Moon City

This story was written in 2001, it is about to be rewritten bringing it up to date with all the modern technology, new world order and attitudes in 2025

…watch this space

A Play written by Alan Lawrie. 7th April 2001.

The Characters

• PETER HYDE
  English Engineer &Architect of Moon City
  Aristocratic, dry sense of humour, philanthropist

• ROY CRAWFORD
  Bio Technician, Hydroponics and Solar power expert
  Portly, does not suffer fools gladly, but sharp and witty.

• SANKA RUDIN
  American Journalist
  young, handsome good natured, ambitious

• GUY RAVEL
  Hippie
  musician, naïve but caring, loves life

• KRISSI
  Partner
  New Age Therapist

• GORDON McRAE
  Scottish Archaeologist
  stuffy, a little deaf

• ALISON McRAE
  His Wife
  long suffering, resourceful, Scottish

• POLICE OFFICER
  Local Police officer
  zero personality

• LOCAL OFFICIAL
  From the Revolutionary Council
  even less

• FRAIL OLD MAN
  New City Governor
  well spoken, dignified

Setting

Moon City – a tourist resort of population 15,ooo inhabitants on the Coast of Ligeria, 180 miles south east of the capital, Marlis.

ACT ONE Scene One

(Stone Walled Jail. Through the bars of the window they can see the moon crescent shaped with two stars to its left. The stream of moonlight is the only light they have).

Enter Peter, Roy and Sanka:

(Sanka presses the record button on his tape recorder)

PETER (in a soft voice and pointing)

Look! the city flag!

(All stare through the window)

PETER

“Welcome to MOON CITY” That was back in 2005 the week before the first tourist plane landed at Lunar Airport. I remember those posters. It was the first thing that caught your eye when you got off the plane.

SANKA (jotting notes)

OK, let’s start from the beginning. Tell me how you got the concept. The project. The realisation. Don’t miss anything out. Are you sure you’re up to this?

PETER (pensive – pacing the cell)

Is there ever a better time? Yes, we are ready.

I believed I could make it rain in the desert. And so they thought I could turn their scorching sands into a tropical paradise. At least, I achieved it here…to a point.

(stops and stares and the flickering moonlight on the flagstone floor)

I did a lot of projects involving water. It was when I built a desalination plant for the Saudis back in the 80’s that I began to realise how much water supply really was the key to everything out here. I had a good look at what the Israelis did in the Negev. They turned the wastelands - sand and rubble mainly into fruit farms; oranges, nectarines, avocadoes, etc. and have been selling us their surplus for years. Soil technology – or should I say the technology of growing plants without soil, electronically programmed irrigation…I learned a lot from those guys. They know the impossible can be done.

(leans back on the wall looks Sanka in the eye)

ROY

Can you imagine, Sanka, you keep turning on the tap and no water gushes out. You try another and another. And they are all dry. Then it doesn’t rain?

SANKA

Go on

PETER

Water IS life or death. Cities are built on rivers – desert tribes find the watering hole first. What did man hope to find on the Moon? Water.

SANKA

Sure we take it for granted. So what did you do?

PETER

I studied rain and drought patterns. You know, in lush mountainous areas, it rains, you’ve seen it. Invariably clouds hang around the peaks . Vegetation becomes even more verdant. In the desert? Nothing. The desert creeps forward stealing a little more each day. And deforestation have given us global warming. Yet we know the Sahara hasn’t always been a desert. So, I thought, why not construct a designer mountain in the desert and restore those trees and bushes?

SANKA (sitting down looking up at Peter)

That simple, eh? You sound just like one of those old alchemists. They simply believed it could be done based on the science of their day. But here I am freelancing for Time Magazine with that footage in the can. (glances at his watch)

I don’t know how much time we’ve got so let’s get your story before they come back. (Sanka shifts his weight uncomfortably)

PETER

You OK?

SANKA

You never really get used to it. Some assignments you get shot at. Then you might get taken hostage. Gets to you sometimes.

Because I can blend in anywhere Time often sends me out to these parts, but that’s no guarantee some fanatic won’t blast my head off. I’ll be OK. ***

(Taking a deep breath) How did you figure it out?

PETER

Figure it out? Oh, I see what you mean.

Well, I based my calculations on real mountain masses, air currents and harnessing solar energy I realised there had to be a way. My research team became obsessed with the idea like people who work on deadly viruses or germ warfare - got morbidly fascinated and had to know whether it would actually work nor not.

We needed a client. It had to be in the Sahara, didn’t it Roy?

ROY

Yes – the ultimate challenge. You could say the Everest of Deserts. We had satellite technology, backing of the World Meteorological Centre and consequently access to their research and development programmes. Finally the Foreign Office gave us a debriefing on the political situations in the region. We concluded there were only three qualifying zones – that is desert locations with existing mountains to meet our precise criteria modifications?

SANKA

Which brought you in touch with President Ibn Mohammad of Ligeria, Peter.

PETER

Yes, eventually. There was quite a bit of embassy shuffling at first. We were called upon to do a presentation at every level.

In the end we met the President. Charming fellow but said didn’t say much!

We were introduced to an “interpreter” who was dressed in a shiny blue suit and had an embullient manner about him. But we liked him and he proved to be an invaluable contact. Roy does a wonderful impression of him.

ROY

(standing to attention, thrusting his chest out he mimicked the Ligerian in a military Sandhurst accent)

He was straight to the point. And said “My country is poor and has virtually no tourist industry. Bring us prosperity with your project and we will give you oil revenue to finance it. We need tourists. The President wants you to make an exclusive tourist resort on the coast. There is a minor industrial port on the coast of no particular significance to us.

Rebuild it and make your city there”, he said. “And you must construct a motorway linking the new resort to Marlis our capital then a proper road to the Ledra in the south. For your part you will share the land rents with the State for a period of twenty years.”

I can tell you we could hardly get a word in edgeways, and he went on to discuss arrangements with lawyers and a schedule of meetings. Wonderful fellow.

SANKA

Were there just you two or were you part of a delegation?

PETER

More like an armada. Too many political point scoring chances for our Overseas Trade and Development cats to get fat on. But we got down to business eventually.

All I wanted was a humble project in the desert far away from prying authorities and they offer me an assignment of a lifetime.

(walks over to a tiny sink in the corner)

Champagne anyone? (rinses a clay mug and offers it first to Sanka)

I knew just how my city would be.

SANKA

And you could do it any way you wanted?

PETER

No, we had to respect the laws of his land naturally and to religious protocol in particular. The only autonomy was the enclave of land around where the resort would be where laws could be relaxed to attract tourists.

SANKA

You mean alcohol?

PETER

Yes, bars, nightclubs, restaurants and some cabaret. We built a Police station in Moon City as a gesture. And this is IT!

SANKA

This jail is your design. In the cellar of the Police Station. Who’d did you have in mind as inmates?

PETE

Aggressive drunks and ambitious sunbathers?

SANKA

Ambitious?

PETER

You journalists deal with cover ups, the local mullahs lock up those who won’t.

Besides that nobody wants any trafficking here.

SANKA

So what did you do first? What were your priorities?

PETER

Roy, you handled the manpower how was it?

ROY

We went through the first leg of the project again and again.

And mobilised contractors and subcontractors. Do you know we had around 3000 workers in the first two years?

We started with water and power. We built a new desalination plant to the east of the city and a power station inland fuelled by solar photo voltaic power. The mountain, which we named Moon Mountain of course, was approximately forty miles inland and we planned a road link directly to the resort via an airport…

SANKA (nodding towards Peter)

Which you promptly named Lunar Airport!

PETER

That wasn’t me. Anyway, it was crucial to our daily drops and changes of personnel. The spec for the any mountain modification had to be precise. If we were one degree out we would not catch the updraught. Every angle and face had strategic geothermic importance.

SANKA

I think TIME readers will be fascinated to know how you constructed such a landmark?

PETER

We had to go fairly deep to get a foundation that would take it. We fused silicon – sand obviously – with industrial chemicals to create large toughened glass blocks supported by steel pins.

The voids we filled with sand. It was like building with LEGO!

We used real soil at different levels to support trees and plants and encased them in more glass slabs. There are two approaches to our mountain and you can actually drive up it. Inside it is like a massive spiralling cavern.

