A Wind of Change

A Wind of Change

 
By Ksenia Kisselincheva

Just a few minutes before landing at Sofia Airport, Kamen could catch glimpse of his hometown from a bird's eye view. He could hardly fight back the tears in his eyes for he was flooded with memories, suppressed deeply in his subconscious mind. Nobody knew about his coming to Bulgaria, except the current correspondent of Reuters who had been instructed to keep quiet. As soon as Kamen boarded the taxi heading to the Kempinski Hotel, he phoned his wife Melinda in Toronto. She was   waiting for his call though it was 5:00 a.m. back in Toronto and the children were still sleeping. She said

'Boobear, is everything O.K.?'

'Yes. I'm heading to the hotel. I'm lucky to get ahead of the morning traffic jam. How are things out there? How is Rita's cough?'  

 Melinda was really delighted to hear him safely back to the old continent, but in the occasional tremor of her voice Kamen could detect some signs of subdued fears. Melinda knew he was embarking on a very dangerous mission and she couldn't help worrying ... And yet, she did her best not to make him feel strained and divided, or even worse, not to instill a sense of guilt into him for putting her and their children's lives on the line.  

'Speak to you later. I'm going to call you in your office', he reassured her.

'Fine, Boobear, I'll be expecting some fresh impressions from you in a few hours.'

 Kamen switched off the smart phone and started giving directions to the cab driver:

'Please, go to the Seminary school and then turn left along James Bourchier Boulevard. We'll stop for a minute at number 12. I've got to pick up something from there.'

The taxi was like a moving disco, as the driver was playing some chalga at full blast and he seemed to be annoyed with all these huge luxury cars, littering the road. He tried racing with them, occasionally being on the verge of crashing into them.  Kamen was really amazed to see so many of these four wheel vehicles on the road, as if he was in an off-shore haven like the Seychelles or the Maldives.

The small packet he picked up was a bugged tape of a conversation between the Prime Minister and the Director of the Central Custom's, revealing discrediting details of their backstage dealings. Kamen was eager to get to the Japanese Garden of the Kempinski Hotel and listen to the tape intently, without fearing being videotaped or bugged in the room.

 Finally, he landed with his small trolley suitcase at the reception desk. The receptionist, who was a young woman, had heavy makeup as if she was onstage. She was blabbering nonstop into her mobile phone, but from what he could gather her conversation was not about business, she was probably talking to her mother. She pretended not to notice Kamen, who waiting patiently at the desk, and continued blabbering about everyday trivia. At some point, she got very annoyed with the person at the other end and she switched off.  At last, she condescended "to serve her customer."

'May I help you?'

She forced a smile on her mask-like face and was taken by surprise when she heard him speak in perfect Bulgarian. He chose a double room on the 10^th floor, overlooking the South Park, in the hope of getting a chance to enjoy the fabulous view. As soon as he entered the room, his mobile started ringing. 'Who is it? Ah, it must be Peter from Zagreb who is checking up on him.' He pressed the button, while trundling his luggage into a corner.

'Hi, Pete. Thanks, I've arrived safely. I've got to see some "relatives and friends" within the next few days, so I'm going to be quite busy. Anyway, we'll keep in touch. I'll get back to you later in the evening.'

'Fine. If I get any further instructions from Toronto, I'll let you know about them immediately. Bye, take care!'

Kamen was always happy to speak to Peter Baker who was so helpful back in 2008, when Kamen was doing an investigation into the Bulgarian energy minister on suspicions of corruption and money laundering. Also, on the way back, he took him around Zagreb, a European city which is a charming mixture of various styles, blending the influence of Italy and Austria with a few touches of remains from the Ottoman occupation.

