from now on. Drive on, Ivan!’ Putin said into the intercom inset into the arm of his chair. The large vehicle began moving forward immediately. One day, maybe, I will see you again, Yulia, but I’ve got to save the world first.

The president’s staff seemed confused by his actions but did not think to question him. He was the glue that held the remnants of the Soviet Empire together, and the only thing keeping the other world powers in check—or so he told his staff at least, regularly, guaranteeing loyalty, fearing his absence would bring about in-fighting and chaos—which it probably

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

10

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

would, due to the emotional state and persona of “The Russian”.

‘And tell me,’ Putin asked his assistant, ‘what progress have we made with the street dog problem? I told you how one saved my life once, when I was a young man, didn’t I?’

‘The dog that licked your face?’ the man asked, squinting, confused.

‘Da.’

‘Well, yes, Mr President, we are conducting polls and doing surveys, we are trying to find out why there are so many dogs living rough on Russian streets but—’

‘But nothing. You don’t need polls or surveys; the answer is obvious, is it not? Are there street dogs in London? Nyet. In Washington, D.C.? Nyet! Our people are causing this!

‘What food do you think they eat in the park when the snow comes?’ the president asked as he remembered the small fluffy dog whose warm tongue revived him; he always regretted that he was later unable to find the small creature and give it a home. ‘Forget your surveys!’ Putin boomed. ‘Russia will give houses to the dogs and the cats on the streets in the cities, towns and villages; until then we are little better than the men who make dogs fight one another! Russia will save these unfortunates and imprison those who dump animals in the future.’

‘Dump, Mr President?’ another member of the presidential entourage asked. Useful idiots, Putin thought most of them.

‘Da! Of course. How do you think there are thousands of animals who came to be dying on the streets? They didn’t put

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

11

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

themselves there! Come up with ten solutions to this problem before one week, you and Georgi,’ Putin said, giving two of his nervous employees a death stare as he singled them out for the project. ‘Work on this as a top priority!’

The president wasn’t finished educating his people about the street dog problem, but the satellite phone in his briefcase started to ring, which meant the lesson would have to be saved for later. They were thankful for the respite…

There was only one person it could be.

Answering the call, Putin placed a finger over his lips, a signal to his fellow passengers that absolute silence was required, silence and privacy, which meant they each had to, within a fraction of a second, place sound-blocking ear defenders upon their heads—this was the most private of calls.

The president’s assistants couldn’t hear a word but saw his lips moving, a few of them able to pick out occasional words. After being told some good news, that Putin was glad to hear, the president relaxed and his tension and anxiety about the street dog problem waned.

‘Congratulations, General! This is a great achievement for Russia … and the Americans haven’t detected you. If only they knew that we now have a “combat ready” space station in high orbit…

‘I will be in my office in twenty minutes; I will call you back then. It is heartening to know that we have a backup plan to the backup plan—’

‘The folder?’ the general asked.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

12

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

‘Da, the folder. I retrieved it yesterday, in preparation for today. If Plan A fails, at least we now have a Plan B. How many missiles does the station hold again, General?’ The orbital weapon system was Plan B.

‘Thirty-six, Mr President.’

‘Let’s hope we never have to use them, eh? And I’m sure the leaders will “play ball” and agree to the adoption of the black folder plan once they learn about our new space hardware!’

‘But, Mr President, the whole project, the whole point of it has been to keep it a state secret! Why share the information now? It makes no sense!’

‘Calm down, General Sidorov! I will only share the station’s existence if they reject the contents of the black folder. The station is the Plan B to my Plan A. OK?’

‘Yes, of course, sir, you know best … I guess. I will await your call, Mr President. Thank you again for all your support on this project.’

Ending the call, Putin’s mind began to wander as his staff updated him – after removing their ear defenders – on the “Brexit” situation, Trump’s latest press conference and the situation in North Korea as well as that morning’s intel from WikiLeaks.

He thought about Mikhail, about that crazy day all those many years ago. It was about this time of year, he mused, when I first met him, on that strange day—which was both the worst and best day of Vladimir Putin’s life.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

13

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Chapter Three — Putin, “Bluey” and Yuliana

(Morning, Moscow, Russia, 10th December, 1971)

The ageing chemist didn’t believe the young man’s story so reached for her glasses to view him more fully. With her glasses on, she looked him up and down carefully. What a slight young fellow, she thought, barely 16 I imagine—actually he was 19.