SANKA

How high is it? (looking inquisitively with the pencil in his mouth)

PETER

About 500 metres up above the existing height of roughly two thousand, and that range sprawls over an area of 5 square miles with our “peaks” reaching 200 meters or so. We had to cut away the gradients to the east and west to produce sheer drops. At ninety degree angles to the rock face, we constructed giant turbines that could produce force 9 high speed icy winds to blast the surface and be forced upward.

SANKA

Then what?

PETER

Well, at the same time mass areas of “clean” sand were prepared for the cycle of planting, growing, dying, and fresh planting that ultimately would produce topsoil to support trees. As you could see, we got quite a carpet of Olive, Tamarind, and Palms. More than anything else the climate changed through deforestation so our aim was to reverse part of that.

SANKA

Your achievements speak for themselves but you didn’t quite get the new rainforests did you?

PETER

No, to be honest we caught some cloud and yes, we have changed the landscape, but the fact is it’s hardly lush vegetation. We had to rely on modern means of irrigation and using solar energy to cool the ground to keep the area moist and humid for as long as possible. Anyway, Moon Mountain has become an excellent tourist attraction, even now the local tribesmen and mullahs are fascinated by it. Did you manage to see our virtual craters?

SANKA

patting the Dvcam cassettes in his travel case)

It’s all in here. And did you build the motorways?

PETER

I would term “motorway” rather euphemistically. We have provided a decent road from Ledra to Marlis and a coastal highway from the capital to Moon City. Even so motorists are still rarer than camels.

ROY

Actually the road to Moon City goes straight under a section of Moon Mountain. It was even suggested we build a cable car to take tourists from the foot of the mountain to the summit.

As Peter Hyde runs a trembling hand through his thinning hair, he leans against the wall. In the distance, they hear the street noise of agitated men arguing. Some shouting, others barking orders. A volley of what seems like rifle shots in the distance. Wailing, chanting a few blocks away.

ROY (to Sanka)

Why didn’t you get out on Sunday? You had most of the material by the weekend.

PETER

Most of the residents follow events on CNN which is precisely why reporters like you risk your lives in bringing the front line news to us all.

We have a system of sorts…We’ve news flashed every household and business community about the growing dangers of remaining here. Most of us here have chosen to stay for whatever reason. Now of course, we have lost the airport.

I guess you can still row. We have boats and fishermen..

SANKA

…and we have all been rounded up.

As you know, my editor wants this news item. Sure, TIME has been running features on the unrest and turbulence in the country and he suggested I get a profile from Hyde the man who built the city and made it famous AND a counter vision from the other side who now assume authority over it.

This is my biggest assignment to date. I am not going to screw it up now. Hey, I know how to get in front of the queue. I was bought up on the streets of New York, for goodness sake. I can handle it. I am going to get out of here WITH my story.

ACT ONE, Scene Two.

View of city from volcano. Flowers, bushes fragrance. Shrines, Religious artefacts abounding. Astrological signs aplenty.

Enter Gravel and Krissi. Lying in a grassy clearing.

GRAVEL

I could stay here forever. Do we have to go back?

KRISSI

We had this conversation last week and then watched our plane fly out remember? Who cares at this time of the year we can still sleep under the stars.

GRAVEL

And the perfumes of the flowers lull you to sleep…it’s like being on a permanent high.

Who needs to go back to the rat race?

Have you noticed our park keeper friends recently? Weird that, I always felt they were checking us out.

KRISSI

No I haven’t. You know I wonder if this place really was the centre of some ancient religion? Perhaps it’s aligned with the pyramids.

When I lie here and gaze into the night sky I feel tremendous forces around me. Can’t you feel it? So much activity, I wonder if this mountain was an ancient burial site. Judging from all these stone mounds and inscriptions, the Goddess Diana was a big hit round here.

Wonder what they drank?

GRAVEL

Wasn’t she the roman goddess of hunting?

KRISSI

And the Moon. And chastity! Obviously she had a large and diverse constituency to please. We’ve seen several shrines to Isis – who apparently protected sailors - and Osiris her hunky brother whom she married. You see their society was no better than ours today!

GRAVEL

What about the cat headed goddess they call Bastet? I think I fancy her. She must have been the local deity. From what I have read of her she was the Goddess of Fire, Moon and fertility, pleasure, joy, music and dance. I like the way Moon and Fertility are linked like that.

KRISSI

Yeah, better than Moon and Chastity. Forget it Diana, the Cat Woman gets my vote too.

Talking of which, don’t forget she protected all the animals, especially cats. And was handy to have around for healing and marriage. She’d know all about oils and fragrances (leans over and massages Gravel’s back) and touching and toning muscles.

That’s my sort of Goddess - wonder if she composed music?

GRAVEL

But she had a dark side and then they called her Pasht. Wonder what she did.

KRISSI

Well, Moon and Fertility kept her busy round here, maybe it was Pssst! Actually, she was enormously fat.

Gravel plucks a flower and thrusts it at his grinning Girlfriend who lowers her head to kiss him and help him to his feet.

Come on, let’s get something to eat.

You know, it’s amazing how the climate here is so perfect. Artificial, perhaps.

It should be unbearable on some days. The Sirocco can get up to 40 degrees and more and who would want to go traipsing around in that.

GRAVEL

Yeah this place is so cool. Probably the sea has something to do with it.

KRISSI

The ground doesn’t get hot. I thought it would.

Look there’s the Grand Royal. Maybe we can scrounge some work. We can do some tribute numbers can’t we?

Then we can go Deity hunting again, OK?

.

I N T E R M I S S I O N

ACT TWO, Scene One

Back in the prison, Peter, Roy and Sanka discuss…all sitting on the stone floor. Two hours later.

SANKA

Peter, you are the man behind the magic resort of Moon City, Now what about the city itself ? Did you run into any problems?

How many streets are named after you?

PETER (ignoring the jibe, fiddles with his mobile phone)

No signal! They got to that quickly.

SANKA

Got to where?

Loud noises, footsteps coming downstairs.)

PETER (Voice tapering off..)

The control room. Now what have we got…?

(Guards open their door. Two more prisoners are shoved in.)

GRAVEL

(To guards and anyone else within earshot)

Don’t touch me! Filthy scum. I’m a British Citizen and I demand an explanation. Look at me, you ignorant prat, I am speaking to you. (stares him straight in the eye)

ROY (approaches Gravel and cautions him)

Back off! You’ll get us all shot.

GRAVEL (clenching his fist at the guard)

I want to speak to the Embassy. Now! I want a telephone, you understand? My father will deal with you, you miserable..

Aaarhh (crumples to the floor as guard belts him in the stomach with the but of his rifle. Kicks him, turns around, slams the cell door)

KRISSI (leaning over Gravel, rubbing him)

Don’t worry, Grav, we’ll get out of this bloody place. On the very next plane, I promise you…

PETER

There are no more planes. We are all hostages. Our fate is in their hands, and even they probably don’t know what to do with us.

(Shots and shouting is heard down the street. Sporadic fire )

KRISSI

What’s going on here?

GRAVEL (moaning and groaning)

Ouch, ooh. Bastards. (eerie silence; Peter, Roy and Sanka find themselves staring at him)

Er..hmm. I’m Gravel and (turning to his girl friend)

this is Krissi. ‘Scuse my entrance.

KRISSI

Hi (Weak smile, acknowledges them)

Are we interrupting your revolution or is this some kinda weird film set? (looking at Sanka)

SANKA

Sanka. I’m a reporter for TIME MAGAZINE. And, to answer your question, that’s what I am here to find out.

ROY

Welcome to the Holiday Inn. I’m Roy – the Gardener. I water the flowers. Sorry about your bruises, young man.

PETER (crossing the room and helping Gravel onto a soft mattress) The name’s Peter Hyde; Engineer and resident of Moon City. Ignore my friend’s little joke, he’s the finest botanist and hydroponics expert …

GRAVEL (looking across at Roy)

Hydro p’what?

ROY

Water the flowers. No soil! With regulated supply of nutrients and flow of water you don’t actually need the earth.

PETER

Please excuse the rather basic accommodation. The City’s had a surprising amount of visitors recently. Didn’t book in advance, really sorry. What did you do to upset them?

GRAVEL

Well, we were just you know, minding our own business. Keeping out of the way.