Kamen took a shower and tuned in to the local TV Channel One. They showed something, connected with migrants, illegally crossing Bulgaria's border with Turkey and their abuse by local youngsters, driving ATVs in the mountain area, who claimed they guarded the border. They had uploaded their video clips of migrant torture on Facebook and they vehemently stated they were genuine "patriots". Kamen had up-to-date info from secret sources that so far the Bulgarian border control was not good enough and hundreds of illegal migrants infiltrated at the borders both with Turkey and Macedonia. These self-proclaimed patriots were obviously filling in a vacuum of state control, usurping the prerogatives of the disintegrating state.

 'Certainly, this was not the right solution,' thought Kamen 'but where were the volunteer citizens' groups, constituted by the local government  whose task was truly patriotic in helping the border control under these extreme circumstances of an undeclared war on the EU border since the war in Syria started?' Kamen lay down on the bed by the window, closed his eyes and the tide of his thoughts took him back to 2007 when Bulgaria joined the EU.

At that time the EU project was in its prime...he remembered fervently reading Jeremy Rifkin's "The European Dream" and getting excited about the grand historical project of the 21st century. The expectations were for a war-free European continent, without borders for people, goods and capital. Bulgaria, his beloved native country was to be part of this unprecedented civilizing process.

He imagined himself as a Reuters correspondent in Sofia in a few years, working in cooperation with Bivol, the local WikiLeaks site, exposing the corruption of the mafia-state and the oligarchs... revealing the underground world of drug smuggling and human trafficking, the massive money laundering in off-shore havens of those in power and their associates etc.

He will be extremely happy to take Melinda and the kids around the country. One of the first places, he wanted to take them to, was the town of Balchik on the Black sea coast. He had  some of the most ecstatic moments of his childhood there! "Dvoretza" was an area which made part of the Botanical Gardens, so there were flowers and trees everywhere, some of them rare and exotic species. He loved to sit in the shade of the purple magnolia and watch how in the distance the hydrofoil was shooting like an arrow through the expanses of the sea, leaving a trail of white-crested waves. The hydrofoil, in his boy's imagination, looked like a sea monster! And he was content it was far away from the coast, it was like a frightening apparition which glided speedily along the shimmering line where the sea merged with the horizon.

He was startled and looked at his watch. It was high time to go to the Japanese Garden and listen to the secret tape.

It was a cool windy day in April and luckily there were only two tables, taken by a couple of young men and women. They seemed to have forgotten about their daily worries and were swimming in a bubble of timelessness. Kamen contemplated the ducks and swans in the pond and the white peacocks in the green grass. And the splendid view made him feel calm for a short while.

Looking at the contrived serenity which the view exuded, his mind went back in time briefly. He remembered about the farewell dinner at the Japanese Restaurant in 1990, before he flew to Toronto the next day. He was there with his best friends - some of them were graduates from Sofia University, others were from the School of Econimics and yet others from Sofia Mathematics Faculty etc. All of them were very excited about their new plans for the future.

For instance, Hristo was getting ready to go to the Silicon Valley as a computer specialist, for he graduated from the Mathematics Faculty with flying colors. He had also won international competitions in software development and he had professional connections the world over. Then, there was Stamen who had been accepted at the Fletcher school of Diplomacy in Harvard. And there was also Emil who had been accepted in Santa Cecilia in Rome to study opera singing. There were a few others who were applying for an international fellowship but they hadn't made it yet. For sure, they were all inspired and positive since the best part of life was in store for them and the world seemed to take them on its wings.

 They rounded up the party by going to the small garden near the Kempinski hotel. The whole gang was singing pop and rock songs, at times slightly off-tune. Suddenly, a teenage boy with a guitar on a bench nearby, tuned in to their melodies and this impromptu concert was like a gift from God, celebrating their brave plunge into the unknown. It was a quiet magic night in June - the stars in the sky were as big as those you can see at the Observatory, while the myriads of crickets in the grass were humming on their harps into eternity.

Now he was with the headset on and while he was listening to the recording, he was taking in the idyllic landscape with the ducks in the pond. He was reminiscing about that night which was more or less a major watershed in his life...

