A necessary evil?
Or necessary because of evil?
Don’t expect to see an Archangel
Unless you live right on the edge
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About The Book
We sat together while this was being created and much of what is written is exactly as it was spoken into the dictation recorder.
I’ve cleaned up the wording and occasionally skipped a moment, but most of what is in the following pages is as Christina intends it to be. I guess you’d call it an autobiography, although Christina sometimes thinks of it as notes on part of a life
She’s changed identity again now, so there’s no direct way to pin her to this and I’ve been asked by lawyers to describe the whole thing as a work of fiction, which gets around several matters, which will be resolved as the story unfolds.
I had to get a passport and have pictures taken. Hekla came around to say goodbye. She said she wondered if it is because we had looked in the wool store that it meant I was going away. I said we were going to a new country to teach people how to look after sheep. This impressed Hekla, but she also asked if they had American television. The time came, and I had to say goodbye to the dogs and the horses. I was especially sad to say goodbye to my favourite horse, the wonderful Einar.
Then a taxi arrived, and we climbed aboard. It was a big mini-bus and had space in the back for our luggage. I realised that we were leaving a huge amount behind and that we would need to start anew when we reached Archangel.
The plane ride was a thrill for me, and I was preoccupied with the airport, the fancy shops, unusual food and even some American goodies on offer. When we took off, I could see Keflavik below, then Reykjavik, and then we flew right over the glaciers. I looked at the gap between them and tried to work out where our farm was, but I couldn’t see it.
“Lulled with sweet voices”
“what a page-turner”
“blasts over star ratings”
“a killer of a story”
“I knew it”
Love’s young dream
Better than Kifla
I was not an immigrant in Iceland. It is where I’m from, but I’ve moved so many times I feel like an immigrant everywhere now. At least I do not feel of the place. More like an outside observer.
I can only remember a few events from my time in Iceland. We lived on a smallholding with a selection of sheep and horses. If it sounds in any way glamorous, it was not. My Pabbi worked the land and managed the animals. The horses were the typical Icelandic type, which sometimes people mistake for ponies. They taught me to ride from an early age and have memories of being on a horse, helping Pabbi bring in the sheep.
I am sure that’s what has toughened me to the elements too, Iceland was cold, and very snowy. When the winds blew it could be icy, yet the overall climate was well-tempered. Mamma used to put me outside when I was a little elskan, in all weathers. I have since heard that this was considered cruel by some people, but the culture in Iceland is to do this and ensure the baby gets fresh air.
Our place was about three hours outside of Reykjavík on the F35, sandwiched between two glaciers. There was always a view out towards ice both to the east and to the west, although Pabbi said that the eastern ice was melting quickly.
It meant that in my early years I learned from the land. How to read the skies, of animals and their ways and their tracks. We had a small local school, but I was told that I would need, at some point, to go to a big city for my education.
In the evening, indoors, we would sing songs, and I learned to play the piano, except I could not reach down to the pedals on the old upright piano that we had.
I discovered that my other source of learning was the television. The Americans had an Air Force base at Keflavik, and they’d installed a huge aerial that transmitted American television to the whole of Iceland. I think it was to make the Americans feel at home when they transferred to Iceland, but it also meant that most of Iceland learned English from the broadcasts. We also learned about a lot of American products which we could not get in Iceland, but that the Americans had flown in on their transport planes.
I could play many of the jingles from the television on the piano. At one time, as children, we even formed a small band who practiced together in one of the bedrooms of the farm-house. I think it was a subtle way that Mamma ensure we had music lessons.
I had not accounted for Pabbi’s other job. As well as his business as a smallholder, unknown to me he was paid to watch the sky. One of our farm sheds was off-limits to me. When I had friends around to play, we were told never to go into the Ullarverslun – the wool store. I was told I was allergic and that it would make me ill.
The mission that tipped the scales for me was another protection one. This time it was the Russian Prime Minister who was involved in a meeting with a US administration representative. Russia was setting up sanctions and wanted the US to play along. A particular US businessman was in opposition because of a large deal he was about to fulfil.
So, we were looking at the scope of intelligence activities in target countries through the prism of the FSB's own communist belief system. This seemed ironic in the modern and increasingly corrupt Russia as the gangster classes were moving into the positions of influence.
The FSB could study and identify a capitalist system. The major monopolists or a conservative government hostile to the Soviet Union and/or socialism; maybe a population influenced by capitalist-controlled media distrustful of communists will all conspire to make the work of agents much harder.
I thought some of this was outdated. It was like watching a TV show in black-and-white. It accidentally emphasised the work of the new order thugs taking power in the Federation.
About the author.
Ed Adams was born, raised and educated in London but has travelled widely and to areas causing some of his friends to suspect him of a double life.
Of course, that would be an oversimplification. His time in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Russia and North America influences his story-telling.
His novel-writing developed as part of a NaNoWriMo project, for which he has been a winner several times.
Nowadays based in Exeter (Topsham) but frequently in London, Ed has a good selection of backpacks and rugged ballistic nylon luggage with large wheels.
The Archangel Trilogy
Now the Science
Earth reaches out to Ganymede, a planet of Jupiter to robotically mine magnetite – a new energy source.
But why do the alarms keep triggering?
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