How can you guys just sit here so calmly? (groans out loud)

We were….taking in the view, getting high on the flowers…

getting high on each other – you know - when we saw another site.

PETER

Site?

KRISSI

We could see something through the bushes higher up. The sun kept catching it. We followed this narrow path which led to a clearing looking out to sea. Found another carved stone monument.

Had letters and symbols engraved on it. It must have been very old. Crumbled away down one side.

GRAVEL

We’ve been here for weeks. I play in a band back home and we came here to chill out a while. Anyway, we hadn’t really checked out the inner side of the mountain before so we thought we might find a few more ancient burial sites or whatever…we picked up this overgrown trail and found a few more stone arrangements and inscriptions. We figured from the alignment that there must have been some astrological significance.

PETER

That’s Marvin our promoter all over. Large overdoses of mythology, relics and history for the souvenir shops and travel publications. (tries his mobile again; no signal. Notices the twin spools running)

Sanka – the tape.

SANKA

It’s OK. It’ s all part of the interview. Let it run.

KRISSI

What you taping?

SANKA

Well, actually, Peter here designed and built this little paradise for President Ibn Mohammad as a rider to an engineering project aimed at bringing rain and water to the region.

PETER

I also built this jailhouse. And for the record, if they know how to operate the monitors, we are all on local television. Just so that you know you are being observed.

SANKA

If it’s OK with you I’d like to press on with Peter’s story. We don’t know how much time we have left. We have no indication of what they are going to do with us?

GRAVEL

They’re surely not going to touch you. You are an American and represent the Free Press. They need to tell their story to someone.

SANKA

Yes, that’s the other reason my editor sent me.

Now tell me what happened after you discovered all those stones?

PETER (butting in…)

All imported, I’m afraid. Marvin had a field day with those. Ornamental value only and obviously kept a few of you amused.

GRAVEL

We reached the lowest point of the valley where the vegetation had all but disappeared and the terrain was sand and rock again. We could make out tyre tracks in a make shift road that meandered away from the city. Leading off from the path we made out some caves with an overhanging curtain of flowers. You tell it from here, Krissi……go on Kris.

KRISSI

Yeah, we were naturally curious and went to have a look round. I needed to pop into one of them if you know what I mean, and I chose the one on the right. It was dark in there. When I finished I caught my arm on something sharp behind some hanging vines. I looked behind and found a lever. I called Grav over and we decided to pull it down. A section of the whole wall turned 180 degrees and revealed a downward staircase. Grav lit his lighter and we found a switch that lit up the tunnel.

This led us to square room with a labyrinth of corridors out of it.

PETER

Should only have taken you ten seconds to get there.

GRAVEL

We chose the main one and came to a door on the right. And We found this giant cave with Vats, Tanks, and pipes everywhere.

PETER

The pump room and water supply.

KRISSI

It was really. The place was like a huge set without a film crew. Then we found a space age control room.

The Marie Celeste command centre. Where was everyone?

GRAVEL

Uh, it was weird.

I tried to get some information on a monitor. I mean, I got a pc at home. Nothing would function properly. Then we heard voices and footsteps.

PETER

Of course nothing worked, you didn’t have authentication. You didn’t use protocol. You need security codes for everything. (Peter tried his mobile to prove his point – No Signal)

See that? No Signal. The system closed itself down – to protect itself. So you did it!

GRAVEL

Yeah I guess. Then these madmen burst into the room shouting, waving guns at us. We were scared man. I mean, you know, we were just looking around. They were very excited and screamed hysterically at us. They blindfolded us, led us down a long tunnel to the open air, and forced us onto a truck which presumably took us here. Wait until I speak to my travel agent about this!

PETER

The control room. No signal. Now we know why. If it’s OK with you two, do you mind if I carry on with Sanka’s interview.

(Peter takes a long breath, appears to be deep in thought and raises both hands slowly as if lifting the world in his hands)

The nerve centre of telecommunications, indeed the operation of the whole city is located in a secret section of Moon Mountain. I told you there was a driveway through the mountain? On the second level up as the road veers to left there is an infra red activated wall that slides across giving access to a large ventilated underground car park. All the technicians and maintenance engineers use it. There is a door at the far end taking you to a myriad of rooms and corridors. There are caverns like air traffic control to cool rooms with banks and banks of computers. Sleeping quarters, canteen, recreation….

SANKA

But the heat? How could they stand it?

PETER

Surprisingly cool. The outer shell of the mountain is built of ceramic. The most powerful heat resistant stuff we know of.

About the signal. Or lack of. They would have to take out the maintenance crew or get to the aerial itself – which of course is built into one of the “peaks”. We made a similar nerve centre in the volcano more for city control than communications.

ROY

Don’t forget that solar panels power the air conditioning,

refridgeration and provide the right temperature and moisture for the growing plants and saplings in our shade houses. The sun is there and free. We adjust the climate to your need.

PETER

You know, I am intrigued. As an engineer, I am more interested in how they got to it than why!

GRAVEL

What volcano? Why did you want to build a volcano?

PETER (Mildly irritated at the interruption)

Ah well, building Moon City was sheer architectural purism. In line with rain making project, I got the Presidents permission to make a canal inland transforming it into an island. I then proceeded to construct a typical “volcano” at the heart in the same way the mountain was built. You see, the volcano would act as a reservoir cooled again by solar cells thus preserving as much fresh water as possible. The water systems collectively had a generally heat reducing effect on the environment. We succeeded in getting it tropically green and floral. The airport road crosses one of three bridges off the island and we managed to grow Bougainvillea along the southern walls. It always gives me a tremendous lift to see it.

ROY

Hydroponics again! A lot of work went into that. You’d be surprised at the engineering required to keep those cameras snapping away.

PETER

As you captured on your film, we designed an attractive marina alongside a village on stilts and bungalow homes with moorings. You can see the shot in travel agents’ brochures. It sells holidays here.

The city lay out is classically French (The President sent his own architect to “help us”.). I deliberately styled the seafront buildings in an old colonial style and tried to create a feeling that this little spot was in a time warp.

GRAVEL

Have you got anything else to drink? Apart from a few of those bastards out there, I could murder a Bud.

ROY

Sure, I’ll buzz reception. You won’t be thirsty much longer!

In the meantime, you’ll have to do with this, I’m afraid, but at least it’s fresh water. (passes him a glass)

PETER.

Originally there were two hotels Heritage and Grand Royal that were licensed for virtually everything to spoil the tourist. The former had the casino and all the sports facilities you could wish and the other had the city’s only night club and the highly recommended Ocean Restaurant.

Now there are five more along the coast – typical tourist hotels. One of them, the Club Med asked us to provide our green magic in landscaping a golf course for them. It’s not bad really but you can only really go on it early mornings or evenings.

I know the planners had Meridian, SAS Radisson, and Holiday Inn hoping to get in. To the back of the town were two large hostels originally rush built to cater for the contractors and their suppliers.

One is still going caters mainly for Ligerians and local travellers, the other has been converted to offices.

We designed an “old town”, fishing port, period bank, hospital and designer boutiques in the main shopping Street appropriately named “Avenue de la Republique.”

GRAVEL

Avenue de la Republique!!!” Oh, come on.

PETER

No, I didn’t approve either, but, let us say I was overruled again otherwise it might have been Moon Boulevard.

We built schools, markets and the four main residential quarters. The Authorities in Marlis allowed us to name the streets provided that all the names were in French. Mon Dieu!

I think up to last week we had a population of 15000 here, and around 500 between the Airport and Mountain.

SANKA

Apart from you what do the other 14999 do?

PETER

What do they do, Roy?

ROY

Many work for the resort in one way or the other. There is also a growing number of businessmen settling here running their affairs on the internet and trading out of their luxury villas. Fishing plays a minor role. Hardly any manufacture. A few carpets in the markets. Olive oil and date industry is growing nicely. Construction - still a major source of employment. And don’t forget the ubiquitous civil servants! Of course elsewhere in the country it’s oil.

PETER

Sanka, did you notice the magic of Moon City?

We have a secret ingredient.

SANKA

No graffiti? No poisonous insects? Great place for a vacation. No what is it?

PETER

You haven’t noticed. I am disappointed. A very subtle factor.

We have all types of holidaymakers here. They ALL return.

Why do you think that is?

SANKA

You’ve got something here they can’t get elsewhere?