‘So, tell me again, young man … just how big are these rats that you need to kill?’

Vladimir Putin swallowed and afterwards cleared his throat. ‘This big,’ he said, placing his hands as far apart as they would go upon the counter in front of him.

‘Really?’ the sceptical chemist enquired.

‘Da!’ Putin answered, more confidently now, finding his voice, standing with his back straightened.

It had been a long day and a cold one also—December was always cold in Moscow. The chemist suspected that the slight figure of a young man standing in front of her had ill intent, as she had never seen rats grow to the great length as described by her potential customer, but she feared a parent of his might be “high up” in the “party” so chose the safer option (for herself at least) by giving Putin a large box of the strongest rat poison available.

‘Two boxes, please!’ Putin said with a cheeky smile, attempting to mask his real emotions—it worked, he got the

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

14

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

two boxes and pushed far more money than the poison cost across the counter.

The chemist told herself, If anyone asks, I will just say I sold him a small box of poison…

Putin left with the same ease he had entered with; even as a boy and young man he had a quiet confidence about him. He mentally patted himself on the back as he braced against the winter cold out in the street.

Good, it’s still there! Putin thought, spying his bicycle across the street, which he had leaned against a street light. The road between the bike and Putin was busy, despite the deep snow yet to be cleared, but there was not a crossing in sight so he knew he would have to make a run for it.

As car horns honked and brakes screeched, the future president of Russia made his way across the road to his rusting blue bicycle with a damaged fruit crate lashed behind the seat as a baggage carrier of sorts, which seemed to be full of newspapers, probably the reason it had not been stolen. The papers had been put there by design, by Putin, for this very reason. Newspaper couriers were state workers.

‘Good ol’ “Bluey”, you’re too ugly for anyone to take, but you have never let me down, you’re the only one that hasn’t.’

Removing the papers from the crate and stuffing them into a street bin, Putin added the two boxes of rat poison to the eight boxes at the bottom of the crate that he had procured from chemists in other parts of that old city.

As the young man started the short bike ride home he fought back the urge to cry as he remembered the girl’s words to him

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

15

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

when they parted at the train station that very morning. The words stung him when they came to the fore once again:

‘I am to marry Peter, I love Peter. I can never see you again, Vladimir, not in this life at least.’

Yulia, without you I am nothing, I have no present or future without you, my beautiful Yulia, my heart, my everything!

Putin continued musing about the love of his life, Yulia, as he continued cycling home. Yuliana, three years his senior, had always been just out of reach. He had kept telling himself, Next season, I will start lifting weights, then she will notice me, or, I will join the military academy, then she will know my worth!

But I waited too long, he now realised. Now she is gone and I want to die, I will find a new owner for Bluey and then this rat will scuttle off; if not, I will be too wretched and morose forever more. I must save Mother Russia from myself…

As the winter froze his nose hair and reddened his uncovered ears, the man practised drinking the brew of hot water, whiskey and rat poison in his mind. He knew it would be a pitiful sight, that is why he had to do it at once, not even 24 hours after Yuliana had left him; he needed to get it out of the way, he needed to escape reality—life without Yulia.

Finally, he was on his street. How did I get here? Putin thought. He’d travelled back home like a zombie, in a daze, heavily conflicted about his chosen course of action. It seemed so romantic in that Shakespeare play, he thought. So why am I filled with so much dread and dark feelings? She said we could be together in the next life, didn’t she? He desperately tried to remember her parting words and attempted in his mind to put together the hazy, dream like fragments that he could remember, but the loud engine noise

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

16

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

from the train and the shouting of the conductor had drowned out much of the young woman’s parting sentiment. He was angered that he couldn’t say for certain what his true love’s every word had been on that fateful day. Is that what she said, in the next life I could have her and her me?

Putin’s musings were interrupted when he drew level with Yuliana’s house. He knew it well, better than perhaps Yuliana or her parents knew it. Every crack and imperfection was familiar to him, thousands of times – in his dreams – he had opened the gate, walked down the short path and knocked on the door.