He glanced at his watch. He pressed the on button and the green light continued flashing assertively. While he was listening to the tape, someone gave him a ring. He pressed the stop button.

'Hi, there!' He was fully aware of being bugged.

 'Hello, Mr. Boyanov. It's Ivan Trenchev speaking. Could we meet tomorrow night at Pizza Hut, just opposite the Sofia Mall?'

'Yes, certainly.  How about 7:00 p.m.? Is that all right with you?'

 'Yes, that's all right with me. I would like to talk about my son's immigration to Canada. See you soon!'

The photocopied documents were placed within the pages of a magazine. Kamen's money was inside a leaflet, advertising holidays in Greece. While they were having a pizza and a pint of Staropramen beer, they were meticulously discussing the details of emigration from Bulgaria to Canada. On most scores, Trenchev's son was perfectly eligible as an immigrant. Moreover, he had graduated as a mining engineer, a profession greatly demanded in Canada. They also had a short talk about the latest wave of migrants into Bulgaria. Since the border was not properly guarded yet, in spite of the EU funds allotted to its consolidation, you could often spot Moslem women and men of all ages in their recognizable dress code on the streets of Sofia City. Colonel Trenchev was obviously well informed but he usually did not express a personal opinion but preferred to quote someone else's. He was nervously looking around from time to time, quite aware they were being watched close by. At 8.30 p.m. he thanked Kamen for his kind response and apologized for having to leave. For some reason he was in a hurry, so he grabbed a taxi and disappeared.

Kamen was quite aware that he was being watched. He had been spotting in the rear mirror for the first two days of his stay a shabby old Opel Record, driving close at hand to him, either behind or alongside.

Tonight he will expressly pore over the docs and send them encrypted to Peter in Zagreb. As soon as he drove back to the hotel, he rushed to the Japanese Garden again.

He was terribly tempted to see his mother for an hour or two. But he was not allowed to by the Reuters agency since he was on a highly secretive and dangerous mission.

His mother was a truly brave woman. She had vehemently been appealing in court for the last ten years to unravel the mysterious circumstances around his father's death. Finally, they came up with "a forensic statement" which had been fixed by his dad's worst enemies. According to it, he had a sudden heart attack in the snowy mountains which caused him to freeze to death.

The whole affair was more than suspicious, especially when seen under the scrutiny of a famous investigative journalist. Kamen's father, Professor Evgeni Boyanov, was a recognized authority in microbiology. He was on a board for foods safety control. He had frequent clashes with the other members of the board on different issues. Some of them were concerning the high level of toxic ingredients in various foodstuffs, both local and imported. After a huge row in which he argued for hours with a couple of bribed board members, he was really devastated.

That's why, the next day he took a day's leave and he went hiking in the mountain on his own. It was a snowy January and he had to break a trail through the deep snow. Suddenly, exhilaration flooded his body and soul. As usual, it was caused by a magic combination of the virgin white snow, the blue skies, and the clean air. All this was enveloped in a blessed silence, away from the toxic noises of the big cities.

 Kamen remembered the Christmas cards he used to paint by himself as a child. And he would send them to all the people he cherished-to members of his family, his teachers, his friends at school. His granddad had taught him how to paint greeting cards. Also he taught the boy how to read and write at the age of five.

These solitary walks were like a pilgrimage to the high mountains. For him, this was the best way to unwind from the high tension of his everyday duties and responsibilities at the lab. Mysteriously, Professor Evgeni Boyanov went hiking in the mountain on that day in January and never came back...

Of all places, Kamen felt most at ease in the Japanese garden, though they could bug him there too. There was a strong cool wind and there was nobody outside. He was company in of the ducks, the swans and the peacocks the best company he could dream of. He read very carefully twenty classified documents from DANS, which was the State Agency for National Security. Of course, to get into the possession of this "treasure", he had to pay some money for "fuel and office supplies".