PETER

Precisely. Euphoria! People don’t argue here. They are happy. Our secret ingredient physically makes them euphoric.

SANKA

You slip something into their bread and coffee?

PETER

Something quite fundamental. The Doctors and clinics here have very little to do. Apart from cuts and bruises and continued medication, people are less sick here.

SANKA

Peter, if you don’t get to the point soon we’re going to run out of tape.

PETER

Besides Roy here we originally had twenty botanists permanently employed here and ten times that number attending to tasks relating to plants and flowers. In every street, every space available and especially around the volcano we have planted specific plants with designer fragrance for different occasions. Even the air conditioning is perfumed.

GRAVEL

Oh we called them park attendants.

KRISSI

They were cute really…

PETER

Hmm those park attendants were skilful operators – they distributed the euphoria.

We had a pleasure “blueprint” based on the five senses. For a start, sewage and sanitation are electronically monitored and bad smells regulated automatically. Everything smells nice.

In the evening we worked on stocks and jasmines, linden trees and lime blossom and a range of exotic fragrant plants I was not familiar with to produce their perfumes in a concentrated area. We copied those smells and distributed wafts to every hotel room and restaurant in the city.

The same plants are strategically placed in walks and pathways. Then we cheated a little, in barren areas we supplied the fragrance through filters, conduits and ducts.

GRAVEL

You really DID that?

KRISSI

Certainly felt real. Grav – it was all a dream. An illusion.

Let’s get our money back and go home.

ROY

But just as real. What we delivered was real enough. You loved it.

PETER

The water is absolutely pure. We know. We built the darn plant. All food is 100% organic. The island is virtually allergy free.

ROY

…apart from plant allergies. Can’t help the pollen – but we are working on it.

PETER

There is no greater feel good factor than Moon city. Of course, we spiced up the effect of well being and attribute it to the local deities. You came across Bastet? There was no stopping Marvin. The region is endemic with gods and goddesses for sun, rain, crops, passion, war and so on. There is a God somewhere for every occurrence between the natural and supernatural. Hence the souvenir shops thrive on Moon cures, herbs, ancient writings and mystic remedies. Well done, Marvin.

KRISSI

You’re a fraud!

PETER

We’re all frauds, young lady. Let’s call it marketing. Let’s call it social therapy. People fall in love here. Did you not find astronomical reasons for Moon City’s precise location.

Everyone wants to come back. That’s the magic ingredient.

And, we engineers have made it work on commercial basis first.

SANKA

Did you have supply problems? I guess everything the average tourist would want would have to be imported.

PETER

We tried to make the community as self sufficient as possible.

We succeeded in the energy sector, building materials we had shipped over to us, as with know how and fashion, but there was one item you did not find on any Moon menu. You must have noticed since you’ve been here.

SANKA

Beef? Pork?

PETER

Yes, we don’t need it. We have a large variety of fresh fruit, mediterranean fish, fresh vegetables – all locally grown. We do provide poultry, after all, it would have been asking too much to expect all of the island’s visitors to be vegetarian.

And, we deliberately downgraded the tobacco purchases but, once again, our native officials reversed that campaign too.

We’re not starved of intellectual awareness either.

All homes and offices are automatically installed with broadband internet. Telephones are free locally.

SANKA

Is there a religious presence?

PETER

You asked me that the other day.

Ligeria being an Islamic state insisted on a lavish Mosque in the centre – but during the high season hard currency is what they’d rather believe in.

ROY

And they don’t normally build mosques in desert towns.

Peter, remember that incident at the GRAND last year when two officials decided they were sufficiently outraged with the resident Cabaret and clamoured their grievances during the evening entertainment. Some thought it was The Cabaret.

SANKA

How did Moon City compare as a resort?

PETER

Very well I would say. It had it all. We introduced wild life and apart from the perfume engineering we encouraged a rich and vibrant flora to establish itself. It had style, class and entertainment. I think we can say the region itself is a monument to science. We are sited in North Africa and pride ourselves in being the very antithesis of the greedy plastic SUN CITY in the south. Been there Sanka?

As I said living is totally organic.

SANKA

Well, I have to ask you if you have any regrets?

PETER

Regrets. Why yes, now the job will never be finished.

SANKA

You have a fortune in rental revenues to look forward to.

PETER

It’s the last thing on my mind. Do you think you can get this

Published?

Sanka nods his head slowly and in confidence.

SANKA

Peter, when did you first realise something was going wrong?

PETER

When officials started turning up with “orders” from Marlis to close the bars at sundown. Then there was an increasing meddling from the Palace, although it wasn’t the President’s style.

State Engineers demanded access to our computers and irrigation codes – but we fobbed them off. Tension was mounting in the streets of other towns.

Again we followed the News bulletins, CNN etc and a pattern formed.

Only last week when you arrived here the President gets overthrown and is placed under house arrest.

I know your next question. Guess you have to ask this for the interview because you know as well as I do what happened next.

Troops arrived and close the city. They tear down all references to MOON CITY and replace it with banners called Libreville. Fortunately, if you can call it that – we got most of the remaining tourists out and any one else who wanted to leave. Gung Ho militia take to the streets and impose their curfew.

All the charm and astronomical paraphernalia associated with

Moon City is banished overnight.

Lunar Stores and Stella Beers Posters get reduced to litter on streets that no one will clear.

GRAVEL

A bunch of religious cranks. Moon city is eternal. It makes money for them.

ROY

But they don’t see it that way. They see our city as a desecration of their land. The Western way of life decadent and blasphemous. Perhaps they blame us for the pace of change.

There are still more camels than 4x4’s.

SANKA (To Gravel)

Why do they call you Gravel?

GRAVEL(head droops shyly)

Don’t ask that. OK, from my college days yeah? My name is Guy Ravel. G.Ravel. My deep voice. Yeah?

SANKA

Thanks. I had to ask.

SANKA (straining almost in a croaky Whisper asks)

What happened to the your community of teachers, and Cooks, scientists, managers and Tour guides that were MOON CITY?

PETER

They rounded them up, took them to the school and were tried by the People’s Revolutionary Council. We heard some shots coming from that direction, didn’t we Roy? Maybe revolutionaries just firing in the air. It’s terrible we don’t know. The phones have been down the last few hours. (At the moment, the moonlight disappears – clouds obscure their vision). I am sure many would have slipped away but we simply don’t know.

SANKA

Why didn’t you leave? Why aren’t they going to shoot you too?

PETER

We are hoping even the most radical of them will realise that we hold the serial numbers of the safe. We run this place. Does it make sense to shoot the man who brings you the water? Moon City may have new masters but we hope it will keep its infrastructure. The botanists and gardeners, sorry “park attendants” – where did they go?

Many were contractors and went years ago, but key personnel have probably gone underground. Perhaps literally.

You will soon smell the change? No one is left to attend to the magic. The rot has set in and it will begin to pong.

A shadow of darkness has fallen upon the island, if I were a native, I’d almost fall on my knees for gods to save us.

(Sanka fumbles for the tape recorder to switch it off – and suddenly his face is lit by moonlight – and he begins to write a sombre letter)

ACT TWO Scene Three

(Dawn: The prison has natural daylight. All five look tired, haggard and red eyed. Footsteps are heard. A hollow fumbling in the lock and the door opens. Two armed guards stand outside and a fat man in a long white gown enters.

FAT MAN

Please – you will follow me. Please. This way.

VAL

Where are you taking us?

FAT MAN (to Val)

Please. This Way.

They all leave.

Enter: An elderly man of some importance. He gathers up the papers lying on the table as he promised he would. Removes the tape recorder with cassette inside. He hears noises and clamour outside. A din getting louder – followed by a volley of rifle shots.

He looks at his watch. 7.0 am. He runs a hand over his brow and sinks to the wooden bench in the cell either as an act of despair or exhaustion. Gets up and shouts into the corridor:

LOCAL OFFICIAL

Ahmed! Tell the others of the council we are reconvening in one hour to discuss the cleansing and purification of this wretched city.

You know what else you have to do? Good.

ACT TWO Scene Four

On the volcano with city in the distant background)

Enter Gordon – an Archaeologist and Alison McRae his wife)

Year: 2018 late spring.

GORDON

I hope we don’t have the same hassle getting out of here.