‘Yes, that’s where you are going, Bluey, Yuliana’s house, her younger brother can have you now. When she returns, she will see you and realise my love for her is absolute and will look for me in the next place, if there is a next place.’

He dropped the bike off with a hastily written note to the new owner:

I am going away. Please look after this bike, I call her Bluey, and tell Yulia I will wait for her.

—Vladimir Putin.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

17

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Chapter Four — Hope Has Returned

(The Kremlin, Moscow, Russia, 10th December, 2018)

The presidential limousine came to a gentle halt outside the Kremlin, in central Moscow, a few minutes before nine o’clock. Putin liked to start work early, he had already been up for several hours, but now he had arrived at the seat of Russian political power, his real workday could begin.

From somewhere a trumpet blared, followed by others, the fanfare welcoming the president’s return.

Inside, Vladimir’s heart was warmed at the reception, which was always the same—the saluting, the pageantry, pomp and circumstance, the flags, colours, uniforms and everything else. But if the president was moved in his mind and heart, he didn’t show it externally, as the Russian people expected their leaders to be strong, and for Russians, strength comes from being stoic, and Putin was the king of stoicism and playing it cool—his friends always asked him why he never became a professional poker player.

Still seated inside the limo, Putin watched as one of his bodyguards approached his door, an outstretched hand intending to open it.

Three … four … five … open it now! the president coolly told himself, counting each hurried step made by the man, pre-empting his hand reaching and opening the handle and thus the door by a fraction of a second—doing so to demonstrate self-reliance and humility whilst also keeping his security detail on

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

18

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

their toes. He was always several steps ahead of them and got the very best out of them as a result.

Putin stepped out into the freezing Russian winter, his nose hairs freezing at once, with his suit jacket over one arm and a pile of briefing notes and reports under the other.

‘Hold these, would you?’ he asked, speaking to the man who almost got to Putin’s door before he opened it. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, kid,’ the president continued, ‘no one has managed it yet, and I think it will remain that way, but maybe you will be the first, just not today.’

Replying with a proud nod and muted smile, his bodyguard, who was being visually assessed thoroughly by his leader, took the jacket, folders and paperwork before Putin took the jacket back and slowly placed his arms into it, resisting the urge to button up at the front.

The bodyguard, eyes fixed on Putin’s and Putin’s on his, saw a glare come into view in the same moment that the president had finished dressing, as his assistants took the papers and other articles.

‘One of ours?’ Putin asked. He knew it was the telescopic scope mounted on a sniper rifle that had reflected the light into the men’s eyes.

‘Da, Mr President. No problem. It’s ten o’clock,’ the man said, referring to the geographic location where the glare originated, without pointing. ‘Over by the financial district, it’s your backup’s backup. We’ve got four snipers on rotation up there, on the mini skyscraper behind the opera house, you see?’ he asked, gesturing with his eyes alone. ‘They are in the penthouse, lucky buggers…’

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

19

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

‘Good. Nice to have someone above, looking out for you, but do something about the glare, eh? Don’t they have spotters or sun shades for their scopes? They are giving away their position to the enemy.’

What enemy? the man thought. ‘Da, Mr President, of course, sir!’ Damn, the president knows a lot about snipers! Finding out a radio, the man saluted the president as he began ascending the deep granite stairs that led to his place of work and, with Putin still in earshot, the man spoke into his radio quietly yet sternly. ‘Charlie team! Glare! Glare! You have been spotted. Sort yourselves out up there; you’re getting me in trouble with the boss!’

Putin heard the word ‘boss’ and couldn’t hold back the smile that overcame his cool demeanour. Boss? he thought. And to think it only seems like yesterday when I was at the back of the classroom, blinds drawn, in the dark alone, the boys outside chasing the girls, but now I am not hiding from anyone … and the girls chase me!

‘What’s so funny?’ one of his presidential assistants asked, hoping to endear himself to his idol.

‘Never mind, Alexi, just a silly old man musing about his childhood.’

‘You are not old, Mr President.’