The classified documents referred to evidence of siphoning out of EU funds by officials in very high positions, inclusive of the prime minister and his clique. Kamen encrypted the info and sent it straight away to Peter in Zagreb. Immediately he received a message from Peter, confirming that everything had been received.

This was the third day of his stay and he decided to walk downtown to see some of the changes in his native city, which was two million strong by now and growing rapidly. While walking down the busy boulevard from the hotel to the mall, he observed the flamboyant display of super luxury jeeps which made part of the heavy traffic. Most cars on the road were second hand imports from the EU. The sidewalk was rundown and uneven as if it had been recently bombed. Most of the metal grids on the gutters had been stolen. He knew about it from previous info. This illegal business with scrap metal was being done mainly by gypsies, or Romas, as they were called in politically correct terminology.

However, who were the traders who bought iron from them and who controlled them? Why not punish both perpetrators and put an end to this scam! In Bulgarian "scam" is the same word as the word in Italian:"dalavera". This dalavera had been sending many of Sofia's citizens to the emergency hospital.

He noticed there were many gambling houses of all sorts on his way: one at the Hemus Hotel and a few more in the underpass to the National Palace of Culture. He knew that the local oligarchs of gambling were fighting each other ferociously for gaining territory. They won over territory in the countryside too, in towns like Plovdiv and Haskovo. This lucrative kind of entertainment business was thriving there now because some of the Turks came over to try out their dumb luck since gambling is banned in Turkey. Kamen had also read that the Student's Town in Sofia had been turned into a red light district. Of course, crime was rife there, mixed up with prostitution and drug dealing, supplying with spicy and shocking stories the tabloids, which were in abundance.

Kamen Boyanov was really proud to see the Arena di Serdica Hotel against the background of the well-kept Roman ruins. Again there was something to spoil his positive attitude. Part of the glass dome had been broken by vandals. Why did they do it? Did they do it for sheer fun? Was that a protest against the government? Wasn't there a better way of expressing their anger and discontent? They could easily organize a huge protest march if they had a genuine public cause.

Anyway, Kamen Boyanov did not feel like walking along Pirotska Street because he knew that of late this had turned into an unsafe area. Some Arabs were roasting duner kebab there. Other shady characters, hanging around, entertained themselves. Their drunken aggression usually ended up in bloody fights when big knives were pulled out and brandished about.

Kamen was amazed there was no longer any Sheraton Hotel. It was back to the old Sofia Balkan Hotel which no Western traveler knew about, so he wouldn't take a risk of booking there.

On the way back, Kamen walked along Vitosha Boulevard, which is a colorful walking area now. It reminded him of a Western style area, like the Graben walking passage in Vienna with its fountains, posh shops, bistros and restaurants. It was full of younger people who looked like the rising middle class. They entertained themselves until late, even on weekdays.

 Kamen looked at the prices in the shops and he was amazed how high they were, sometimes even higher than the prices in Toronto. He wondered who could afford to buy these overpriced items, except the rich 20 percent of the population of Sofia.

He had a very tight schedule for the next day which was the third day of his visit. He was supposed to meet some officials from the Central Direction of Fighting Against Organized Crime (GDBOP) who had access to classified info, concerning other important areas of life in Bulgaria. He had to make sure to provide them with high personal security. He was going to meet five of them at a church where a cousin of his served as a head priest.

There were only a few worshipers present at the morning service, most of them elderly women. He lit a few candles for the good health and good luck of his loved ones. Then he dropped some money in the donation box. When the service was over and the people gathered around Father Simeon to ask him questions concerning the sermon he had just delivered. Soon they left the church. Father Simeon could finally pay attention to his cousin whom he had not seen for ages. He embraced Kamen warmly and exclaimed:

'Thank God, I survived to see you again!'

 'Simo, we are all in God's hands and we should count our blessings all the time!