You never know with these immigration authorities. It’s like a lottery. One day you sail through and it’s all smiles, the next they rifle your belongings looking for little gifts they entitle themselves to.

ALISON

They’ve been holding local elections. Perhaps the new governor will do something about it. Maybe they’re all the same. I don’t know why you had to fill in all those forms, we don’t look that subversive do we? Well you wanted to come here..

GORDON

I know. I know. I still think it is worth a minor survey,

Even though it’s not a place you’d want to spend your holiday. Is it dear?

ALISON

No, too dry and dusty. I shouldn’t think LIBREVILLE gets many tourists. It’s rather dull - nothing for them to do here. Perhaps Ligerians like their resorts this way. Couldn’t we try further along the coast?

GORDON

Er what? Sorry dear, I didn’t hear. Look at this! Another shrine. There is no consistency with their placements. We came here to find evidence of an ancient civilisation and what do we get? Haphazard repro relics dumped any old how. Let’s go over there – yes, there into the volcano itself. What about that book you found?

ALISON

Oh that. Thought it might be interesting. A Modern Tale of Two Cities by S. K. Rudin. One of the cities being Libreville. Thought it might list all the night clubs and strip joints darling.

GORDON

Yes, but what did it say?

ALISON

Dunno – I picked it up in Marseille and haven’t felt like reading it yet. Alright, I will look at it tonight. Anyway, I left it on the boat. Oh no I didn’t, it’s in my bag all the time. Gordon?

GORDON

Yeeesss.

ALISON

There’s a cave here. Let’s have a look.

(Scene change: back to “prison look” but different lighting. Feels like a cave. )

GORDON (lights his lighter)

Alison, bring your bag over here. There are some papers here written in English. Chinaware (local?) Handwritten notes – hmm. This has clearly been a meeting place of some sort. Or someone has run away and deposited these items.

ALISON

Gordon – here. (hands him a handwritten letter)

GORDON

It reads “A Personal Interview with Peter Hyde – the founder of Moon City and creator of the solar powered irrigation system at Moon Mountain” Alison – what is the other name for Libreville in your book?

ALISON

Just a minute. Er – ah, here we are. MOON CITY. It looks really pretty. Must have been an artist impression.

GORDON

What is this. What IS this? A cassette player. I’ll take the tape in it. We can listen to this back on the boat. You never know, maybe it is a recording of local music. That could be quite entertaining.

(Gathers other papers including a large folded poster).

That’s enough here – I think we should have a look at that book of yours.

ALISON (sitting on the grass with Gordon)

Let me - have a look. It’s only just been published. The author is a journalist called S.K. Rudin. Oh I see, he was here thirteen years ago to interview its founder when Islamic revolutionaries took over.

He says in his preface that he and three others jailed with him were lucky to escape with their lives. He was obliged to write their story in Time Magazine. I remember that actually, now I come to think of it. Poor Peter was not so lucky they kept him in a solitary prison for years where apparently he died of cholera before the British Authorities could negotiate his release. And, there was a Roy Crawford. Oooh, he’s done rather well. He is now a leading hydraponics consultant involved in Naasa’s Mars Life project. There is a reference to him on page 78. Wait a sec. In an interview with the writer, he states that the central irrigation and cooling systems of whole region would have locked down within days of neglect. And with it life sustaining plant life programmes. Furthermore he says, satellite photographs have revealed details of desert reclaiming the outer areas of Moon Mountain and its fruit groves. Sand had covered up the wind turbines in huge dunes. The lack of rainfall turning a vital experiment into a desert eyesore.

GORDON

This volcano is a man made structure? So, the whole event was a film set.? Come on let’s get back to the boat. How long have we got a mooring licence for?

ALISON

If you remember, we have to report back to the Harbour authorities by sunset. And, it’s getting dark now, so let’s go.

ACT TWO Scene Five

(Prison scene)

Enter Gordon, Alison and local official

GORDON

For Goodness sake, I EXPLAINED all that very clearly this morning. You KNOW why I am here. WHY are my papers not in order? WHY are you doing this?

ALISON

Give him some money. (quietly, tersely maintaining a smile)

GORDON (sweating and getting worked up, rummages through his pockets and finds some French Francs)

I bet you understand this! (thrusting 200 FF under the official’s nose)

ALISON

Gordon. Gordon! (in a husky shriek)

LOCAL OFFICIAL glares at Gordon and shouts a command to the guards outside. (A swarthy bearded guard enters and pushes Gordon back to the wall with his bayonet.)

You. You! (prods him and mimmicks his throat getting cut by drawing his index finger across it. Leaves the room in anger). Voices are heard in the corridor. More footsteps. An elderly official enters.

ELDERLY OFFICIAL

Please excuse me for my English. (Smiles politely)

It is not always easy for us. HE wants to see you. HE – hmmm, here I think soon, very soon.

GORDON

(diplomatically) No. NO! You seem like a reasonable person. But we have had enough. We want to leave. NOW! We have done nothing wrong we just…

ELDERLY OFFICIAL

You MUST stay here. MUST!

(Enter frail man with walking stick, followed by another official).

FRAIL MAN

I am sorry to have kept you waiting and I apologise for the circumstances in which I have detained you. You are, of course, totally free to leave.

GORDON

Who are you and why are you doing this to us?

FRAIL MAN

Ah, who am I? I have often wondered that myself. I am now the newly elected governor of the city. The City (pauses for breath -) the city, what’s left of it. May I sit down? (sits on bench).

There is no money here, no investment and just a few skilled workers left. The Religious movement here as elsewhere ultimately yielded to pragmatism – it had to.

GORDON

But you’re European. Why are you here?

FRAIL MAN

I chose to in the end. I have been ill, you know. I was a prisoner for a long time. Eventually they let me go. We’ve been allowed free elections here for the first time in goodness knows how long. The local community persuaded me out of retirement. They remember how it was…could I see that for a minute?

GORDON

You mean this? Handing him the folded sheet of paper he found in the cave earlier.

FRAIL MAN

Yes, I recognise the bordering. Look – open it and lays it on the table. “Welcome to MOON CITY”. Looks inviting wouldn’t you say?

Before you leave, I would be honoured to have you as my guests for dinner. Of course, I know your names. My name is Hyde, Peter Hyde. Apart from teaching manners to this lot, I have a mandate to rebuild this city.

(The moon comes out from the clouds and a moonbeam streams into the cell onto the table. Crescent shaped and two bright stars to its east are clearly visible.)

The End

Helicopters and Submarines

by Alan Lawrie

November 9th, 1989 was the fall of the Berlin Wall and the gradual breakup of the Soviet Union followed. By 1992, Russia was run by gangster capitalists (and still is.) and the former republics loosened their grip and became independent sovereign states. Russia was an enormous market and totally open to business with anyone. I went to Russia with the intention of selling music somehow.

---

What in the hell was I thinking of?

Suddenly reality hit me, and I smiled. A gallows smile knowing my turn was up and my fate was plunging fast into the vast unknown.

It was January 1993, the plane was preparing to land, descending and bouncing through the thick night clouds in the middle of a snowstorm. Peering out the window I could make out distant lights of the runway. This was sheer madness why was I doing this?

I was about to land in Moscow in the middle of the night, in winter, without a hotel to go to and not sure if my ‘friend’ and contact Sergei would be there to meet me off the plane. How would I handle immigration with my limited knowledge of Russian? The risk and recklessness made it all the more exciting though.

Touchdown, well I survived that. Then challenged by a labyrinth of endless empty corridors to walk down without a soul in sight. Made it through passport control and customs to the second world. Sergei, an ex-red army captain whom I had never met before, let alone seen a photo was there to meet me. Relief. Next thing I knew we were hurtling down icy roads with large ominous Soviet tower blocks on either side of this bobsleigh run and everything else was a white out with a thick layers of snow.

He took the corners without slowing down, I was scared out of my wits – not smiling now, he never touched the brakes only the handbrake with sharp flicks of the steering wheel. Eventually, we made it to the city centre where he pulled up outside the notorious Intourist Hotel just off Tverskaya.