‘You’re a good politician, Alexi, always been loyal, but your nose is white, keep it that way. Russian people like white noses…’

‘Yes sir, sorry sir.’

Putin continued climbing the snow-covered stairs with his small entourage following a few paces behind, Alexi slowing

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

20

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

down to join them again after the presidential rebuke, due to him being too gushing, fawning—too “brown-nosing”. He had been watching too many Western TV programs and U.S. political dramas, he surmised. I’m turning into a Yank or Brit! he thought, worried about the change occurring in him, which had already irked his leader.

Without looking back, Putin addressed the group of men and women who followed behind at a respectable distance as the huge doors before him swung open, two honour guards effortlessly achieving the feat as they ceremoniously averted their eyes. ‘Take the lift without me, I fancy a walk, I will take the stairs and see you up there.’

For all the president’s talents and skills of observation and astuteness, he somehow failed to notice that one of the honour guards, just inside the lobby, had specks of blood on the collar of his finely pressed white dress shirt, but he did notice that the man was sweating, which he thought a result of nerves, due to his own arrival, rather than a result of what he had done, just moment before, that had caused the specks of blood, still wet, to come to be on his collar…

Several presidential bodyguards began to approach their leader before giving up as a passing army colonel who was well known to them – a man close to Putin – waved them away with a brashness that they were all used to. Having all completed mandatory military service in the past, a respect for officers was still ingrained deep within them. As worried as they were about Putin coming to harm, angering the old colonel worried them more so!

The president entered a little-used stairwell via an unassuming door and slowly made his way upward. He licked his lips as he went, tasting his breakfast soup a second time.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

21

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

The soup was a family recipe, he would even cook it for himself, on occasion even as a boy, he remembered, but not fondly—in fact, remembering the taste of soup, as his nose hairs defrosted, caused bad memories to come to the fore. He continued moving forward and upwards, but his mind remained in the past.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

22

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Chapter Five — Putin, God and the Lord of Purgatory

(Afternoon, somewhere in Moscow, Russia, in a kitchen, 10th December, 1971)

The lovelorn young man who had amassed enough poison to kill fifty men was starting to feel unwell.

Well, if that’s just from the fumes, drinking that concoction will definitely allow me to escape!

He placed an old ladle into the pot on the stove. Whiskey, water and rat poison boiled and bubbled together, the solid green pellets procured from the various chemists were nearly all dissolved now. Another minute should do it, Putin thought.

A thought pushed its way into the man’s mind. NO! I cannot think of my family. If I have to factor them into every decision I will be rendered useless and lame, dying an old man with nothing but regrets! He steeled himself for the task at hand, stirring the hard-to-swallow concoction for the final time.

In a cupboard he found a large metal soup cup that would hold around one litre of liquid. In the pot was a little over a litre of “liquid”, but he surmised correctly that a litre of that vile mixture would be enough to leave Moscow once and for all.

Putin turned off the stove and saw the invisible children that he and Yuliana were always destined to have running around the small wooden kitchen table, in his mind at least. This caused him to smile, but with that smile came a tear. The young man was regretting not killing Peter when he had the chance. Far

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

23

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

better for him to be drinking this than me! he thought, but he didn’t mean it, he chose honour above theft; how could he steal the one thing in this world that needed to give itself to him freely?—Yuliana. He couldn’t, he wanted and needed to be loved by her. He didn’t wish to own her; he wanted to be owned by her.

‘I am ready!’ he announced, choking back tears, remembering Yuliana’s platted hair, her freckles, and her voice for what he assumed would be the final time.

In that same moment, a reply came to his words, unheard by his ears:

‘YES, you are ready, Mr Vladimir Putin. This … is … your … time,’ the Lord of Purgatory said in that hidden place unseen by the living as he rose from his deep chair; but a powerful force stopped him from standing.

‘I am giving this one another chance at life, my servant of old,’ God said. ‘Stay your hand lest the world be destroyed 50 years hence!’

The Lord of Purgatory reluctantly agreed with a bow but still made a cage ready. Just in case, he thought, Vladimir Putin squanders his second chance!