 They started asking each other about their families and next Simo took Kamen to a small room which looked like a confession box. There was a small table and two chairs. On one of the walls into a niche there was an old icon of the Holy Mother from the 19-th century. In front of it, there was an icon lamp, flickering gently, soothing the soul with its divine light. Simo checked up there was no one nearby and took out of a cupboard a plastic bottle, full of red wine. Then, he produced a large round bread loaf out of another cupboard and said:

'Kamen, you are welcome back to thy fatherland!'

'Simo, let's drink to our health and to the well being of Mother Bulgaria!'

There was a silence. The clinking of their glasses sounded like a sacred vow.

'I hope you will understand me. I am on a dangerous secret mission. I have to watch out about the personal security of the persons I meet. In ten minutes I 'm meeting one of them. Is it safe to be here? Do you think you might be bugged by your superiors?'

'No, I don't think so. Most of the Holy Synod members prefer to splash out their money either on luxuries or on bugging each other for the purpose of extortion.'

'Will it be O.K. if I bring in another a few persons between 1 p.m. and 3 p.m.?'

'Certainly it will be. Let's hope they won't be followed.'

'They are old war horses in their line of sport.'

'I have got things to do in the church library, so I will leave you to your own resources.'

'Thanks, I appreciate it. I am doing everything in the name of Mother Bulgaria!'

Simo crossed himself and mumbled a prayer, finishing with a dragging "amen". He put the ritual wine and bread away and vanished.

Kamen spent a few hours in the tiny claustrophobic room. He was so tense and totally focused that he did not think of eating. He had taken a one liter bottle of mineral water because you get very thirsty when you do is dangerous and you put your life on the line.

 Around one p.m., Simo appeared with a big burger with lamb meat. He said smilingly:

'I thought you might need to recharge your batteries a bit.'

'That's really kind of you. Otherwise, I will be whacked and who will carry me back to the hotel? I'm quite a lump to carry with my 80 kilos.'

'I hope you will have done your job by the evening service.'

'I hope so too. After that, I'll need some time for a walk in South Park when I am finished here.'

What Kamen really meant was that he had to get in touch on his smart phone with his colleague in Croatia and send him the encrypted info as text messages. He would preferably do it in an open wide space to avoid being videoed and bugged.

After the last meeting, he rushed out of the church to the South Park to peruse, organize and encrypt the documents and the photos. Then he sent them straight away to Peter. Kamen wanted to hear Peter live on the mobile because the latter had a presentation of an EU project on that day:

'Hi, Pete! How did your presentation go today? I'm sure there was huge interest in such a topic. Were there many questions after you finished?'

'Oh, thank God! Things went even better than I expected. Technology didn't play a number on me. The seminar hall was fully packed. When I finished speaking, there was an avalanche of questions and comments. I think I coped all right. However, I was completely run down when it was all over. How are things with you?'

'Fine, thank you. I have been visiting places all over the city. There are parts of it that I can hardly recognize. Also, I did visit some relatives and old friends. It's all very nice to meet them again. Frankly speaking, it is emotionally very demanding. I'm whacked both physically and mentally. I dream of crashing into bed by 10 o'clock tonight. Bye-bye, speak to you tomorrow."

'Bye-bye, amico. Take care!'

This was only the third day of his stay but he had the feeling he had been around for months. Driving in his Daewoo, hired from Hertz, he was getting used to the potholes in the streets and when walking around along the rundown sidewalks. He was also getting used to the mongrels, lying on the pavement or circling around trash cans. And Kamen could not help not dropping a coin to the beggars, theatrically stretching their hand.

He had the alarming impression there were too many mentally ill people, walking around everywhere. He was very alert with them because they were unpredictable and they would cross the road wherever they liked.

Many of the local drivers were also a big problem. Their egos were inflated by the huge horse power of the engine of the sports cars and they drove very fast like in a Formula One, disregarding the road signs and the traffic rules. They thought only about showing everybody they were genuine magicians who played dice with death on the road.