My first experience of a Moscow Hotel was back in those Soviet days of 1978. I was on a charter flight (Good old Aeroflot) from Bangkok to Copenhagen, (Changing planes in Moscow), however that flight had technical problems, a minor fire on board, and hit by a tropical storm, it landed several hours delayed which consequently led to the missing of the connecting flight to Denmark. We passengers had to disembark in the dead of night -5 degrees outside the immigration building still wearing our shorts and sandals from the Thai heat. After what seemed an eternity, we cleared passport control and were herded into a rickety old bus which took us to the dreaded Intourist Hotel. In those days, on every landing there was a desk, and a very fat woman would sit there forbidding anyone to leave their room. Also, there were security guards with machine guns that patrolled the building. I was with my mate, Pete – a fellow adventurer –and we both decided to find a local bar to sample Russian life. We didn’t get further than the world’s strongest woman who screamed at us and ordered us back to our room.

Pete and I were distraught, we were genuinely thirsty, so we turned on the tap in the sink which emitted a brown watery trickle. That was it – Sleep!

The whole of the following day was spent back in in the transit lounge of Moscow airport. We were told we had to wait seven days for the next connecting flight to Copenhagen. We had no food or drink and as we were in transit were not allowed to change money to buy anything. Pete was luckier he made friends with a delightful, but dubious Filipino called Eddie who did have a bottle of whisky on him. Needless to say, they got hilariously drunk and loud. I was surprised they weren’t hauled off to Siberia.

The majority of us hapless Aeroflot hospitality victims were Danes and bless them. They organised a sit-down strike in the busiest area leading to the departure gates and refused to be moved until they were guaranteed a flight home (to Denmark). It worked. After being shepherded back to prison for a second night (we were allowed a meal but black potatoes and grey peas that wouldn’t have won MasterChef and didn’t help the hunger pains but hey what a great way to diet!). That beautiful morning, we were ordered harshly to line up along the corridor and Eddie added ‘- you vill all be shot’ mind you he was still grinning like a hungover Cheshire cat.

Now back in the grip of this infamous hotel I wondered if all the rooms were still bugged. Nothing much had changed except a bankrupt soviet system had been replaced by Gun Law Capitalism. Everybody wanted to be in business. After 70 years of repression everything was possible – at a price. And that was why I was there too.

I wanted to sell music. CD’s anything that Russia needed, and I would buy goods that I could sell in the UK like amber, and military night sights which was the actual link to Sergei in the first place. Night vision binoculars were available on the Russian market but hard to obtain in the West. A colleague of mine, Graham – who delighted in anything illegal and anti-authority - found Sergei on the internet somehow and they struck up a dialogue. Sergei – ex-military and still well connected could source and provide them. Communications in the early 90’s was still being conducted via the old clattering telex system and the new modern method of facsimile, or fax. Faxes ping ponged back and forth between Moscow and Norfolk (where I was living at the time) incessantly. As I was the only one who had funds, it was agreed that I would take up the dialogue with Sergei with a view to visiting Moscow and creating business opportunities.

The Business Opportunity

Sergei was now working in a newly established film company called VARUS Video (we called it VIRUS Video and they never cottoned on). His boss was a man called Tamaz Topadze – pronounced Thomas Topaz. I had to prepare myself properly for this venture so the first thing I did was to embark on a one-to-one intense Russian language course down in Bury St Edmunds. The dear old lady who taught me was an admirer of the old Soviet system and refused to teach me any slang or rude words. I stammered I needed to learn the language of the streets not proper society Russian, but she wouldn’t budge. I remember sleeping every night with a large book of Russian verbs by my bedside studying more and more with every passing day.  Well, my first wife (Vicky) was an alcoholic so there were no distractions there sad to say. I learned very quickly and got fairly fluent mainly because Russian is a phonetic language, and everything is written how it sounds. Cyrillic lettering is like a code of sounds. My tutor explained that the Soviets simplified the Russian language once in power and did away with nearly all irregularities and complicated grammar thus making the language so simple that every peasant, policeman and taxi driver could communicate. My greatest achievement was to walk into a typical workers canteen near the main station and order a piece of bread with a café latte. I also found that I could read all street names, public notices, train timetables and so on – an unexpected bonus.

Another part of the preparation was how to behave out there and how to conduct oneself in business. So, I studied Russian etiquette, manners, history and superstitions.

For instance, it is taboo to shake hands over a threshold, to be the odd one out at a dinner party and so on. To obtain a visa visiting Russian in 1993 one had to have a sponsor. That was easy enough as Sergei’s boss, Tamaz would be the one. But, as etiquette had it, what gift should one bring as a thank you for sponsoring me? What do you buy for someone you don’t know, who probably had access to everything. The omission of offering such a gift would be seen as outright rude, bad mannered and certainly be getting off on the wrong foot. So, I decided a 12-year-old Johnny Walker Black label whisky couldn’t be far off the mark.

The following day, Sergei collected me in his rattly old Muscovitch and took me to Tamaz’s office block. I assumed Sergei had an agenda worked out and I just followed his lead. It was about midday, and I was introduced to Tamaz. I guess he was about mid-fifties, rather portly and his command of English surprised me. I thanked him profusely for sponsoring my visa and said I had brought a little gift for him. He took wrapped box and acknowledged the 12-year-old Black Label. Alan – you shouldn’t’t have, this is very kind of you he said. He promptly walks to the back of his office and opened the door of a very large green metal cabinet and placed my bottle of whisky alongside 20 – 30 others.

 - Alan, he continued, you must join us for lunch. And so, we all took the elevator to the restaurant situated two floors below ground level (bomb proof I guess).

The meal was fairly nondescript, I ate whatever was put in front of me (which is amazing as I am a fussy eater). The thing of significance was Tamaz’s way of lunching and giving orders. It was straight out of the Godfather trilogy. He would sit at the end of the table, a minion would bow down and whisper something in his ear, Tamaz would nod or comment in a low voice, and the minion went about his errand. This kept happening throughout the meal. I wondered who he was having liquidated at the time.

Another thing, he never touches a telephone in all the time I knew him. Mobile phones were around in the early 90’s but only just having advanced from field phones with large batteries to holding a large black brick to one ear. No, Tamaz whispered his orders to a constant stream of lackeys and after each instruction he would apologise to us (well me really) for the interruption.

After the meal, we drove out to the Film Studios of VIRUS video…(it was a cover for other dark activities). Firstly, this large estate looked like a disused warehouse and might have been. Some rooms were converted into editing suites, and others used for storage. There was little evidence of film making but who was I to question them.

Tamaz proudly announced VARUS video had access to 200 outlets in the Russian Republic, and that he wanted to talk to me about a deal in provided CDs to them all.

We have all the hardware he said but have trouble in getting the CDs to play on them.

My mind went into overdrive- supply 200 shops with their cd’s. Inside one day, this sounded like my first major deal. We’ll discuss this in London Tamaz went on to say. and he did in April of the same year (but more of that later.)

Moscow

Not only did Tamaz sponsor my visa but by the very nature of sponsoring he was responsible for anything I got up to, crimes I committed or problems I caused. Consequently, he instructed Sergei not to let me out of his sight and be the perfect, ‘friendly’ and helpful guide which he was.

At the time of my Moscow visit, I had a contract with Scottish and Newcastle brewery as a music consultant to assist in any way they wished to increase their wet sales across the board through the profiling of the right music in their outlets. Moscow at that time had three daily English newspapers and in the city their readers consisting mainly of contract workers, thousands of foreign residents and of course tourists. And not one English styled pub in the city, so I asked Sergei to show me pubs, bars and restaurants…so I could learn from how music was being presented or played. We drank in several bars and ate in typically Russian restaurants during my four day stay and in most cases of the restaurants, they had a violinist doing the tables, or a live, traditionally styled band playing music in the background. No DJ’s, no juke boxes, one had to remember Russia had only just stepped out of 70 years of communism and a wholly different way of life.

A traditional English pub (or Irish for that matter) would have made a killing (literally!).

However, I was at least ten years ahead of my time. Then there were hard currency bars that only traded in US dollars, or ordinary outlets in roubles. Another problem was security. I asked Sergei about the idea of a large Western bar, but the security question came up as rival gangs had rival protection rackets and you had to be in with the right “security” company to survive commercially and probably literally. I would want my margin for the idea and the initiative of setting it up, but would I get my money out?

If S&N supplied the beer, they would have had a massive PR advantage let alone sales.

Everything at that time was new through the winds of change.

I went one day to Gorky Square where the first McDonalds was established. Amazingly, the price for the burger was exactly the same as you would pay in the west.