Back in Moscow, Putin poured the lethal draft into the cup. ‘Five … four … three…’ He continued counting down, planning to down the entirety when he reached zero, counting down slower as he went. ‘Two … one…’ Suddenly, something happened that the man had not expected, he lost consciousness, fully and without warning, pushed into a deep dream state.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

24

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Where am I? Did I drink the poison? Is this heaven … hell? Where am I? Putin thought.

It was a thousand years earlier, he surmised, going by the construction of the houses around him, but it was still Moscow. He recognised the topography immediately, but gone was the concrete, the automobiles and modernity, which were replaced by trees, streams, people, animals and nature. He found himself atop a grassy hill with his ancestors, a cultivated vegetable garden and a large bear tethered to the earth by a great chain, which was staked into the ground.

Before he could think, say or do anything further, a pack of fifty or more wolves surrounded his hill, encircling it, moving upwards towards him and his people.

Some of the men threw rocks at the attacking wolves; this only seemed to anger them. Women and the elderly shouted and whistled, making a tremendous racket, but still they came.

Putin, still uncertain of where he was, when he was or if he was even alive, eventually stood up.

‘What weapons have we?’ he asked, but his language was not understood, the people on the hill thought him mad or a foreigner. ‘Spear? Sword? How do you people protect yourselves?’ Putin saw that the wolves were now but 10 metres away. Is this going to be both the beginning and the end of my second life?

‘Release the bear,’ said a voice that only Putin could hear.

‘Who said that? The bear will destroy us also!’

‘Release the bear!’ the voice said again.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

25

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Putin felt a cold metal object in his right fist; it was the key to the bear’s shackles. He had no choice; as he saw it, death was ensured either way. He saw his countrymen and women of old shivering in fear and dread, eyes streaming with tears.

‘OK then, God!’ he said, somehow realising the voice originated in the heavens.

Fully expecting to be violently mauled to death, Vladimir raced to the huge beast and searched for the lock that would be undone by the key miraculously placed into his hand, and then he saw it! The lock was directly under the great bear’s neck!

Dying twice in one day? Putin thought. Just my bloody luck... ‘For Mother Russia!’ He jumped upwards, grappling the great beast’s neck, but the bear resisted.

It stood up expectantly, towering over the people and their small houses. Putin dangled in an undignified way (he thought at least) being shaken left to right, yet still the wolves drew closer. Then he became angry.

‘Sit, you giant swine!’ the dead or un-dead (as he saw it) Putin shouted, producing a timbre hitherto undiscovered by his young lungs and throat. I am Vladimir Putin, son of Russia, and I release you!’

The bear was shocked by Putin’s outburst, as were the villagers who at once realised the stranger’s intention. A pleading look from Putin was all that was necessary for the people on the hill – men, women and children of all ages, whose number was one hundred or more – to join the stranger in releasing the bear.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

26

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Despite its huge size, the bear was contained by the people and, finally, Putin managed to get the key into the lock and undo the animal from its shackles.

Vladimir backed off slowly, forgetting that the wolves were at his back. He continued to make eye contact with the giant creature as he neared one of the larger wolves that now stood but a metre behind him.

Letting out a guttural roar, the bear shook off the people who were still upon him and made for Putin, running at full speed, taking huge strides in his direction. Suddenly, a feeling of calm came over the man; he saw the bear running at him and knew he could do nothing to escape the situation. Faith was the only thing that he felt was left, faith and hope. He closed his eyes and spoke softly in reply to the voice that had ordered the bear to be released.

‘I am sorry, God. I was too rash. Give me a second chance, send me back and I will ever be a servant to Russia. Send me back, unleash the Bear. There is still a fire in my heart and a hunger for life, send me back, my Creator!’

Gradually, slowly, Vladimir Putin, on his hill with his people, opened his eyes. As he did so, the bear leapt over his head and landed on the wolves nearest to him, causing them to break formation and flee, before roaring at Putin a final time before chasing the wolves into the far distance, beyond the horizon. Then the young man awoke in his kitchen, the cup of death on the table in front of him, its noxious odour filling the room.

‘I’m alive!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m alive! I’m alive!’

With a look of derision on his face he threw the poisonous drink into the sink and put the tap on full pressure to wash it

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

27

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

away. The fumes were heady, he felt dizzy and partially intoxicated from inhaling its fume alone so he opened the window and the back door. Hang on a minute; I know that hill … the bear … the people … the wolves… I must go there now!