He noticed quite a few gypsies all over the city, moving in groups, getting on and off trams or buses. A few friends complained they had been mugged by them in a virtuoso manner, while riding on crowded public transport. Migrants could also be seen there and then. They usually moved in groups or sat on benches in parks. Their presence was immediately noticeable because they smelled bad and littered the city indiscriminately as if they could not make a difference between a civilized living space and a dump hole.

He got used to the old Opel Record which he spotted following him in the rear mirror. He was strictly completing his assignments, in spite of all impediments. Sometimes, the agents decided that it was too much of a risk for them and they canceled their appointments in the nick of time.

He was also giving info to a few relatives and friends who wanted their children to immigrate to Canada since the procedure for immigration in Canada was quite complicated. He gave them skype addresses of Bulgarians, who had already settled in Canada, so they could get in touch with them and ask them specific questions they could easily answer.

On the sixth day of his stay around four p.m., he had done everything he had planned to do, except his forthcoming visit to the town of Ihtiman. A transient sense of fulfillment was a great reward for him and he thought for a second he might relax in the sports center of the five-star hotel. However, firstly he had some Rosé on the rocks in the Japanese garden and made a call to Melinda in Toronto. Unfortunately, he woke her up, but she seemed very eager to hear his voice:

'Boobear, are you coming back tomorrow? We all miss you a lot. Are you safe?'

'Don't worry, carissima. I'm perfectly safe and sound. I'm coming the day after tomorrow, my flight is via London and I have got to get up at 3 a.m.'

'Please, call me tomorrow night local time as soon as you get back from Ihtiman.'

'Fine.I promise to call you, even if I wake you up. Lots of hugs for you and the children. I can't wait to get back home. Bye-bye.'

'Bye-bye! God bless you!'

He suddenly felt greatly physically and mentally exhausted and thought a massage would do him great good. But it turned out the schedule of massage appointments were fully booked. So, he decided to have an early night and went up to his room.

'Everything is chalga in Bulgaria. Bulgaria is turning into Chalgaria". A Bulgarian computer engineer, who recently immigrated to Toronto, made this sardonic comment. Kamen tried not to argue with him, because his comment was one-sided and exaggerated. Sadly, this comment was partially true of the hotel where he stayed. It used to be one of the most reputable hotels in the Kempinski chain, the former Vitosha New Otani Hotel. It was brilliantly designed by the world-renowned architect Kisho Kurokawa!

Ironically enough, a Mafia upstart had bought it recently and he changed the name from Kempinsky to Marinela, who was probably his current obscure playmate. As Evrokom, the only independent TV channel reported, he had also raised a massive extension on two floors to the main body of the hotel, without any approved blueprints and a building permission.

 Kamen took a long shower and he felt he had washed away some of his fatigue. When he went to bed, he couldn't go to sleep. Tomorrow he's going to drive to the small town of Ihtiman, south of Sofia. He had to speak to Father Ivan about a donation to his hostel for the homeless. The donation had been given by a Bulgarian civil engineer, living in Toronto. Kamen had to leave the hotel in his car not later than 9 a.m. He tuned to Radio Classic FM and heard some heavenly music. He recognized it straight away, this was Jupiter, Mozart's fortieth symphony. This was also one of his grandfather's favorite music pieces.

His mind carried him back in time to Balchik on the Black sea coast where Slavi, his granddad taught him the name of each plant, each flower, shrubbery or tree. He also taught young Kamen how to row a boat. As his father Evgeni, his grandfather Slavi was also a victim of the totalitarian regime. Grandpa Slavi was a professor in history of science. He tried to challenge the rotten status quo in the 70's. At an academic public meeting, he tried to defend the huge potential of cybernetics. The backlash was immediate and furious. Most of those who took the floor after his speech attacked him violently. They were like a pack of hungry wolves and he received threats from all sides with expulsion from the ruling Communist Party. He suffered a heart attack right there on the spot. Alas, he died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

Kamen grieved for him a lot because Grandpa Slavi had revealed to him so many wonders of this world. The following summer Kamen rowed the boat with a friend of his. This time, Grandpa Slavi was not next to him, but he felt a surge of self-confidence and did the rowing all by himself. Why did all these disasters happen to his ancestors? Could there be a family curse?