The meal was perfect and felt like home from  home.

I was very impressed, but not with the security guards that patrolled the premises guns ready. Apparently, the staff had to be taught how to smile at customers – so unusual was the concept.

One afternoon I asked Sergei to take me to a typical Russian bar – a local. He wanted to impress me with a new Western styled Hotel bar, NO! I said emphatically, I want to know how real Russians socialise and drink. He gave in, OK, he said, so we walked to the Arbat shopping complex where he took me through an alley to the back of a block resembling an industrial area. Up some metal steps to what seemed like a large storage unit. Inside, you could barely see the far end of the bar for smoke. It was crammed full.

We found a couple of seats where two ladies were sitting drinking. Both wore those classic furs hat and full winter coats. Both were very rotund and jolly in appearance and smiled at us. We sat down, Sergei got the beers in – local beers of course.

After a while one of the women asked Sergei if he had a knife. Well, what would you expect a military man to have? Out came this enormous flick knife which he opened and handed to the woman. She dug into her bag under the table and pulled out a long eel, that was salted and (presume) cured. She used Sergei’s knife to slice the eel and offered slices to all of us – each piece at the end of his knife.  On the table the ladies were drinking peppered vodka which they also offered us. Finally, I was happy, this was exactly what I wanted to see. I thanked Sergei who looked at me with a muttering look of ‘you English’.

I had the last laugh at him in April 94 when he and Tamaz came to London. I offered to show him round and he said he wanted to buy his wife and son a present. We were in Regent Street, so I took him to Hamley’s (something for his young son? No…)  Several stores later, his eyes finally lit up when he found something perfect for his wife. A brillo pad for a £1.

On my last evening, Sergei said he had to go to Moscow’s East station as he was accompanying his friend Youri to the station, as Youri was leaving for Riga in order to work for the Latvian Tourist Ministry. I said I would be happy to join them.

Moscow’s East Railway station is a building I will never forget. Stunning architecture, high arches and arcades in light blue, it was a fading elegance, it must have been a sensational place.

Outside the streets were all cobbled, and the snow came down and softly carpeted the area. At that moment, I half expected Dr Zhivago to come round the corner in a troika and complete the imagery.

The jigsaw of which Youri was the centerpiece eventually became the greatest and most thrilling adventure of my life.

Riga

I kept up the dialogue with Sergei once back in Norfolk. Night sights were not going to be easy to obtain, amber at the right price was going to be coastal but supplying CDs to the Russian republic through the 200 outlets of Varus Video was looking good. Sergei explained that Russian business opportunities were being held back by red tape and bureaucracy, so he suggested reconvening outside Russia to explore other business opportunities. Youri was in Riga, through his ministerial role he had access to markets and contacts. I had access to hundreds of virtually mint condition CD’s I wanted to sell to the Baltic States, and perhaps on to Russia. So, a meeting was set up.

I booked a flight to Riga, the Latvian capital where incidentally half the population was Russian and pro-Russian back then. The only reasonably priced hotel I found was – yes – Intourist Hotel. I arranged for Youri and Sergei to meet me in the bar at 2 pm on the day of my arrival, and we’d discuss music. I couldn’t wait.

Why I don’t know but I chose to wear a white suit, and if I had a hat and cane I could have doubled as Maurice Chevalier, the late French actor/singer.

I found a large round table which I commandeered and sat and waited for my business friends to arrive. Three came, Youri, Sergei and a large bear who introduced himself as Ivan.

All three focused their eyes on me – after all I called the meeting. This was it !

I leant over towards Youri and said.

 - Youri, you are the tourist minister, I want to supply Western music to as many people in Latvia as I can. He glanced at Ivan who nodded,

 - Actually, no Alan, not anymore. We have a new business. We are selling military hardware.

 - Oh, I replied, totally wrong footed and off balance, tell me what you do?

 - We have a consignment of MIL8 Russian Helicopters we want to sell. 13 of them, Ivan took over the explanation. They are based at a local airport here in Latvia.

Then a voice inside my body silenced my rational thinking and blurted out

 - Well, I might be able to help you there. I have good contacts in the UK.

(Good contacts sure I have. I had a Danish secretary who was my P.A, and her boyfriend Paul was a ground mechanic at RAF Honnington, Suffolk). The voice continued to hijack me and continued to bluff its way into deeper trouble.

 - Just leave me the specifications, and details of your hardware at reception and I will see what I can do.

 - We have more, Ivan mumbled in a very low voice. More? More what?

 - Submarines. We have 8 decommissioned submarines for sale.

I was so far out of my depth I was drowning but still a voice represented me whilst its owner was unable to utter a word.

I felt myself leaning over towards Ivan and asking the unaskable question

 - Have the nuclear warheads been removed?

 - Oh yes, of course, Ivan replied. what the hell was I playing at?

The voice impersonating me continued unable to prevent it from further embarrassment.

 - Please get me a breakdown on the metals and tonnage and leave the information at reception.

Well, metal is metal, Precious metal always has a value. If there is value and a market it can be sold, cant it?

And so that meeting concluded, having totally bullshitted my way into a whole area I knew nothing about. No music deal occurred, No one was interested to even discuss it.

So, back to England, and find buyers for the helicopters and submarines.

Mars Bars

 - Think of them as Mars Bars, I rambled on. Don’t be in awe of the product just because they are MIL8 Russian Helicopters. Whether we are dealing with a chocolate and toffee sweet or some awesome military aviation machines the principle is the same. We need to research and learn everything there is to know about the product. Pictures, technical data, capacity, maximum flying hours – everything right down to the last rivet.

I had summoned my entire sales and marketing team together for a debriefing. All eyes were upon me, and no one said a word.

Back then in the early 90s, information on the internet was still fairly basic, so with researching online, scouring glossy reference books in libraries, interviewing anyone in the know, we managed to piece together a portfolio of Russian MIL8 Helicopters.

So, who could we sell them to? For how much? Who actually owned them so who would we be representing? To even consider the project was ridiculous, to take on brokering a sale of military hardware on such a scale was perverse but the challenge against such odds had the adrenalin racing and heart pounding. The ultimate high.

Island republics all need helicopters, don’t they? So, we pondered over an enormous world map and encircled Malta, Cyprus, Singapore and so on in a big red marker pen. We made tentative enquiries to their various C.A.As either by direct telephone calls or by fax which had just superseded the old clattering telex system. In those days you needed special paper for telefax which had a tendency to fade quickly. Malta responded with interest as their pilots were used to Russian helicopters and were in the market to lease a MIL8 as it happened and were also considering buying one. The potential sale was pure exhilaration. So, we had to make a formal offer but who was the real seller?

This amazingly turned out to be our dear friend Tamaz Topadze of Varus video. We communicated mainly by fax and he detailed us which Swiss bank accounts the proceeds should be sent to and that each helicopter should sell for $ 1.2 million.

To cut a long story short, we discovered selling helicopters needed a different approach to flogging Mars bars. We needed to deal with the big boys in the game. Ultimately, we networked international brokers in this sector which ended up with a string of us - five in all - with ourselves representing the seller, and a buyer on behalf of the then Pakistani Military Junta that was interested in taking all thirteen of them. The dealing and the haggling went up and down the chain until finally the deal was rejected because the price was too low! What? Apparently, the sale had to be renegotiated at two million dollars each to allow for each general on the buying panel to be stashed with the appropriate bribe - sorry, I mean inducement. That said and done and we were already salivating at the thought of new cars bought in cash with our share of the half mill. dollar sales commission.

All this happened in 1993. Our biggest expense in this project was the astronomical cost of international telephone calls. If only we had WhatsApp or Email back then…

We commenced the campaign in April of that year and gave it until September to produce a sale otherwise we could not have funded it further.

Later in the year, Tamaz and Sergei came to London mainly it would seem to have firsthand news on how the sale was proceeding. We met in one of London’s most affluent hotels when Tamaz insisted our talks would be better held up in his room - quiet and discreet. Minutes later, I was sitting in his suite when he probed me about the big profits we were all going to make by selling his stranded MIL8’s still lounging away on a Latvian airport. It was uncomfortable, at that time with nothing new to say so he changed to the minor interest of importing thousands upon thousands of compact discs to his vast Russian empire of 200 outlets throughout the federation.