The future president had remembered that a public park, just around the corner from where he lived, had a crest at the northern end that seemed to have been levelled out at some point, which may have once been a grassy hill.

He left his coat, gloves and hat at home, he left the back door and kitchen window open also; all he could think about was getting to his hill once more. Was I really there? Did I travel through time? What the hell was that? he thought, running at full speed.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

28

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Chapter Six — The President’s Office

(9:01 “Russian time”, the Kremlin, Moscow, Russia, 10th December, 2018)

Vladimir Putin sat behind his desk, the presidential desk, as he enjoyed the famous view of the domes atop the towers of the churches at the centre of his Russia, and it was his. Taking the stairs had done him good, the president felt relaxed and invigorated by the exercise, even thinking of making it a routine of his from then on.

Red Square lay before him, snow-kissed by the indomitable Russian winter that had defeated both the French and Germans alike, who had each tried and failed to tame the Russian Bear, a cause of pride for all Slavic peoples—in the East, survival alone is considered victory.

The president had palaces available to him, as well as luxury apartments and houses, but his heart was at the centre of Russian-ness, which was the Kremlin, and the man had started to spend more time in that place since the Brexit vote in Great Britain…

This wasn’t because he didn’t like the eventual outcome (the British people voting for independence from Europe), it was due to the way the international community had reacted to Britain’s “request” to go it alone.

The reaction of Europe, N.A.T.O. and others to Britain seeking detachment from the European Union had thoroughly rattled the Russian president, who feared it would lead to eventual conflict, destabilisation and war.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

29

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

‘Tea!’ he shouted in Russian into his intercom.

A satisfying and immediate, ‘Yes, my president!’ came in reply, more than half the reason for the man making the request; he was barely thirsty, but how else does such a man and international hate figure pass the time?

Putin swivelled around in his executive chair, the president’s chair, to look upon a portrait that hung behind him. As he mused about both Hitler and Napoleon and how close both men came to conquering his homeland, a thought struck the Russian premier like a bolt of lightning in his mind.

I am just like Hitler, aren’t I? he thought, holding back a chuckle as he looked upon the portrait that drew his attention away from the spectacular view from his window, some ten stories up.

He regained his composure fully but couldn’t shake the smile from his face.

How ironic that I have YOU on my wall, when the fuhrer, Putin thought, thinking of the German leader Adolf Hitler, reportedly had a portrait of the emperor hanging on his.

Putin dwelt a moment longer on the thought, trying to understand why Hitler would even want Napoleon on his wall; after all, his native Austria had been conquered by the man and his armies.

He guessed that it was deep admiration for his achievements, which caused him to remember his reasons for hanging a portrait of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II upon his own wall, behind the presidential chair and desk no less!

The man’s wistful thoughts betrayed his true motivations.

SAMPLE

SAMPLE

30

BRUCEMASTERS.COM

Elizabeth, how have you done it? How have you remained at the helm for so long, held on to the reins of your nation through all its many changes, drastic changes? Putin was in awe of her, what an achievement her lengthy reign was, he didn’t imagine he would ever equal it, but it was something to aspire to. Huh, he thought, maybe that was actually the reason for Hitler having Bonaparte on his wall, because of his own designs on Russia. Why won’t the world just leave Russia alone? the president thought, losing the rare smile at once, anger and frustration filling his mind.

The presidential intercom buzzed. ‘Two minutes for the tea, Mr President.’

That wasn’t the same voice as before, Putin realised. Another assassination attempt? he surmised as no advanced warning about the delivery of drinks had ever come before; in fact, it was forbidden to contact the Russian leader through his intercom, two gentle yet swift knocks upon his door was the established etiquette—which also served as a code of sorts.

So they have come for me again, have they? Who is it this time? I wonder, the man thought as he stood up slowly in an unusually calm manner, considering that assassins loomed just outside the presidential office, or so he thought.

Is this the end of my story that started in that damn park so many years ago? I can’t “go out” like this, can I? Can I?

***

END OF SAMPLE – END OF SAMPLE

SAMPLE