 He was lucky to immigrate to Canada and get a job as a journalist at Reuters after a tough international competition. He was fluent in five languages and had been contributing regularly to the European weekly for the first two years. Now he was back to Bulgaria on a dangerous secret mission and who knows what it would come up to? It must be something which ran in their genes. Like genuine intellectuals in civilized societies, for generations all of them seemed to love the truth better than their own lives! Thank God, the graves of his ancestors in the main cemetery in Sofia had not been desecrated by the funeral mafia.

On the whole, he managed to get substantial info, photos and videos on some very sticky issues. For instance, the thousands of gypsies in the  area, south of Plovdiv, who had been converted to radical Islam; the intensive buying of arable land in South-Eastern Bulgaria by Bulgarian Moslem immigrants to Turkey, behind whom stand Turkish companies; the newly constituted ethnic party DOST, totally financed by Turkey, to mention just a few such hot issues.   

Everything had been sent successfully to Zagreb and from there to Toronto. Kamen hoped in his heart of hearts that at least some of the truth about the so-called "transition" in Bulgaria would be known world-wide. Also, some of the truth of the "behind the scenes" corruption of all parties which had been in power would be exposed. Any kind of elections had been heavily manipulated, there was no independent body of judiciary power and no genuine freedom of media...with a very few exceptions. With the heavenly music by Mozart on, Kamen slowly fell asleep and he had a strange dream.

He was rowing a boat like the one in his childhood. But the sea wasn't the blue color of the Black Sea. It was more like the green depth of the Pacific Ocean. The weather was brilliant, almost no wind and no clouds in the sky. His family, Melinda and his young children, Slavi and Rita were waiting for him on a small island. Suddenly, his smooth rowing was brutally interrupted. The boat went up with its bow in the air and when Kamen looked back in terror, he saw a huge animal upturning the boat. The horrifying animal looked like a shark. The boat was sinking, being flooded with water. He jumped into the ocean. At this instant he woke up, all sweat, his heart pounding wild! Was this a prophetic dream? Or, were those his fears, which had been torturing him for six nights? He managed to suppress them with his willpower and determination and to complete his dangerous mission. Now, when he was more relaxed, but the furies raged in his subconscious mind and produced this pathetic nightmare.

Basically, Kamen was level-headed and did not believe in superstitions, curses and black magic. So, he turned off the radio and went back to sleep.

 His alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. While he was taking a shower and brushing his teeth, there were a few calls from relatives and friends. One of them proposed to take the Daewoo back to Hertz. Another one offered to give him a lift to the airport to avoid being ripped off by cab drivers.

While he was sipping his coffee, he phoned Father Ivan to confirm his visit. He rarely observed the formal dress code and as usual, he was dressed in jeans, a checkered shirt and a black leather jacket. He knew that in this casual sporty attire, he will not attract so much attention, since this style of dressing was quite common in Sofia for men in their 30s and 40s. He looked at his watch and was surprised to see it was almost 9 a.m.  Off he rushed to the car, which was parked in the hotel park lot.

The instant he turned on the ignition key, the car went up into a fireball and a shattering explosion was heard. The Daewoo turned into huge flames. Later, when the police and the firefighters arrived on the scene, they took out the remains of his body, which were heavily burnt, almost to charcoal.

Ironically enough, a second wish of his had come true. He had become hard to be identified by his enemies. Yet the secret facts, meticulously collected by him for six days, will be made public worldwide. Before coming on his mission, he had signed a perfect contract with an independent publishing house in Toronto. It was supposed to publish his investigative book on the so called "Bulgarian Transition". At the same time, Father Ivan in Ihtiman was still waiting for him, wondering why he wasn't turning up yet...