He even detailed me what price he would import them for, how much should be siphoned off to one of his Swiss accounts and when I raised the question of expenses, he shot an angry look at me and stated categorically all that came out of my tiny share. I froze. I could see exactly where this was going. Here was a very powerful Russian gangster used to getting his way just a few feet away. If I ever agreed to whatever intricate, crooked arrangement he would expect me to deliver for him, the thought occurred to me what if I held my end of the bargain but he misunderstood or concluded that I had cheated him and was on Russian soil at the time? In business you often need your poker face, not allowing your opponent to read you. I back-pedalled. The way out was to slow it down and forget about the glory of a lucrative income from selling music to Russia.

Well, what about the helicopters?

One month after the London visit, I received a fax from Sergei in Moscow. His boss, Tamaz had been gunned down, lying in a pool of blood by a section of the Georgian mafia. I didn’t ask questions but what goes around comes around. He didn’t even know the sale didn’t materialise.

The sale did not go through owing to a late decision by the Pakistani junta to buy a later model of the MIL8. Neither did the one-off sale to Air Malta owing to our naivety in not knowing about Non-Circumvention Agreements and the correct procedural paperwork. Of course, we could have put the seller in direct contact with the buyer. The rest of my team blocked that suggestion on the basis we would have been cheated out of our cut.

One week later, I got a hand delivered envelope delivered to me by a courier. It was a sales contract all in Russian agreeing to the sale of 13 MIL8 helicopters with the dead man’s signature on it, and a request for me to counter sign it

My God that was one, exciting adventure, but next time I will not swim out so far.

Did I really think we’d get nothing out of the sale had it gone through? No,I don’t think so, the seller would surely have thrown us a few Mars Bars.

The Cat and the Mouse …and a shaggy dog story

A single Act Play involving, uh?  You got it. One Black Cat and One Tiny Mouse.

CAT

(spotting it scurrying away across the yard – pounces after it, corners it)

Hey Mouse! Take it EASY. I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t even wanna eat you.

MOUSE

(frozen to the spot, eyes darting left, right looking for escape route)           Expect me to believe that?

CAT

Sure – I wanna play. We cats like to play, y’know.

 MOUSE

OK OK Let’s play Hide and Seek.  You count to ten and I’ll …………(zooms across the yard. Only to be pawed back)

CAT

Hey, not so fast. Let me see you dance

MOUSE  

I can dance on your monitor. Shut your eyes and ……(scuttles backwards reverse direction smooz!)

CAT

Nope.  Tell you what, let’s have a race.

MOUSE

But you will win

CAT

Hmmm. OK, I will tie both my hind legs together.

MOUSE

I want fair play. I want a referee because you will cheat.

(Enter Murdoch the Bulldog – still only two players, Murdoch is no real character)

MURDOCH

Zzzzzzzzzz’zzzzz’  zzzz’  zzzzzzz  what? WHAT?

Alright then, where?  (ties up the Cat’s hind legs and whiskers for good measure)  Where was I?  Oh zzzz’ zzzz

MOUSE

What possible motivation do I have to compete against a bully like you?

CAT

Er? Right. Hey Murdoch

MURDOCH

What. WHAT?  Alright then, where? (waddles off and forages around the kitchen for cheeses. Finds loads of ‘em and piles them high in the far distant corner of the courtyard ~ a mere speck in the distance). Where was I? Oh yeah. Zzz’ zzzzz

CAT

There – See!  Motivation.

MOUSE

You will still win even with three legs.

CAT

Oh I’m getting fed up with you. Right. Murdoch!

MURDOCH

What. WHAT?  Alright then, where?  (Wanders off and comes back with an eye patch, places it on Cat’s Head).

CAT

Stupid dog!  I want to be blindfolded.  Can’t you see? I’m reducing the odds in the race. And, I can still see you, dollop!

MURDOCH

Alright then, here (whacks the Cat in the other eye. Swells up and closes)  There you are, now where was I? Oh yeah,

Zzzzz’ zzzzz, zzzz

MOUSE

You will still win. You’ re much bigger than me.

CAT

Right, I see your point. Well you can start halfway through the race. Am I being fair?

MOUSE

And you still want to race me, uh?

CAT

Murdoch!  Wake up, you’re the referee and you must put us under starters orders.

MURDOCH

What WHAT? Alright then, where? (The fat, lazy dog slouches over to the starting line where Cat and Mouse are playing cat and mouse itching and raring to go. Dog takes a deep breath. Cat still itching. Tension mounts. Ready, steady .. Murdoch lets out a mighty fart – and they’re OFF! ) Now, where was I? Oh yeah, zzz ‘ zzzzzz, zzzzz.

CAT

Alright Mouse, I can see you (nudging off the eye patch) now who’s in a hurry here?  (licks his paws).

MOUSE (shitting itself and scampering for dear life cheese or no cheese). Puff Puff Puff  can’t catch me..

CAT (Arches the back and stiffens)

Run, little mouse, Run!

MOUSE (panting, muttering)

Faster, faster

CAT

Ha ha, pathetic little rodent (Perceives his prey just a few yards shy off the finishing post. Uh?  You think you’ve sussed this one? Hare and Tortoise scenario? Snigger Snigger). Right, here we go….

MOUSE

And, here I go….

MURDOCH

Zzzzz ‘ zzzzzz’ zzzzzzzz’  uh?  Zzzzz

MOUSE

Puff Puff ..Cat thinks I’m stupid (sharply veers to the right. Cat screeches in his tracks, leaps to the right lashing out with its paw and lands in a stinking puddle)

CAT

Decoy, huh?  Oh I lurve these games.  Gimme Gimme Gimme…

Mouse is lured on lemming fashion seduced by cheesy wafts, and was just about to cross the finishing line when

CAT

Oh no you don’t (An outstretched feline paw lands on him hauling him backwards) I lurve to play (sinks his sharp claws into the squealing rodent, bites its neck, tosses it about and kills it).  I just hate losing!

Anyone contest the result? (looks around and purrs)

(And there was not a word from the mouse or the dog)

The End.

Moral:  Beware of bad losers.

Unashamedly written by Allan Wolfe

19th April  2001.

Didn’t you like it?  Then try another ending.

Ending # Two

CAT

Oh no you don’t (An outstretched feline paw lands on him hauling him backwards toying with him) I just lurve to play.

(Mouse freezes petrified, eyes darting hither and thither. Cat licks its whiskers and lunges at him but the mouse gets away and scuttles under the mound of cheeses.

You lost little mouse. You’re the loser! And I’ll have you for dinner.

(Mouse retreats further into the pile of cheeses. Back, back, back and falls down a hole. Cat frantically paws the various cheeses aside until he sees the broken drain. The mouse looks up at the skylight and blinks. And the more frustrated the cat becomes the more pieces of cheese fall down the hole until a little mountain  piles up in the drain. This drain was like a city highway for the our mouse and by now two of his colony had joined him eager for the feast.

MOUSE (with shall we say a certain bravado) Of course, I was always in control. I won and this is my prize, for the loser it simply was a

Cat-astrophe.

(and as he spoke a lunging black paw swept the hole narrowly missing him)

The End.

Moral:  Major Tom to Mouse Control.

Ending # Three

CAT

Oh no you don’t, (An outstretched feline paw lands upon him hauling it backwards) I lurve to play..(sinks his sharp claws into the squealing rodent, bites his neck, tosses it about mercilessly). I just hate losing!

Anyone contesting the result?  (looks around and sees grumpy Murdoch charging towards him like an angry rhino)

MURDOCH

What. What? I hate that noise. (Cat flees panic stricken dragging the mouse by its tail. Murdoch barks and roars and the Cat clatters up a nearby tree. Up and up and up to safety. As the cat squats and peers down at the barking mad animal below the mouse slips out of its clenched teeth and falls to the ground killing itself outright on a stone. Nearby a rifle shot goes off missing a pheasant but hitting the cat in the tree causing it to slump  and come crashing down. Murdoch wanders over and sniffs it)

Stupid race, but as race referee I have to declare it a dead heat! Now, where was I? Oh yes, peace at last (yawns and stretches itself in the sun)  zzzzz.zzzzz zzzz

….zzzzzzzz

The End.

Moral:  No RACE is safe with Murdoch around.

Les Hemstock